26. When Venus Rises
WHEN VENUS RISES
CHLOE
As I’m driving home—speeding really like a bad, bad girl powered by lust rather than common sense—a stray thought lands in my head. I can’t keep it to myself for some reason. I blurt out, “Do you not want me to see your home?”
Sawyer shoots me a confused look. “Why would you say that?”
I grip the wheel tighter as I turn onto Jollyville Road, one street away from mine. “We’re going to my home. I don’t know. Does that mean you don’t want me to see yours?”
And if there’s some reason he doesn’t want me at his place, is that the universe’s way of saying slow down, you horndog?
Because…didn’t we agree last time we’re a bad idea? That this thing between us is a mistake? But here we are, hurtling toward premeditated sex. Maybe I need a reason to stop. If he doesn’t want me to see his house, would I stop then?
Sawyer sets a hand on my thigh, stroking it through the soft fabric of my long blue dress. This time I wore his favorite color deliberately. “Chloe, you can see my home anytime,” he says. “Yours is closer though, and I really need to bury my face between your thighs as soon as possible.”
Well, then.
I guess the universe just gave my inner horndog an all systems go.
I tap the gas a little harder, flying past The Horny House toward mine. Which should bear a similar name. The Sexy Shack, maybe.
A minute or so later, I’m fumbling at the keypad of my door while Sawyer kisses the back of my neck. The fucker. He knows that spot turns me to putty in his arms. Once the door is open, I thank past me for letting Captain out before I left for the dance studio because nothing is stopping us now.
My dog barks a happy hello as I kick off my heels and Sawyer toes off his shoes.
“Hey, buddy,” I say to my fur boy, but there’s no time for a proper greeting since Sawyer tosses me over his shoulder once again. “You’re addicted to carrying me.”
“Gotta give my woman what she wants,” he says.
My woman. Does he even realize he’s said that? I don’t want to read anything into it though. Into the words we say in the heat of the moment. It’s just another thing Sawyer does that turns me on.
He strides to the bedroom, drops me on the king-size bed—since why sleep on anything but a big-ass bed with the softest blankets ever on it?—then climbs onto it.
He prowls over me. I’m his prey, and I shudder from head to toe as his deep brown eyes turn carnal. They lock with mine, and he sets his hands on my calves, then slides them to my knees, pushing up the soft blue material of my dress as he goes.
I prop myself on my elbows, watching his every move. A pulse beats through my body. He’s close, so close to where I want him.
He shoves the fabric to my waist. “You’re so fucking hard to resist,” he mutters, poised on all fours above me.
“You’ve done a good job though. You’ve been cold.” Well, till I discovered him onstage.
He holds my gaze for a second, an apology flashing in his eyes. “It’s not you. I had to.”
“Ignore me?”
“Resist you.”
“And resist donuts,” I say with a pout, but the hurt I felt then has melted away. Still, I needed to say it. And this: “You like donuts.”
“Maybe,” he says with a smirk, then he roams his eyes up and down my body. “But trust me, sweetheart. Resisting you is the hardest thing I do all day,” he says, and my gaze swings to his slacks and the outline of his enormous erection.
I hum obscenely. What is it with this man and the way my body reacts to him? I’ve never been so wanton before. So cavalier. “Are you sure it’s the hardest?”
His eyes dart briefly down to his pants, then he says, “You’re right. Second hardest.”
I’m even hotter now, needier.
He slides his hands to the waistband of my blue lacy panties and skims them off, then groans salaciously. Appreciatively. “So fucking pretty. So fucking wet,” he says, shaking his head in admiration, staring savagely like a hungry man.
For a few seconds, I think he’ll make me wait. He’ll toy with me. But Sawyer wasn’t kidding when he said he needed to eat me ASAP, since he scoops his hands under my ass and buries his face between my legs in seconds flat.
Hello, beard! I’ve missed you.
His sandpaper stubble whisks across my legs as he presses a hot kiss to my center.
He growls. I moan.
It’s some kind of filthy harmony. And it doesn’t cease. I’m panting. He’s murmuring. He licks and kisses, and I rock and arch.
Sensations flicker through me, like pinwheels turning in the summer breeze.
Pleasure pulses to a drumbeat, insistent and thrumming.
His mouth covers me. His tongue flicks a hot line up and down, and his fingers dig into my cheeks.
He’s gripping my ass so tight, scooping my pussy closer to his face like I’m a dish he’s lapping up—and he’s drinking every last drop.
I thread my hands into his hair, moaning at the feel of his thick strands slipping between my fingers.
He looks up, stops for a second. “Harder. Grab my head harder,” he demands before returning to his mission.
Me.
Sawyer’s voracious, his hands grabbing, his tongue caressing, his lips kissing.
I’m all too happy to lie back and experience this kind of worship.
Legs spread, body on fire. I part my thighs wider, giving him more, giving him everything as I curl my hands around his skull, obeying him as I tug him impossibly closer.
“Yessss,” he murmurs against my wetness.
I toss my head back against the pillow. Sparks roar through me in a hot wave of electric pleasure.
I’m so far gone right now, I feel like an animal, a writhing beast, reduced to nothing but cells and neurons as I rock against his face, making the most of that beard as he makes the most of me.
My orgasm peeks over the horizon, primed to gallop toward me any second. “I’m close,” I warn, my breath staggered.
“Good,” he mutters against me as he dives back in, his beard rubbing against my skin, his tongue taking me apart, his mouth destroying me.
“Yes,” I shout, and all at once, an orgasm crashes into me. I detonate, holding his head tight, gripping him with my thighs and crying out, saying something, anything, who even knows what, as I come hard.
I’m holding on to him till the bliss starts to ebb, and I’m just a million raw nerves, sensitive and exposed. When I blink open my eyes, he’s sitting up on his knees and rubbing the outline of his hard-on.
“Give me the hardest thing,” I say.
He drags his knuckles across his mouth, then over his beard before he undoes the buckle of his belt in one filthy move.
“That is so hot,” I say.
“Take off your dress, sweetheart. Need to see all of you.”
I comply in a flurry, yanking it off, then unhooking my bra. He’s undoing his shirt, and once it’s off, his temporary ink is exposed. It feels like a secret just for me—his rose tattoo. I want to touch it, kiss it, lick it.
But when he moves off the bed to shed his slacks, reality hits me. “I never got more condoms.”
He dips his face to mine and cups my cheek in one hand. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”
My eyes pop. “You knew you’d break your rules?”
“Chloe, have you met me? I can’t stay away from you,” he says in a tone I’ve never heard from him before. It’s raw, stripped bare, and full of potent longing.
“Don’t then,” I say in the same tone.
He dips a hand into the pocket of his pants, grabs his wallet, and fishes out a condom. After he hands it to me, he strips off the rest of his clothes, then climbs back on the bed, prowling once again. This man can prowl over me anytime. “How do you want me, Chloe?”
The question is like a shot of lust straight to my heart. It’s sexy and thoughtful at the same time.
“Tell me so I can give it to you,” he adds with a filthy sort of reverence in those brown eyes.
I part my lips, trying to speak, to pick an item from the menu of Sawyer Dumont. I’ll take one DNA-rearranging fucking for an entree. Finished off with a dessert of him decorating me. Yes, I want both. But I don’t answer. I’m too…mesmerized. I reach for his hard cock, thick, pulsing in my hand.
He shudders, vulnerable and aroused all at once as I stroke him. I savor the feel of the soft skin and his hard shaft, velvet and iron.
And dripping with a bead of arousal at the head. As I spread it over the crown, he trembles. And something in me cracks a little bit.
Maybe the way I’ve held him at bay. How I’ve clutched tight to my mistakes. To the way they chase me, trip me up.
Right now, nothing feels like a mistake. I guide him, without protection, to where I want him most. Parting my legs for him, I rub the head of his big, beautiful dick through my wetness.
It feels extraordinary. We both tremble.
“Oh god,” I gasp.
“Fuck me,” he mutters at the same time.
I grip the base harder, drag him up and down. I’m aching everywhere, tingling across every inch of my skin as I play. “Just the tip,” I coax, feeling greedy for him.
It feels like we’re in another world, without consequences. He nods like a man trapped in a haze too. But then he freezes, blinks a few times, and chokes out, “Chloe…are you—”
“On the pill,” I answer for him.
His groan is relieved and guttural, the sound of restraint snapping. He gives me a tease of his cock, sinking in the slightest bit.
And it’s ludicrously good. Flesh against flesh. My body cries out, begging for more of him. For all of him. I curl my hands around his bare shoulders. “It’s so good,” I whisper.
“It’s fucking incredible,” he says.
Like that, with my legs spread, my fingers curled around him, he eases out, then sinks back in.
Giving me just the tip.
That’s all.
But it’s enough to drive me wild. “Sawyer,” I gasp, so desperate for him like this.
“Yeah. Sweetheart?”
“I’m negative. Are you? And can you fuck me on my hands and knees so I can feel it tomorrow?”
He groans, long and rough. “Yes, and fucking yes.”
Just like that, he sinks into me all the way, and it’s glorious, this feeling of being filled by him with no barriers between us.