Chapter 13 Bellatrix
Chapter thirteen
Bellatrix
Rowleigh is the best magic. The growly sound that escapes from his parted lips is the best sound ever. His eyes are dark and smoldering, his blown pupils darkening his irises to coal.
I grasp his shoulders and make sure there’s not even room for air to pass between our bodies.
He grins again, and when I surge up and press my mouth softly to his, his arms close around my back.
He holds me close while he opens his lips for me, angling his face so he can turn the kiss into something that I feel all the way down to my toes.
“I missed you,” I mumble against his lips. “Even if we know nothing else, know that. It’s true. All of me missed this. Your hugs, your mouth, your smiles, the sound of your voice, your man smell.”
“Man smell?” he grunts. “That sounds kind of gross.”
“No,” I purr, arching up against him like an exceptionally needy feline. “It’s not gross at all.”
I rub my hand over his cheek. He’s sporting a young beard. “You didn’t shave.”
“Not since I left. I didn’t have the energy, and then…I kind of liked it.”
“I really like it.” I like how it scratches against my cheeks and rubs against my lips. The burn is delicious. I know I’d like it scratching other places. All the places.
His tongue parts my lips and finds mine.
My knees get so wobbly that he turns me around so that I’m up against the island.
He kisses me until I’m breathless, his tongue doing amazing tongue things that I didn’t even know existed.
Then, he grasps my hips and sets me down on the counter, just far enough away from the mugs of tea so I won’t knock them over.
“Strip me naked and drink that matcha off my belly,” I murmur.
We both freeze. My hands are on his face, rubbing up and down his new beard. It’s like petting a shaggy dog in a good way.
“I…if you want to,” I add in a whisper.
His eyes trace the counter, measuring distance and probably doing some amazing and complicated mental math mixed with physics.
And then he unbuckles my overalls one buckle at a time.
The overalls pool at my waist since the top is so loose.
He leaves them for a minute, his big, strong, gorgeous hands slipping under my shirt and stroking my skin such that my head falls back.
He makes a noise that sounds half tortured, half delirious.
His hands continue to explore under my shirt, pushing it up inch by inch. “Are you sure?”
I nod, kissing his chin and running my lips and cheek over his sandpapery cheek until I blindly find his mouth.
He makes me feel all the emotions, but mostly, he makes me feel like this is right.
I’ve never felt like it was truly safe to be me with anyone I’ve ever been romantically involved with.
They never wanted the real me. I didn’t even really know who that was.
I’m a people pleaser, and I lost sight of myself.
I’m still learning, but with Rowleigh, I feel like I have a safe space to do that.
It’s too soon, he’s too old for me, he’s my best friend's dad, he’s wildly rich, and he doesn’t like tacos. All those things are true, but it doesn’t change how much I want him. For the first time ever, I don’t feel like I have to change who I am to be worthy or treasured.
No man has ever looked at me the way he’s looking at me now.
No one has ever touched me so softly and reverently.
No man has ever taken the time to listen to what I have to say.
No man would ever dash out in a rainstorm to save me or go through a dusty barn just for the fun of it.
He sat through tea after and enjoyed it.
He went all the way to Europe because he cared about someone else’s happiness.
He can look at his life, see all his failings clearly, and admit to them, but it’s not the end for him.
He wants more. He’s okay with change. I hardly know him, but I do know he’s patient and kind.
He’s smart and sweet. And he has a big heart.
We might not work out, but we also just might. If we don’t, then we’ll move on, and we’ll be okay. But I’m pretty sure we’d have some great times to remember.
“Are you sure?” I ask right before his hand slides my bra up, and his thumb caresses my hard nipple.
“Sure of you, yes. Sure of me? I’ll work hard to earn the right to say yes to that.”
With his hand still on my breast, he leans in and kisses my neck, his lips and breath hot against my skin. There’s zero doubt in my mind that my neck is my new favorite erogenous zone.
“I’m sure I want more rainstorms. More laughter. More adventure. More calm. More sweet. More of you. Always.”
It’s amazing.
Truly.
Romance books paint all men as knowing the right thing to say and saying it and being all amazing and tender and hunky, but the hard truth is that real men are just flawed people, and that’s okay.
But if you asked a regular guy what they want more of, the answer would probably be naked time.
Humping, blowjobs, morning sex, night sex, day sex… just sex.
I have dated all the wrong guys. That would be their answer.
I’m sorry to all the good men out there. There probably are at least a few who would never respond with humping.
Rowleigh’s words are sexier than anything. Anything.
He sucks my neck softly, not hard enough to leave a mark. His teeth scrape against my skin, and then he pulls away just long enough to pull my shirt off. My bra is rucked up, but together, we shed it.
He groans, but even though that noise is all hunger, he’s a gentleman.
He kisses my collarbones and guides me back onto the counter gently.
My legs are hanging off, and in a few minutes, my back will protest, but watching him reach for his mug of tea, now cooled enough to be safe for this, I forget all about potential back aches and leg numbness.
Even more so, I forget everything when he moves the mug over my chest and then tips it so that just a trickle spills down my breasts.
I shiver at the sensation of the warm liquid, but the shiver turns into a full-body spasm when his tongue laps up the spilled tea between the valley of my breasts.
He licks it all before trailing a hot path to my left nipple.
He pours a little more tea over it while his mouth is right there, ready to catch it.
That might be cheating, but I’m not going to call him on it.
“Mmm,” he hums. “This is the best way to drink swamp water tea. You make it so good that I could lose my ever-loving mind for it.”
His tongue strokes my right breast, finding my nipple and suckling it even though there’s no tea there.
Then, he gets bolder, tipping the cup over my belly and making a mess of me. The tea runs off my stomach and over the counter.
“Oops.” He chuckles darkly.
He eats me like a starving beast, licking and suckling along my abs. I don’t even have time to worry about them not being as toned as I’d like. I’ve skipped the gym for months now, opting to do at-home yoga. It’s okay, but I don’t have visible muscles the way I used to.
“Oh my god, Rowleigh.” I grasp his hair, pulling his face into me. I curl up and around his hot mouth, shivering and shaking, goosebumps bursting to life all over me. “If I asked you to go lower, would you?”
His head snaps up. “You mean, do I want to taste your sweet pussy?”
“That’s…umm…yes. That’s what I meant,” I mutter.
His eyes flash. “You’re so beautiful. So gorgeous. And you taste divine. I’d feast on you for hours if I could.”
“Okay. Yes. If you want to.”
I barely get the words out before his hands tear away my overalls, wrenching them down my legs. He pulls my shoes off and sheds everything except my panties.
He drops to his knees, dragging me with him. I sit up so my back isn’t in a spine-busting bend any longer. He parts my legs, dragging his nose down the very wet center of my plain lilac-colored cotton panties.
My face gets hot because even I can smell myself and see the wet spot there that certainly wasn’t caused by the tea he missed lapping up.
“You have a lovely pussy, Bellatrix. So fucking beautiful.”
That makes me laugh. “You haven’t even seen it yet. It might look like the bear of satanic horrors with teeth and hair from the barn.”
“Sounds like a horror movie. The Demon Pussy of Providence.”
My laughter deepens. I never in my life thought I’d be laughing about something like that, especially not with the world’s hottest man on his knees and at eye level with what I personally know is a non-horrifying vagina.
“Just so you know, I’d still be down to go down. She can bite back if she wants. And hair is fine.”
“Argh!” My legs jiggle a little with that squawk. “Nooo, my mind. I’m so sorry I said those things.”
He’s not. He fuses his mouth to my seam right over the fabric, and I. Am. Dead.
“Also, I think there’s something very wrong with you,” I tack on.
He kisses the inside of my thigh, and my skin breaks out in shivers on top of the already-existing shivers. “I think there’s a whole lot of something right with you.”
He picks up the mug again and slowly tips it down my chest without warning. I see it coming, but I’m unprepared for the gush of liquid. Apparently, so is he. Beads of liquid roll down my breasts, over my stomach, and pool in my lap.
I groan. “Shizzle fricks, that was excessive.”
My panties are now soaked from the top too. I smell like the inside of a tea shop. It would be better if it were peppermint or raspberry and not matcha. I love matcha, but it’s an acquired taste.
Without further preamble, even if matcha is not his taste, Rowleigh makes it clear that I am.
My panties disappear like he’s a magician.
He parts my legs, works with gravity to slide me forward on the counter so the rest of me eases back onto my elbows, and then licks me from my inner thigh all the way to my clit.
“Oh my god!” I gasp.
His tongue traces down my slit and then up, rasping over the carefully trimmed triangle of hair. I wasn’t lying about that part. Just the teeth bit.