Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
River
I’m sure she debated not coming down, just like I debated going up earlier than the five-minute deadline I’d given her, just to make sure she was packing a bag.
Luckily, she came down and climbed into the car bang on the five minutes.
I’m quite sure she timed it; it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do.
Walking into my apartment with Ava is what I want my new normal to be. I want to see her things spread out on surfaces, I want her clothes in my closet, her toothbrush in my bathroom. I want it all with her.
“Do you want to go out for dinner, or should I cook us something?” I ask as I head to the bedroom to drop off our bags.
“River, what are we doing?” Her voice follows me and I wait until I’m back in the main room before I reply.
“We’re dating, pipsqueak.”
“We’re not dating.”
“Then what the fuck would you call it? What would you call it when I can’t stop thinking about you?
When I want to spend every moment I can with you?
Whether that’s inside you or just around you I don’t care as long as it’s with you.
I’m so fucking crazy about you, baby, it’s not funny.
I know this has happened fast.” My hands cup her cheeks.
“I know that you find this hard to believe, that this all seems to have come out of nowhere, but believe me, baby, this is real.” I press my forehead to hers, our breaths mingling.
“I love you, pipsqueak, so fucking much.” She gasps at my words, her eyes widening, her pupils dilating in shock.
“River…” she exhales.
“Shh, you don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know. I want you to understand where I’m at in this relationship. You’re it for me, you’re my whole fucking world.” She just stares up at me, complete shock written across her face.
“Now, what do you want to do for dinner?”
***
I ended up cooking for us. It’s one of my first steps in getting her to fall for me, and something I’ve never done for anyone else. Cooking has always been private, something I don’t share with others. This is different, though. This time I’m cooking for my future wife.
“That was so good,” she moans from the barstool next to me.
“I know you love Italian food, which is pretty convenient.” I’d cooked us spaghetti carbonara, the original Italian recipe. My Nonna would find a way to bring herself back just to shoot me if I ever cooked it differently.
“I forget you have Italian heritage. What other hidden talents have you kept from me?” I spin my stool to face hers, my hands grip her slim hips and lift her onto the island counter.
“Let me show you,” I smirk as I push her sundress up her body, exposing her lacy thong to my eager gaze.
She shivers as my pointer finger runs along the lace edge. She’s soaked through the material, a beautiful wet spot glistening at me through the lace, enticing me to taste her.
“Lie back and let me taste you, baby. It appears I’m still hungry.” I push my fingers through the flimsy material and shred it, pulling it from her body in one move causing her to gasp.
“River,” she cries as my tongue spears into her.
I don’t build up to it, and I don’t ease her in, I fucking devour her. I’m addicted to the flavor of her; she’s the best damn thing I’ve ever tasted and I’ll gladly spend the rest of my life with my head buried between her thighs.
“I want you to give me two, pipsqueak. Two before I take you to our room and fuck you like you need.”
“Your room,” she whines.
I can’t help but laugh against her cunt; she’ll fight me at every turn, even when I’m bringing her pleasure, she still has to argue with me. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with my little firecracker. She certainly lives up to her fiery red hair.
“Our room, baby, it’s our room now. You’re mine.”
“No,” she whimpers as her clit trembles under my tongue.
“Yes.” I increase my pace, pushing her closer and closer to orgasm. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”
She rolls her lips together, refusing to give me anything.
Not fucking likely.
I get her right to the edge of her orgasm, the walls of her cunt pulsing around my tongue, and then I pull back. I let it fade, let her come down from her near high and then work her back up again.
“You don’t come until you say it. Now fucking say it, pipsqueak.”
Three times.
I edge her three times, and she still refuses to say it. She will, though, she’s close to breaking. I can see it in the flush of her skin, see it in the sweat that’s beading over her body, see it in the tears that are tracked down her cheeks, and see it in the desperation of her gaze.
I add a finger this time, thrusting deep as she clenches around me, her body desperate to find the relief it needs, that relief that only I can bring her, and I will, all she’s got to do is say it.
“Come on, baby, say it and I’ll let you come.”
“Please,” she begs as her watery stare meets my own.
“You’re mine, pipsqueak. Tell me you’re finally mine and I’ll let you come so fucking hard you’ll still be feeling it next week.”
“River,” she moans.
Her body must be close to pain right now, and I can ease it, I can give her what she needs, she knows what she’s got to do.
“I-I oh God, River I’m yours!” she screams, and I suck her clit into my mouth while thrusting two fingers deep inside her as she fucking explodes around me.
Her release floods my tongue and I lap up every drop, not wasting any of it.
I keep going, my fingers not stopping their thrusts and my tongue is still working her swollen clit so that one orgasm rolls into another.
Her head thrashes on the counter as pleasure continues to pulse through her, as I give her exactly what she needs.
I give her a couple of minutes to regain her senses and then scoop her into my arms and carry her into our bedroom, where I fuck her into the early hours of the morning.