Chapter 9
Nine
Cole
Lacey is splayed out, gloriously naked and utterly perfect, on my bed.
Those huge tits drape to either side of her body, quaking and swaying and jiggling and heaving with each ragged, gasping breath as she fights to slow her panting.
She's come four times in the last twenty minutes. My jaw aches, and my fingers are cramped, but it's fucking worth it.
She comes like she forgot what it feels like—and something tells me that may not be far from the truth.
"C-Cole," she whispers. Reaches for me, flicking her fingers at me in a gimme/come-here gesture. "Need you."
I perch on the edge of my bed beside her, rest my hand on her belly—I haven't forgotten how she covered it when I first took her shirt off. The skin at her belly is streaked with stretch marks from pregnancy, and the sight of those stretch marks fills me with a million, billion questions.
It's not the questions that made her hide, though, I know that much. She was ridiculed for those marks. Guaranteed, no question. And that fills me with unreasoning fury. She's said very little about her ex-husband, Eddie, but the few things I've gleaned from her paint a very unflattering picture.
I roll over to hover above her, and I make sure her eyes are on me as I slowly slide my face down her body.
I know she'll assume what I’m doing and try to demure, but not too hard—she wants it.
She loves it. She needs it. And god knows I'll give it to her as much as she'll let me. But right now, I have a different goal.
Instead of bee-lining for her sweet, tight little pussy, I stop at her belly. Instantly, her hands shoot to cover herself. "Cole, no."
"Not taking no for an answer, Sweet Thing." I pinion her wrists together above her head, and she fights me gamely, but she's no match for me, and she knows it.
"Cole," she whines, her tone miserable. "Please. Don't. Not there."
"Eyes," I growl. Her eyes snap to mine. "Don't look away."
"Cole," she breathes as I touch a kiss to her belly, right on a stretch mark. "Oh god."
Her eyes flutter into the back of her head. "Eyes on me, Lacey."
They snap back to mine, wide and fraught. "What, Cole? What?"
I kiss another stretch mark, not taking my eyes from hers, putting everything I'm feeling into my gaze, as much as possible. “Look at my eyes. Look at my face."
"I am."
"What do you see?"
"Wh-what?" she gasps.
"What do you see when you look at me? What am I feeling?"
I kiss again. Again.
Her eyes fill, spill. "Cole."
"What do you see?" I demand again. "Tell me what you see on my face.”
"I-I d-don't know."
"You can't lie to me, Lacey Grey."
"You…you like what you see," she breathes.
I give her clit a quick flick of my tongue, and she squirms, gasps. "Is that all you see?"
I shift to lie between her thighs, and I bury my face in the sweet heaven of her pussy, taste her honey, and while I'm doing that, I caress her belly and hold her eyes.
"Oh god oh god oh god, Cole!" she whimpers. "Cole, oh god. Cole. Please."
"Much as I love the way you say my name like that, I need to hear something else outta that sweet little mouth."
Her eyes snap open and fix on mine. "I don't know, Cole. I don't know what you want to hear."
"When I look at your naked body, Lacey, what do you see on my face?"
"Attraction. Arousal." Her eyes burn incendiary blue.
I grab her by the hips and roll her to her stomach, and I kiss the backs of her knees, and then kiss my way up the backs of her thighs, kissing the cellulite there. "Look at me again, Sweet Thing."
She does, twisting her head to look at me over her shoulder. "Cole, c'mon."
"What do you see on my face when I do this?" I demand, kissing and kissing her thighs and her buttocks, those big, round peaches, so soft, so sweet, so perfect.
"You really like what you see," she whispers.
"Do you think I'm faking it?"
A shake of her head. "No."
"Lacey, does my opinion matter to you?"
Her eyes are wet, and she blinks hard. "Yes, Cole." A soft breath. "It means…everything."
"So when I tell you that I truly and completely mean it when I say that this," and here, I frame her ass cheeks in my hands, squeeze in gesture along with the verbal emphasis, "is the sexiest ass I've ever seen, what does that mean to you?"
Tears spill. "Goddammit, Cole." She ducks her head, weight resting on her elbows; her shoulders shake. "Goddammit. I don't want to cry right now."
"Go ahead and cry, honey," I tell her, crawling up her body, kissing as I go. I flop to my back beside her and pull her into my arms; she willingly and eagerly nuzzles into my chest, shoulders heaving. "I've got you, Lacey. You had me last night. Now I've got you."
"I don’t want to cry," she says again, even as she shudders with a silent sob. "I hate crying."
"You need to, though. Let it out. I'm not one of those men who’s scared of tears."
For a moment, I feel her resisting, but then her whole body jerks, and then she's coming apart in my arms in a whole different way.
The sobs are wracking, ragged, and brutal.
At one point, she presses her mouth and nose into my pec and just screams, a raw sound of pure, unadulterated rage and agony, long-pent and metastasized.
Despite the multitude of questions rattling around inside me, all I can do is hold her through it.
Eventually, perhaps twenty minutes later, the sobs subside and she quiets, stills. I know she's not asleep, and I let the silence breathe between us.
"Oh, Cole," she says on a soft exhale.
I tilt her away so I can peer down at her, cup her cheek. "Thank you, Lacey."
She frowns. "Huh? For what?"
I nuzzle her lips with mine, well aware that I'm courting heartbreak if this doesn't shake out the way I'm hoping, deep down, that it will. I just know that I survived her breaking my heart once, and I can do it again. I just really hope I don't have to.
"For sharing yourself with me," I answer. "For sharing your beautiful body with me. For trusting me with your insecurity. I know that took courage, and I want you to know I see it and I appreciate it."
"You don't have to be literally perfect all the time, you know," she whispers.
I snicker. "Oh, I'm not. Just ask the guys."
She rolls her head against my chest in a gesture of negation. "Thankfully, the guys aren't here to ask."
"Why thankfully?"
She kisses my chin and then whispers with her lips moving on mine. "Because if the guys were here, I wouldn't be able to do this."
"Do—oh."
Her small, warm, clever fingers wrap around my aching, iron-hard erection, her hand trapped between the underwear and my body. "Oh my…Cole. I swear your cock got bigger."
"I swear your tits did."
She giggles. "Well, that's because they actually did."
I frown. "I'm no expert, but they don't move like they have implants in them." I take the opportunity to cup and jiggle one of her breasts.
"That's because I got a fat transfer augmentation.
Basically, they sucked fat outta my butt and squirted it into these puppies.
" She grabs one and rubs her nipple against my chest. "Wasn't my idea.
" I open my mouth to speak, but she claps her palm over my mouth, silencing me.
"I don't want to talk about that right now.
I'll share all the horrible, gory details of my supremely fucked up marriage another time.
Right now, all that matters is that you seem to like my ridiculously giant tits, and that feels pretty good. "
"Is it okay for me to admit that I do, in fact, very, very much like your ridiculously giant tits?"
She grins at me, letting go of my erection to stroke my beard. "Yes, Cole. That's very okay with me."
I toy with said monsters, which are, in fact, ridiculously giant. Maybe it makes me a shallow, average male, but they're fucking amazing. "You know what I love best about these?" I ask. "What makes them so fucking sexy?"
"The fact that my bra is a 34E?"
I roll her to her back and bury my face between her tits, shake my head, growling.
She cackles at this, clutching the back of my head, fingers in my hair.
"Nope. The fact that they're part of you.
" I lift on an elbow, cup her jaw. "You really think I give a shit how big or small they are?
It's you that matters, Lace. Not your bra size. "
She laughs again, this time tearfully. "I thought I told you to stop being perfect. It's giving me a complex."
"You want me to be more of a dick, then?"
She nods, sniffling. "Yes, please."
I roll to my back and tuck my hands behind my head, smirking at her. "Lacey?"
She sits up in the bed beside me, those monster tits swaying beautifully.
She braces her arms together, propping them up.
Her hair is a loose golden cascade down one shoulder, glossy and gleaming in the morning sunlight streaming through my bedroom window.
Her cornflower blue eyes glitter with arousal, fix on the bulge of my erection behind my underwear.
“Cole?” she answers, then nibbles on her lower lip, gaze very much locked on my cock.
"Do I need to ask for what I want?" I tilt my hips, flex my PC muscle to make my dick jump. "Or can I trust that you want to give me what I want?"
She hooks a finger in the waistband of my boxer briefs, tugs the elastic away from my belly, and lets it go with a loud snap that makes me jump. "Take the stupid underwear off, Cole."
Unable and unwilling to suppress my grin of anticipation, I wriggle them down to my knees and then kick them away; my cock feels heavy against my belly, so ramrod-stiff with need that it quite literally hurts.
Lacey giggles, covering her mouth with a hand. "Holy shit, Cole."
I frown. "What?"
"Unless you actually did get some sort of expensive European penis enlargement, I clearly must have forgotten how huge your cock is." She's gazing at said organ with wide eyes. "I don't think I had any way of appreciating what a fine penis you have, when we were together the first time."