Chapter 22 #3
It takes ten minutes for me to admit he is not getting bored.
The sky is just beginning to lighten outside the window, and even though I’ve been convinced four times now that he’s done, Deacon’s hands keep coming back to touch me.
Soft, teasing touches along my hips, my stomach, and my thighs, though he never looks at me and the only things he says are comments about whatever we’re watching.
He has a lot of opinions on cooking techniques, it seems, though I’m not really listening.
Especially when he gets bolder.
While he’s droning on about something to do with onions, Deacon’s hands move up under my shirt, although this time they don’t stop at my navel.
I tense against him as they keep going, his words are lost in my ears as he cups my breasts and uses his thumbs to tease my nipples.
Under the attention, they stiffen almost instantly, and I know if the blanket wasn’t covering me, I’d be able to see it too.
My thighs tense, a small tremble going through me, but I refuse to give him a response.
I only make a noncommittal reply to his words, keeping my hands gripped on my shorts.
It feels like if I were to say something, that I’d lose this game we’re playing.
For some reason, I don’t want to lose against Deacon.
Commercials play, something about another show airing soon, but I’ve stopped paying attention even as Deacon pretends he’s not interested in anything other than what we’re watching.
His touches are really getting bolder, until he’s pinching and teasing my nipples between his fingers, his breathing steady at my back.
At a particularly sharp pinch, I can’t help the soft sound that leaves me, my gasp audible between us. Deacon looks down at me, not stopping, and his brows raise in mock concern.
“Something wrong?” he asks with a hint of his shit-eating grin.
I shake my head mutely, not looking at him.
“I didn’t think so.”
The next episode comes on, and I tell myself that I can deal with this. While the teasing touches are distracting, I can absolutely deal with it until he gets up.
When he drags one hand downward, however, my stomach drops along with it.
He slips his fingers under the elastic of the boxers, and I can hear a soft, approving sound from him when he finds I’m wearing nothing underneath.
His fingers trace my slit, gently, patiently, and he never moves from his relaxed position on the sofa behind me, though now I feel like he’s caging me in with his legs and arms.
I don’t know that I could move if I wanted to.
I manage to stay quiet for a few more minutes, and I will myself to keep my breathing normal. It’s a fucking competition now, and I refuse to be the loser.
Deacon suddenly shoves two fingers into me, not warning me or being particularly gentle about it at first. It makes me jerk, makes my hips buck, but I won’t give him more than that, except to look at him over my shoulder, finding him smiling again.
“Do you have a problem?” He prods, knowing full well what my problem is. “Some complaint you’d like to voice?”
“N-no,” I say, as he adds a third finger. His touches are gentle after that. He’s slow and methodical. Meticulous as he scissors his fingers inside my pussy and languidly opening me up so I can feel how easy it is for him to slide a fourth one in, twisting his wrist to do so.
His thumb brushes my clit, and I bite down hard on my lip to keep from making a sound.
The burn of four fucking fingers is insistent, but he’s taking his time so well that it’s more pleasurable than anything.
His other hand still works on my breast, still teasing me and pinching my nipple to send sharp little zaps of electricity through me anytime I forget.
Finally he sighs, and his nose brushes my jaw. While I remain stiff in his lap, Deacon scrapes his teeth against my throat, nibbling and nipping at my skin. A few bites are hard enough that I gasp, and before long, I find myself unable to stay still anymore.
“Deacon…” I pant, arching my hips into his hand. “Oh, fuck—that’s really not fair.”
“Just trying to tire you out the best way I know how,” he murmurs against my throat. “I figure if I work you up, then I’ll help you expend all that restless, useless energy you’ve got right now.” He spreads his fingers inside me until I cry out, writhing on his lap.
“You know…” Deacon muses, thrusting all four into me.
“I bet I could get my whole fist into this greedy pussy of yours. All I’d have to do is take my time with you.
And you’d look so hot like that, don’t you think?
Maybe that’s what we’ll do for Fox when he wakes up.
I’ll strap you to the kitchen table on your back.
He loves your tits, so he can play with them while he watches.
I’ll finger you open just like this until your cunt is wet and begging for more.
Then all I have to do is slip my thumb into you, have you taking my whole hand like you were made for it, hmm?
You ever consider that?” He nips at my ear and the sound I make is positively ragged.
“Ever consider getting fisted by the guy you’ve been trying to escape from, little prey?”
“No!” I admit in a loud gasp. “Oh, fuck, Deacon—”
“Louder,” he sighs against my ear. “Louder for me, or I’ll flip you over and fist you right here until you’re screaming.” I’m not sure if that’s a threat or a promise, but either way, I cry out louder, over and over again as he bites down and continues the maddening, overstimulating teasing.
“Please, Deacon,” I whine, grabbing at his wrists with my sweat-slick grip. “Fuck, just stop for a sec. Please, just—”
“Sure,” he agrees. “I’ll stop. Right after you come.
” His fingers curl in me, rubbing against my inner walls in a way that has me yelping and twisting on his lap.
“No, no going anywhere, little prey. You’re gonna take it until you can’t anymore.
Take it until you’ve fallen apart on my fingers and I know you’ll fall asleep.
Come on, Sadie-Rae.” He bites down on my neck again, then growls, “Or do you need my cock before your pussy is satisfied? Hmm? Or can you come on my fingers like a good, needy little thing?”
My scream nearly cuts off his words, and I arch into him, body jerking into his hands as my eyes shut tight. As he fingers me through my orgasm, the wet sounds of my arousal are loud in the living room.
By the time he finally stops and I’ve come down, I’m quite literally crying from overstimulation, with tears running down my cheeks as I beg and plead for him to stop, to give me a minute.
But he takes his time with that. Just like he always does. When Deacon finally frees his fingers from my pussy, it’s only so he can shove them in my mouth instead, three of them pressed to my tongue.
“You don’t need to talk,” he chuckles in my ear.
“You’re going to sit here and clean off my fingers.
You’re going to do a very good job, and then you’re going to go to sleep.
And maybe, if I think you’ve done a thorough enough job”—he nips my ear, making me whine, though I can’t speak around his fingers in my mouth—“maybe I’ll let you sleep instead of fucking you awake on my cock like you’re clearly begging for, hmm?