Chapter Eighteen
Riding in the passenger seat to my apartment, I’m all warm and tingly. And I can feel the dampness between my legs. Is this really happening?
Do I want it to? Oh, my God, did I shave this morning?
Second thoughts race through my mind. I’m crossing a line. Could we hurt Maisy?
Then Beth’s words come back to me. How bad could a few romps with him really be?
I study him as he drives the short distance to my place. He is undoubtedly the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. But how much of that is based on him being a doting father?
I quickly make a list in my head of reasons why I shouldn’t do what I think we’re about to do.
Before I can get to 4, he reaches over and traps my hand against my thigh, his thumb rubbing circles against the side seam of my jeans. Just like when he trapped me against the refrigerator, I lose all sense of reason and decide there is no number 4, and that 1, 2, and 3 don’t matter since this may well be a one-time thing. Even if it’s a two-or-three-time thing, they don’t matter.
Because all I can think about right now is Blake’s hand on me. And if this one hand can cause such a visceral reaction, imagine what it will do when there aren’t any clothes between us. When his hand is on my bare skin. My stomach. My thighs. My breasts. My—
The car stops, Blake turns with a wry smile and quickly exits the car, racing around to open the door for me before I can even gather up my things. He reaches in and grabs my messenger bag then extends his hand out to me. He’s acting like this is a date when we both know this is nothing more than a hookup.
Then again, if this is how he treats all his past flings, I get why there have been so many of them. The man is beyond charming.
At the entrance to the building, I fumble with the code, having to enter it three times. I don’t look to see if he noticed. He follows me up the stairs and into my apartment. The last time he was here, I still had unpacking to do. This time my place is tastefully put together and, thankfully, clean.
He glances around. “Nice,” he signs. “How’s the TV?”
“Good.” I widen my eyes. “Big.”
“It’s bigger than mine.”
“That’s what he said,” I quickly sign.
He narrows his eyes. He didn’t pick it up. And I don’t bother to explain. Instead, I tell him, “Good for closed captioning.” I slowly fingerspell the last part so he understands.
His eyes concentrate on my hands. I’m not sure why that makes me feel all warm and gooey inside. Everyone concentrates on my hands when I sign. Maybe it’s because I’m aware that his eyes will soon be focusing on much more than just my hands.
In an instant, I’m having more second thoughts.
He grabs my hand. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. It’s nice just being alone with you.”
See—charming. It’s that charm that has me wanting to jump into his arms and throw caution to the wind. Is he a jumping-into-arms kind of guy? We’ve spent a lot of time together, but I feel like I barely know him. One of the obstacles to being deaf is I’m not privy to all the information the hearing get. The overheard phone calls. The gossip in the coffee line. The side conversations. The under-the-breath comments. The only information we get is what others want to tell us. Nothing more. So there’s always that question of—are we getting the whole story?
“Do you want a drink?” I ask.
He slowly shakes his head, his sultry stare burning into me.
“Have you eaten? I could make—”
He gives my hand a squeeze. “I don’t want food or drink, Ellie. I just want you.” He signs the last part.
My heart does three full revolutions inside my chest. No man has ever said that to me. It’s sexy. And he doesn’t know it, but I’m fairly sure I just became putty in his hands.
That caution?… I decide to throw it to the wind.
When I jump into his arms, he almost falls down and has to step back to steady us. He looks up at me, laughing. Oh, how I love the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. And his teeth… What I want them to do to me has heat flushing my entire upper body.
This time, I’m the one initiating the kiss as my lips crash down onto his. With us holding on to each other, there’s nowhere for hands to roam. There’s no need, however, because our heated kiss says it all. That there’s more to come. That this is just the tip of the iceberg. That what we’re about to do to each other is everything we’ve both thought about for weeks.
Out of breath, I lean away. But with my hands gripping him tightly, I can’t talk. I nod to the door on the right and mouth “bedroom.”
I think he says, “Hell yeah.” But I can’t be sure. And since he’s carrying me in that direction, it doesn’t really matter.
My bedroom is dark. He puts me on the bed, hovers over me, then retreats. He turns the light on. It’s a small gesture, but one that somehow etches him further into my soul.
“Do you want to keep the light on?” he asks.
I get out my phone.
Me: Turn that one off but keep the door open. That way there will be enough light for me to see your face, but not enough so that you’ll see all my imperfections.
He reads the text then signs, “Show me imperfection,” fingerspelling the last word.
I do the sign for imperfect, loving the fact that he’s always eager to learn. There are a few parts to it as it really means inadequate, defective, or not perfect. I do it a few more times.
He repeats it. Then he says and signs, “Nothing about you is imperfect.”
That’s it. Stick a fork in me. My throat becomes thick with emotion. This man. This hearing man just called me perfect. I should get up now. I should run far away. Because I know, deep down, I’m falling for him. And falling for a guy like him can only lead to heartbreak. But damn it, the way he’s looking at me right now has me cemented to the bed, my body unwilling to accept the facts that my mind has concluded.
So I do the opposite of run. I pull my shirt over my head, leaving him staring at my chest that’s only covered by my nothing-special, didn’t-know-this-would-happen bra.
“From now on, only my hands will take off your clothes,” he says as clear as day, striding toward me.
He climbs onto the bed as my breath hitches at my racing thoughts. Thoughts of him removing my clothes. Of seeing Blake Montana naked. Of him touching me… everywhere.
“Same,” I sign, making his smile appear once again.
“Whatever you want, Ellie.” He does my name sign. Then he stills. “Is it okay if I do your name sign, or can only deaf people do it?”
I nod. “It’s okay.”
“Good. But don’t be offended if—”
I don’t catch the rest of his sentence in the dim light. I narrow my eyes. He retrieves his phone.
Blake: I said good, but please don’t be offended if you see me screaming your name instead of signing it in a few minutes. I’m not sure I’ll be able to help myself.
He watches me as I read it. Then when I blush, he does my name sign and laughs.
“You are beautiful,” he signs. “Beautiful Ellie.”
I reach out, fist the front of his shirt, and pull him down to me. But this time, his lips don’t crash into mine. They lightly brush them. Teasing. Taunting. He kisses one edge of my mouth, then the other. Then he kisses my neck, his tongue darting out to lick my skin. He works his mouth up to my ear where I feel his hot breath flow over my earlobe. I can’t help it when my hips arch and press into him. I want him to touch me. I need him to do it.
I take one of his hands and press it to my chest, pushing down one of the cups of my bra to give him better access. He stares at my bare breast as his erection grows between us. I’m pretty sure he says, “Jesus,” right before his mouth devours it.
My eyes close as I bask in the feeling of his mouth on me. His tongue toys with my nipple. His lips pucker as he sucks it into his mouth. His teeth ever so lightly graze it.
Vibrations dance in my throat. At the same time, Blake’s head pops up, eyes wide. He’s pleased that I moaned. Before he resumes what he was doing, he unclasps my bra and discards it completely. Then he looks down at his shirt and back at me.
I crack a smile and untuck his Montana Winery shirt. He ducks low as I pull it up and over his head. I almost mimic his word of praise when I see his chest. It’s no wonder he has a gym in his house. The man is ripped. I trace a finger along the lower side of his pecs, then down along his ab muscles that ripple as I touch them. His eyes close briefly. Does he like the feel of my hands on him as much as I like his on me?
When his eyes open, there’s a fire behind them I’ve never seen. A passion I’ve never witnessed. I swallow the fleeting thought that this could turn into more. I push it to the back of my mind and lock it inside a box along with other things I can never have: closure with my birth father, and getting my virginity back from the asshole I gave it to.
I tense under him and he stills. “You okay?”
Instead of answering, I go for the button of his pants. He seems to like this reaction better anyway. What man wouldn’t? He rolls to the side as I push his jeans down to his ankles. Then he toes off his shoes and wriggles them off completely.
He takes off my pants next. But not as quickly as I did his. No, it seems Blake Montana likes to see his women squirm. He slides them down slowly with his hands, his lips following the same route, stopping to kiss my bare thighs, the inside of a knee, my ankle. He discards my shoes and pants on top of his. Then he stares at my underwear. My plain, black, bikini undies that are surely drenched through.
Locking eyes with me, he touches the singular article of clothing, asking permission before taking it off. I nod. Of course I nod. Hell, at this point, I’d beg him to do it if he weren’t already asking.
My panties come off far quicker than my jeans. I’m fully naked beneath his gaze. He stares. He stares everywhere. I’m fairly light-skinned, though I’m sure my entire body has turned a shade of red under his perusal. After what seems like forever, but has probably only been seconds, he looks up. “Show me perfect,” he signs, fingerspelling the last word.
I show him. He devours my body with his eyes once again then signs, “Perfect.”
Thump.My heart stops then restarts.
In an instant, I’m all too aware that I’m the only one naked. Not even asking for permission, I reach for his boxer briefs. In my haste to remove them, they get caught on his erection. I cringe hoping I didn’t hurt him. But based on the way he’s looking at me, I’d guess either I didn’t, or he couldn’t care less that I did.
Both fully naked now, I expect him to just hop on and get it over with. After all, that’s what always happened in high school when the clothes came off. Heck, the clothes didn’t all necessarily even come off back then, just enough to allow Tab A to go into Slot B.
He surprises me by not going right for it. Instead, he leans down and feasts hungrily on my breasts. He slips a hand between us and explores the apex of my thighs. He finds my opening, and I feel vibrations coming from his chest when he runs a hand through my wetness. Then he touches my clit, and… holy god… I almost come apart beneath him here and now.
It’s not as if a guy has never touched me there. Most of them did, but only in passing on their way to Slot B. It’s as if they didn’t know the clitoris was the way to a woman’s orgasm. Or maybe they just didn’t care.
Blake, however, is taking his sweet time getting his fill of it. His thumb runs circles around it. His fingers draw up my arousal, making my clit slick and easier to manipulate. With his every ministration, I feel myself building higher and higher.
I’m reeling over how different this is from my other sexual experiences. What’s happening now is like what I’ve seen in movies. Read about in books. It’s everything I’d hoped sex was about, but doubted it existed. I suppose I was silly to think all of that was over-exaggeration. That all men were selfish and only after their own gratification.
In an attempt for me not to appear selfish, I reach for him. I’m no stranger to hand jobs. I gave a lot of them in my teenage years. Even prided myself on how good I was at it. Then again, I was handling sixteen-and-seventeen-year-old dicks. A light breeze could have gotten them off.
Deeper vibrations come from within him, making me smile. Perhaps I can give as well as I can get.
Stroking him is different than the others. He’s a man. A strong, confident, competent man. Not a kid just looking to get his rocks off. Then again, who’s to say Blake isn’t just a strong, confident, competent man looking to get his rocks off?
At this point, though, I’m way too far along to care.
He stops what he’s doing to me and pulls my hand away.
Okay then, maybe I don’t know how to do this properly.
He says something I don’t quite pick up.
He reaches for his phone that he left beside the pillow, wipes his other hand off on the sheets, and sends a text.
Blake: El, if you keep touching me, I’m going to come, and this will all be over in a matter of seconds. If this is heading where I think it is, the only place I want to come is buried deep inside of you.
While I read his text, he gets a condom from his wallet and puts it on the bed next to him.
His penis is erect and engorged. And… sigh… completely incredible.
I toss my phone aside and crack a smile. I expect him to go for the condom, but he leaves it untouched, instead, kissing his way down my body. His lips move from my neck to my breasts and down across my stomach. I shiver in anticipation of him doing to me what no man has ever done. He’s entering uncharted territory here. Beth has told me about it. She says it’s amazing and the only way she can orgasm with a man.
Thoughts race through my mind. What will he get out of it? How will I taste? Did I wash myself well enough? What if I don’t come?
But all thoughts cease when his tongue darts around my clit.
Oh. My. God.
If I thought his fingers on me were divine, this is—
Wow, I have a PhD, yet I can’t even think of any words to describe this.
As his tongue works on my clit, his fingers slip inside me. In and out. In and out. He crooks them and I feel myself croon, hum, sing, or… something. These are new vibrations coming from within. Something I’ve never felt before. Whatever sounds I make simply drive him to work harder.
Soon, my insides coil tightly. I’m no stranger to the feeling. I do have a drawer full of personal devices, after all. But never in my life have I been brought to these heights by a man. I’m on the precipice of explosion and one more push of his fingers has me detonating beneath him.
I buck and squeeze and groan and writhe and swirl and fall and fly. It’s as if heaven and hell erupted. Good and evil collided. And he just keeps touching and rubbing and pressing until every last quiver is done.
I’m languid. Completely spent.
Before I can recover and remember my name, he’s putting the condom on. He hovers over me, asking permission. As if he needs to. After what he just did to me, I’d give him anything. The thought both excites and terrifies me.
I swallow and nod. Then I observe his face as he pushes into me. His eyes close, his expression one of pure delight and complete pleasure as if the most decadent dessert has been placed on his tongue and he’s savoring every morsel.
He moves slowly inside me until he’s fully in. Then he opens his eyes, locking gazes with me while we make love. If that’s what we’re doing. I’m not sure what to call it when two… friends?... sleep together. It seems too crude a term to call it fucking. It doesn’t feel that way either. It feels like we’re connecting.
I’m taken back to the first day I saw him. When we stood and stared. When I had an out-of-body experience over a man I’d never even talked to.
The way he’s looking at me. Does he feel it too? Or do all men have this look when having sex? I never bothered to look at any of the others.
He bites down on his lip. Hard. Is he coming? No, he’s still moving. His thrusts come more quickly now. I reach behind him and run my hands down his back then settle them on the globes of his ass, encouraging him to go harder, faster. He thrusts and holds it there, his eyes scrunching shut as things come off his lips that I can’t even pretend to understand.
He slumps down on top of me, sweat squishing between us. His breathing is hard and his heartbeat fast. He stays this way for quite some time, the only movement being his thumb brushing the side of my head over and over. Finally, he rolls to the side. It looks like he has trouble rising onto an elbow. But he does it anyway, making sure I have a clear view of his mouth when he says, “Wow.”