Chapter 25
TOMáS
I never thought that drool staining the pillow or snoring could be endearing.
Then again, I never have been given the opportunity for mornings like this.
Any hook up I’ve had felt transactional.
A quick get each other off, and an even quicker goodbye.
Something that, with the way I’ve allowed work to rule my life, I had come to terms with.
Accepting the prospect of being a perpetual bachelor.
Technically, I still am. This isn’t real, even if with each passing day it deceivingly feels like it is.
But even in my pre-Sarina bachelor days, I’ve never done what we’re doing now. Lying in comfortable silence with the mood relaxed and guards down.
I lose track of how long I’ve been staring at her. It’s only when she begins to stir that I snap out of it, forcing myself to look away before she opens her eyes to see me gawking at her like a creep.
Fighting the strong urge I have to drift my gaze back to her, I peer straight ahead. Or at least I try to. Kind of difficult when the blanket draped over us is tented on my side.
I debate lowering my hand under the covers to discreetly alleviate the pent-up need intensifying by the second, but the opportunity is disrupted by Sarina’s leg lifting and curling around me. My body becoming a replacement for the pillow she slept with sandwiched between her thighs.
This newfound proximity makes the blood flowing to my groin borderline painful, and it only heightens when her hips begin to subtly rock back and forth, creating friction against my shaft.
I lean into it. Not fighting it. Unable to will myself against it even if I tried.
In subtle motions I meld into her body. Thrusting my hips up, closing the space between her thigh and my dick.
This feels so good, but it also feels wrong.
I should stop.
She’s asleep.
She isn’t aware of what she’s doing —or what I’m doing in turn.
My body freezes for a beat as I comb through the mental Rolodex I have of all our conversations, settling on the one we had when we first met, when she mentioned something about somnophilia.
Not knowing what it was, I looked it up, and now I’m wondering if what is happening now is some form of that.
As curious as I am to try it, I feel like that requires some sort of conversation first. One that we haven’t had, so even if her subconscious is giving me the green light, I need to refrain until I get the verbal okay from her.
I begin —painful as it is— to scoot away from her, when her leg lifts once more, this time locking around my waist.
Her eyes open, scaring me half to death as she speaks. “Really?”
I can’t help but gasp. “Jesus Christ. I thought you were sleeping.”
“Surprise!” she singsongs. “You’re over here hard as can be, and I’m practically dry humping you, and you’re trying to escape me?”
“Sorry. It’s just that I thought you were sleeping.”
“So?”
“I didn’t have your permission.”
Her lip droops into a pout. “You’re fucking adorable, you know that?”
“I don’t want to be adorable,” I protest with a grin.
“Too late.”
“So, respecting your boundaries and wanting your consent before we try new things in the bedroom is adorable instead of…”
Her finger presses over my lips, silencing me.
“Let me rephrase that, you have adorable tendencies. Respectful ones.” She has no idea the hope that is giving me.
I want her to get used to me. In the same way that I want her to realize that she deserves to be treated with respect, and nothing less.
“Ones that I’m not used to, but you and this body and this pretty face of yours are not adorable. ”
I tilt my chin up, hoping for a kiss, and she reads my body language, pressing her lips against mine.
“What am I then if I’m not adorable?”
“Fuckable,” she says between kisses. “Fine.” Kiss. “As.” Kiss. “Fuck.”
The next kiss is deeper, longer, more passionate. Our mouths devour each other. Our tongues lost in a war we’re both helpless to win or fight.
If it wasn’t for her pulling back, clearly with more to say, I wouldn’t stop for air. With her on my lips, who needs it?
“For the duration of our agreement, you have my consent. My pussy is yours. Fuck it, lick it, have your goddamn way with it. You don’t have to ask. You don’t always have to be such a good boy.”
My heart stalls for a second, rendering me speechless.
And Sarina being Sarina picks up on it immediately.
“Ooh,” she coos. “Did you like that?” Her hand is busy under the covers, caressing my skin with teasing strokes until she lands on my dick. The smoothness of her palm, mixed with the tight squeeze she gives, causes my pulse to quicken into a flutter.
“Mhm,” I pant as her hand glides up and down my shaft at the perfect tempo.
Picking up the pace, her wrist twists slightly and her thumb drops to occupy the vein protruding through, rubbing it.
“Do you like being my good boy?”
Air fills my throat, turning my voice gruff.
I don’t understand what’s happening to me.
I’ve never had someone call me a good boy, let alone did I think I’d like it. But here I am loving it. Wanting her to say it on repeat while she works her magic on me.
“Yes,” I whimper. “Yesssss.”
She hums in approval as she lifts the blanket, tossing it onto the floor and giving me the perfect view of her naked body settling on her knees between my legs.
Teasing me, she presses a kiss at the base of my shaft. As if her plump lips aren’t enough to send me into a frenzy, it’s the eye contact she keeps while her tongue dances on my shaft that feels like it’s going to do me in.
Mesmerized, I keep my gaze glued to hers as she alternates between soft kisses and flicks of her tongue as she makes her way to my tip to lick up the pre-cum dripping from it.
She releases a moan as she swallows, and the vibration it causes while she hovers over my piercing, her tongue playing with it, has me doing another thing I haven’t done in the bedroom. Beg.
First, it’s done in silence while I find space on my dick for my hand, just enough that I can push it toward her. No surprise there. The stubborn tease blows a small gust of air on my tip before she pulls back. The space creates an ache within me that feels unbearable.
My intense need for her to put me in her mouth has now graduated from my subtle attempt to verbally letting my desires be known.
“Please, I don’t know how much more I can take of this.”
A soft giggle erupts from her, and with the proximity her mouth has to my length, it sends a twist of heat to my core.
“I don’t know how you’re going to handle it once I bring this big, veiny dick of yours to the back of my throat and let you fuck my mouth.”
“Fuck,” I whimper.
She hums in approval. “You sound so desperate.”
I swallow thickly. She’s not wrong. I am desperate. Very. Fucking. Desperate.
With lips drawing closer, her breath ghosts over my pierced tip, teasing me. “You want me to make you come?”
“Yes. Please.”
The way her hips arch and her ass pokes up in the air as she finally takes me into her mouth ignites something in me. I sit up just enough that when I take one hand to her hip, I’m able to slide her off to the side without breaking the seal her mouth has on me.
As she gives me head, I keep my thumb on her clit, circling it as I glide two fingers into her.
I’m so close to coming, I can feel it, but I refrain, waiting until I feel her clench around my fingers before I allow myself to come.
She moans and whines her way through her orgasm, while she rides the euphoric wave of her release, with her mouth occupied by my dick.
It’s only when her trembling has subsided and her lids pop open that I spill my release into her mouth.
Greedily she takes every ounce of me down her throat. Watching her do so, humming in pleasure as she leaves none to waste, has me coming undone.
When she releases me from her mouth and goes to sit up, I can’t seem to retract my fingers from her. If anything, I slip a third inside her and softly pump it in, loving how sexy she sounds when she moans for me.
“What are you doing? I came already.”
“I want more of you. Lie down.”
Without a fuss, she listens, and I continue pumping my hand, soft and slow, in and out of her pussy until she comes again.
A bashful smile spreads on her face. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I kiss her abdomen before resting my head on it. I’m not sure what comes over me but as I slip my fingers out from between the apex of her thighs I move so I’m hovering over her, close enough to kiss, taking my hand, wet from her orgasms, and ghost them overtop her skin.
“Pick a shape,” I whisper. The words slip my lips before I have a moment to process them. And much to my surprise she responds without question.
“Square.”
My heart feels like a drum in my chest as I paint a square onto her abdomen using her arousal lingering on my fingers.
It’s not until I’m done that it dawns on me why I asked.
After my father passed, my mother wore her engagement ring and wedding band for years, until one day she gave me her engagement ring, so if I chose to marry, I’d have it to propose with.
It’s a simple ring, beautiful in its simplicity and nostalgia.
And the shape of her engagement ring was the shape Sarina answered. A square.
“Why?” I ask, needing to know there’s more behind this seemingly coincidental reply.
“Symbolism. Squares are supposed to represent stability and reliability.”
“Sounds kind of boring,” I joke, although those are two things that if she let me, I would gladly be more than capable of adding to her life.
Her lashes flutter and just like at Luxe, when I could’ve sworn that I saw sadness in her eyes, it rises to the surface once more.
“There’s nothing boring about stability.
Not in life or matters of the heart. I also chose it because it was the shape of my grandmother’s wedding ring.
It was nothing flashy. Even when my grandfather made more money and begged her to upgrade it, she refused. It was her prized possession.”
I add in silence to the short tally of things we have in common.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say with sincerity.
“She was like a mom to me. It still doesn’t feel real that she’s not here anymore. Now all I have left of her are memories.”
“Cherish them. Better to have memories than nothing at all,” I tell her, needing the reminder myself.
Maybe that’ll help make this hurt less when it’s over.
The memories.
The ability to say that I had someone that made me feel again.
I can accept that.
I think.
“I agree,” she says, suddenly sounding timid. “I’m going to say something, and I hope it doesn’t sound weird, but I like these moments with you. You’ve already made coming home feel less like…hell.”
My heart is touched more than she realizes. I can tell that being vulnerable isn’t something that comes naturally to her. I’m honored.
“I’m not sure what I did, exactly, but I’m glad whatever it was worked.”
“You allow me to feel like I can breathe. I feel like I can be myself when I’m around you, so thank you.”
“No, thank you.”
“It’s meet the rest of the family day, I don’t know if you’ll be thanking me after that.”
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” I’m with you.