19. A Little Blood Never Hurt Anybody
A LITTLE BLOOD NEVER HURT ANYBODY
LAKE
“You were great with him today,” I say, walking over the threshold of Sutton’s apartment.
We dropped Max off at my house after the lesson. I knew Sutton would make a great teacher. I think my brother is still starstruck over the fact that he met an actual Minnesota Mustang.
“Your brother is a strong player,” Sutton tells me. “He just needed a little coaching and patience.”
“Still—thank you. I know you have a busy schedule, and all of this is probably so far down on your to-do list.”
When I finally fling my shoes off, Sutton’s hand caresses the side of my face, all rough with newly formed callouses. My heart is battering against my ribs like the forceful thump of an antique knocker against a storm-wracked door.
He’s memorized the placement of my eyes so he doesn’t have to search to find them. And don’t even get me started on that smile of his—the one overflowing with machismo and charm and all the goddamn utilities required to wet my panties in two seconds flat.
We’ve been in this position before, yet things feel different. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but the Buzzfeed quiz I completed two raw cookie dough sleeves ago told me I’d have a breakthrough in my love life in the near future.
Sutton drags his thumb over the apple of my cheek. “Hey, you and your brother are my top priority, okay? Nothing is going to change that.”
God, does he even know what he’s doing to me right now? The fact that Sutton is so blissfully unaware of his sex appeal adds fuel to the touch-starved flames.
“I didn’t think men like you existed,” I whisper beneath my breath, the shape of his name on my tongue, and my self-control curling at the edges like burning parchment paper. My pussy clenches desperately, weeping for a friction that can only be supplied by Sutton’s thick-knuckled fingers.
I want him to kiss me. I need him to kiss me.
His palm lowers from my cheek, and he brushes the tip of his nose against mine, our lips mere centimeters apart as we both wait for the other to make a move.
As usual, he bends down to accommodate our height difference, his fingertips skirting the length of my curves with a low-effort pressure that lures a whimper from my hoarse throat.
His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. “We do, and let me show you how good I can be.”
Sutton may be the one who inches closer, but I’m the one who throws him off guard with a frenzied rush of his mouth, steering him into a toothsome kiss that satiates my exhaustive hunger.
For never having kissed before, our movements are surprisingly synchronized, and there’s no awkward pauses or clumsy fumbles.
Frosted over with lust, I match the cadence of Sutton’s lips, chasing after every drag and pull as he devours me whole with zero apology.
My hand snakes into his luscious hair—looking for a tether—and he must be riding the same wavelength because one of his hands maps the expanse of my spine before pulling me into the soft swell of his belly.
Tongue prodding for entrance along a peachy seam, he greenlights my request with unlimited access, letting me taste the sweetness coating the inside of his mouth. He had something citrusy for breakfast.
He’s attuned to every hitch in my breath and minute movement of my overstimulated body, growling a little in his throat when I lapse into a series of dick-inflating moans.
My traitorous pussy leaks a sizable amount of liquid at the sudden urgency of his hands—how they claw at the fabric of my shirt so aggressively that I wouldn’t be surprised if raised marks materialize on my skin.
“Fuck, I’ve been waiting so long for this,” Sutton whimpers, stumbling over his feet as our combined weight gravitates toward the far wall of his kitchen.
My brain is on airplane mode. All I can think about is this mountain of a man spearing me over and over on his cock until my stomach takes the imprint of him—until there’s cum leaking from my stuffed cunt and streaming down the insides of my thighs.
I try to ignore the pain radiating up my spine when I slam into the wall, but Sutton is quick to ameliorate his unchecked ardor by sliding his hands under my thighs, lifting me onto his hips, and then setting me down on the counter.
All I hear is the sound of dishes clattering to the ground.
Most likely cheap, considering Sutton doesn’t rush to clean up the mess.
He pulls away from my mouth just enough to show me the bridge of spit glistening between our lips.
It feels like I’m about to spontaneously combust. My engorged cunt dilates around a phantom fullness, practically balling up my pro-vibrator stance and chucking it into the stratosphere.
Nothing can compare to the heat of another person’s body—the humanistic urge to crawl into each other’s skin.
“Oh, God.” Desperation laces my words as I dig my heels into Sutton’s lower back, my hips lifting of their own volition and rutting against the air. I’d die of embarrassment if I wasn’t certain I would die from deprivation sooner.
“Do you know how hard it’s been for me to control myself around you? Every time you flash me a smile or accidentally touch me, I wanted to push you up against the nearest wall and commit every inch of your perfect fucking body to memory.”
As if to corroborate his statement, he licks a broad stripe up the side of my neck, branding his mark into the syncopated thrum of my pulse. My whole frame shudders from the sudden induction of oxytocin hurtling into my veins.
“I need you, Sutton. I need you inside me.” My voice lingers in the halfway between a demand and a beg, every erogenous zone in my body on high alert for the undertaking that hovers on the horizon.
I paw at the hem of his shirt in hopes that he’ll ditch it, squeezing my thighs together tight enough to cease the unbearable pressure in my pussy. My feet rest on the shelf of his ass, and his sexy, anterior pelvic tilt displays all the bulky muscle that he’s built over the span of a few years.
Sutton parts my legs enough to wedge his hand between my thighs, dangerously close to the crotch of my pants and the cunt that quivers for stimulation. At this point, I’m sitting in a puddle of my own filth, waiting for absolution.
But just as I think he’s about to make good on his promise and rip my jeans off like they’re tearaways, I hear his stomach elicit a wall-shaking growl.
I pull back with a frown. “You’re hungry.”
He nuzzles into me. “Yeah, for you.”
“No, we should—”
“Trouble, if you don’t let me eat you out like a man starved, I’m going to lose my goddamn mind. Don’t tease me. Please. I won’t survive. Need to feel those pretty legs shaking against my head until you squirt all over my face.”
Sutton doesn’t have to tell me twice. Any feeble attempt at playing it cool is immediately abandoned.
I consider parting my legs like the Red Sea when a debilitating cramp stabs me right through the abdomen, reminding me that Aunt Flow is currently visiting.
Doubling over for a breath, I unhook my legs from his back and grab his shoulders for extra support, waiting for the tide of discomfort to pass. I squeeze my eyes shut, gouging my fingernails into his skin (and not in the sexy way).
Sutton’s voice issues a deep baritone that trembles with concern, and he tucks back some of the hair that has fallen into my face. “Whoa, hey. What’s wrong?”
“Sorry. Cramps. You can’t go down there—all gross,” I tell him in broken English, and if the embarrassment soaking into my muscles wasn’t enough, nausea laps at my thoroughly eroded shores with an insistence that can’t be subdued by over-the-counter medication.
Sutton pauses for a heartbeat. I’d worry about what was swirling around in that head of his if I wasn’t bracing myself for another assault on my uterus.
“I can help you…if you want. But we can also table this for another time. I just want to make sure you feel okay.”
Help me? Surely he doesn’t mean…
My eyes fly open in shock. Why, on God’s green earth, would a man want to get a vampire special as my body goes through horrific changes?
He answers my unspoken question, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Oral sex can help with cramps. I, uh, read about it somewhere.”
I breathe through another origami-twisting sensation. “Oh. Cool, cool.”
“Fuck, I can’t stand to see you like this, Lake. Will you just let me help you? For once in your stubborn life?”
I’m all for oral sex right now, but it’s Sutton’s pleasure that hinders me. Honestly, I’d be up for any nontraditional solution to the miniature knives going ham on my insides. No guy can genuinely like the taste of blood, right? Isn’t there other disgusting stuff in there too?
“I want you to, but…”
I don’t finish my sentence. The next thing I know, Sutton is helping me shimmy out of my pants, and my exposed skin puckers with goose bumps.
My granny panties—complete with an absorbent pad that crinkles and gives me the worst wedgie in existence—are slid down my legs and discarded somewhere on the floor.
Clearly Sutton doesn’t care about how sanitary any of this is.
The next sound that leaves my tongue isn’t one of contempt—it’s one of pure relief.
The counter is hard and cold and not the first place I’d suggest doing anything sexual, but moving at all is an obstacle I’m not ready to overcome.
Honestly, this is the point in my cycle where I’d be curled up in a fetal position on the bathroom floor, sucking at saltine crumbs while I pray for the Grim Reaper to come for me.
Sutton’s dominance—while still there somewhere in the wings—is softened for my enjoyment, and he flicks his tongue against my swollen clit to silently test the waters, slithering it around in unhurried circles until I feel sated enough to invite him deeper.