Chapter 20 Sweet Talk #2
“Brat,” he murmurs, like it's an endearment.
“Been wanting to touch you like this since that first day at the lake, you know.” His lips are at my ear now.
“Maybe I should have started with this. Instead of running my fool mouth, I could have just petted you and told you all the dirty things I want to do to you.”
“I would have slapped you if you led with that,” I breathe.
His chest shakes against my back with soft laughter. “Doesn't exactly sound convincing, considering I've got my fingers in your cunt and you're soaking them, baby.”
He's right. My claim doesn't sound convincing at all.
There's no arrogance in it though. Just teasing warmth. Affection, even. His fingers move with slow patient strokes, coaxing waves of pleasure out of me every time, his thumb keeping that rhythm against my clit.
I'm gripping his forearm so hard I'm probably leaving marks. I can't make myself let go.
“In my fantasies, I started by doing this to you.” His free hand spreads flat against my stomach, pulling me back more firmly against his cock.
He’s so hard beneath me. I love feeling how much he wants this too.
With his other hand, he strokes my clit. Dips down and pushes his fingers inside and then pulls them back out again, spreading my wetness everywhere.
“When I think about you,” he says, “I keep thinking about this. Touching you. Holding you. And instead of hissing at me, you open your pretty legs for me. Let me in. Just like you are now.”
“You…” I lose the thread entirely as his fingers curl inside me. “You fantasize about me?”
“Been doing nothing but. Every night. Every early morning.
I lay awake knowing you're in the next room. Sleeping in the bed I got just for you.” His lips against my pulse point.
“I wrap my hand around my dick, imagining all the filthy things I want to do to you.
I spill so fast thinking of you, baby, it's embarrassing.”
Embarrassing is not the word I'd use to describe it.
The image of it, Walker in the dark in the room next to mine, thinking of me while he strokes his cock, sends heat cascading through me.
And I don't think Walker's really embarrassed either, because the way he touches me is nothing like the awkward fumbling boys I've ever known. He touches me as expertly as he strums his guitar. Like I'm his favorite instrument to play. Like he's a natural at learning me.
Like he's been paying attention and he already knows exactly what I need.
His fingers curl again, finding my g-spot as my breath leaves me in a rush. His arm tightens around my waist as my whole body shudders.
“Is that what it takes to get you to be nice to me?” An almost-kiss pressed to my cheek.
“Because I'll do this all day and all night.” His fingers curl again, slow and devastating, and I'm trembling now, my whole body wound so tight I can barely breathe.
“I'll keep your sweet cunt full of my fingers and my tongue and my cock, if that's what it takes to make you happy.”
The words land like a match to tinder.
My eyes flutter closed.
The pleasure crests. Builds. It’s rolling through me in waves, and I clench down hard on his fingers and stop breathing entirely for one long suspended moment as the orgasm sneaks up on me.
His other hand clamps gently over my mouth, muffling my moan as sensation slams through me, intense and relentless, unlike anything I've ever given myself in the privacy of my own room.
Because it's Walker’s hands. His voice. His chest solid against my back. His mouth pressed to my temple murmuring soft things I can barely hear over the rushing in my ears.
Because he gave it to me.
I sag back against him, boneless. His fingers stay, gentle now, easing me down, and his other hand strokes up and down my arm in long slow passes. His lips rest against my hair.
We sit like that for I don't know how long.
The distant sounds of the outside world filter back in slowly. Laughter, a horse’s whinny, voices carrying from somewhere outside.
He's holding me like he doesn't want to let go. Like what just happened was as much for him as it was for me.
I become slowly, hazily aware of how much I want to give him something back. How much I want to turn around in his lap and get my hands on him. How much I want to learn him the way he just learned me.
How much I want all of it. Everything he described in the pool. Everything he's been holding back.
I want it all and I want it now and I want it from him, this gruff, careful, devastating man who’s done nothing but take care of me in every possible way.
In this moment, it feels like he’s finally let his guard down.
Maybe this is a turning point. Maybe the fact that we’re sitting at the piano means he’s ready to play music again.
He needs that more than he needs my hands on his body.
“Walker,” I say softly.
“Mm.” His lips move against my hair.
“Will you…”
I lose my nerve. The words dissolve somewhere between my chest and my mouth.
“Will I what, Sadie?” Low and gentle. His lips nearly grazing my ear.
I close my eyes.
“Will you play me one of your songs?”
Every muscle in his body goes rigid at once. I feel it. The walls going back up, brick by brick, right underneath me.
And then he's lifting me off his lap, smooth and gentle, not meeting my eyes, setting me aside like something burning him.
He stands. Straightens.
“Not tonight,” he says.
His voice has lost its warmth. His green eyes are shuttered. But he holds out a hand to me anyway.
I shake my head. “I need a minute.”
He looks at me for a long moment.
And then he's gone and the room is just a room again and I’m sitting at the piano alone. My hands are in my lap. Every place he touched is still echoing with the memory of it, a note that's been struck and won't stop ringing, trembling on through the air long after the key has lifted.
I press one finger to middle C. It rings out, soft and solitary, into the empty room.
Everything starts here, he'd said.
I don't want it to end here too.