26. When Venus Rises #2
It’s even more glorious when he pulls out, smacks the side of my ass, and says, “Get on your hands and knees, woman. Show me how much you want my cock. Show me what you fantasize about when you slide past me at work.”
It’s a taunt, and I hate how much I love it. But it’s a challenge too. “What makes you think I do that?” I toss back.
He dips his face into the crook of my neck and slides his beard along my jawline in slow motion, his cock—wet with me—dragging along my stomach.
After he bites my earlobe, he says, “Because you’re dripping.
Now get on your hands and knees, and let me fuck you like I do when you’re alone in bed at night, playing with this sweet pussy. ”
“You dick,” I say, but I’m scrambling, sliding out from under him, moving to the middle of the bed.
“You love my dick.”
I roll my eyes. But he’s not wrong. I really do. “Shut up and get that dick in me.”
He moves behind me and palms my ass, spreading my cheeks wide. “Mmm. This ass,” he murmurs in wicked approval, but I can’t even fashion a comeback because he slides his thumb down my wetness, then lines up once more.
And sinks inside me all the way.
Holy fuck. I feel him in my stomach. I feel him in my legs. I feel him everywhere.
“Yes,” I moan as I bow my back. “Deeper.”
He pushes his hand on my lower back. Angling me more. “That’s right. Take that dick, sweetheart,” he tells me, and I do.
I take it all the way as he fucks me hard, relentlessly, giving me everything I want.
He reorganizes my insides as he pounds into me. I curl my fingers into the mint-green Snoopy blanket, trying to hold on to something as my world rattles.
And my co-worker—my sort of business associate, my kind of landlord, and now my dance partner—slams into me.
My tits sway with every delicious jolt. My body sings.
My belly tightens, and my breaths come fast. He drops closer to me, his chest to my back, his hand covering one breast, then sliding down my stomach till it finds my clit.
“Give me another one, Chloe. I fucking need it.”
“Take it,” I urge. “Just take it.”
A rough sound comes from his throat, and he nips my collarbone. I yelp, but the sound is smothered by a new sound—the sound of bliss as he strokes my clit.
It’s mind-bending, the way he fucks me hard, driving into me while rubbing my clit, and biting my neck, and driving me out of my mind with pleasure.
My grip on reality loosens as bursts of color pop in my brain. I nearly forget what I want most from the menu. But a flash of white before my eyes reminds me.
“Sawyer,” I pant as I near the edge.
“What, baby?”
“Come on me. All over my back,” I instruct.
He answers with a deep thrust, and a fast stroke of his fingers that sends me spiraling into pleasure. “Yes, yes, yes,” I’m chanting as he sends me over the cliff.
The world’s a hot blur as ecstasy radiates through my body. He pumps faster, then even faster until he stills for a few seconds, then pulls out in a rush.
I crane my neck, and I swear I come again as I watch him. He’s shuttling his fist furiously till he paints my back in white spurts.
I shudder all over as he slides a hand through it, spreading his release all over my spine, marking me with his pleasure. Then he collapses next to me, pulling me close. We’re both a hot, sticky mess, and I don’t care.
I love it—both the mess and the soreness already settling in between my thighs, and the sweet nothings as he whispers against my neck, “You’re incredible.”
No taunting, no teasing, and no challenging this time.
“Just fucking incredible,” he adds, then drops another kiss to my shoulder.
And I feel incredible, here in our little secret corner of the world, where I touch his rose tattoo. “I like this,” I say, tracing a petal.
“Me too.”
* * *
But messes need to be cleaned up, so I loop my hair into a bun and hop into the shower a few minutes later. Sawyer joins me, yanking the shower curtain—covered in illustrations of penguins wearing top hats—closed.
“Will you sing?”
He rolls his eyes. “In your dreams.”
“Um, yes,” I say.
He grabs the bodywash instead and cleans my back first. Then my breasts, stomach, and legs. It’s intimate in a whole new way, and questions start to form in my throat. What are we doing? What’s next? Is this thing with us going to happen again?
But the memories of my ex-husband and the fallout at work are too raw.
The memories of Sawyer and me, both of us hot and cold, are too.
If this thing doesn’t work out—and why would it?
—I’ll be stuck working with my ex. Workplace romances don’t lead anyplace good, and I have the receipts to prove that.
I rinse the bodywash off, focusing on that task when the shower curtain rustles, and a black-and-tan snout pokes into the shower.
Sawyer laughs. “Hey, buddy.”
Captain sticks his face in more, angling for the shower spray. He’s so shameless. “He loves water,” I explain. “Rain, puddles, hoses, pools. And especially the shower. I had to teach him to shake off in the shower, instead of in the bathroom.”
“Show me,” Sawyer says.
But Captain’s already heading to the bathroom door. I should deal with him now. “Another time,” I say, then get out while Sawyer’s still in the shower.
As I dry off and throw on some clothes, a kernel of worry digs into my chest. Or maybe it’s dread? Possibly hope? Ugh. I don’t even know. I don’t want this night to end no matter how risky it is, and I hate feeling this uncertain.
Since there’s no place for me wanting Sawyer so badly as I try to finally, finally, thrive like Darling Springs itself.
I let Captain out for a quick pee break.
When I return, he retreats to his favorite cool spot on the living room floor, and I pad quietly into my room, still a little out of sorts.
I’m not sure what I want to happen next.
Actually, that’s not true. I know what I want.
I just don’t know if it’s a good idea to have it.
In my room, Sawyer’s yanking on his boxer briefs and pants, and that kernel of doubt wedges itself deeper. He’ll probably go. Payback and all, since last time I kicked him out.
Why can’t après-sex moments go as well as the sex? Why does the after need to be infused with so much worry and want? Everything was easier the night we escaped to a hotel room in San Francisco. But our real life brings real concerns.
We’re both building businesses, and those businesses are inextricably linked. I don’t want to harm mine or his. I wish I could just jettison all this desire. But it’s set up camp inside me.
“So,” I say, standing awkwardly at the edge of the bed as he buttons his pants.
He doesn’t reach for his shirt though. He flops down on the mattress, stretches an arm out, and tugs me back down with him.