Chapter Twenty-One
Reagan
"What's the matter?" I asked when he strode into my bedroom only to stop suddenly, staring at something over my shoulder.
"I'm supposed to fuck you with that fucking thing sneering down at me?" he asked, making a weird snorting sound escape me as I craned my head over my shoulder to follow his gaze.
"That's my first piece of grown-up art I ever bought," I told him. "It's supposed to be subjective. Everyone sees something different in it."
“Yeah, well, I see a creepy fucking demonic goat thing sneering down at me."
A laugh escaped me at that. "I think my shrink would say that is very interesting."
His gaze slid back to me, a brow quirking up. "You want to psychoanalyze me, or you want me to get these clothes off of you, and bury my face in your pussy?" he asked, making my belly flip-flop in anticipation.
"I pick the second option," I told him, having to swallow hard to get the words out, suddenly feeling like it was hard to breathe.
"Figured," he agreed, moving toward the bed, lowering me down onto my back, his body pressing me into the mattress, a weight I had needed so badly.
His lips shifted, moving up my neck, teeth snagging my earlobe, before he moved back downward.
His tongue was tracing my clavicle when he suddenly pulled against my hold, pressed upward, stared down at me.
He waited to speak until my heavy eyelids fluttered open. "What do you see?" he asked.
"What? What do I see what?"
"In the picture," he clarified. "What do you see?"
"I, ah, I see a dark wood scene. Nothing specific," I told him. "Should I be worried that you're more interested in discussing art than having sex with me?" I asked, smile curving upward until my cheeks hurt at the strange, borderline horrified look on his face as he stared at the painting again.
He pulled fully away, standing, stomping across my bedroom.
I turned my head on the mattress, watching him as he walked over to the wall, grabbed the frame, jiggling it a bit to get it off the nail it was attached to, then pulling it down.
He carried it over to my closet, opened the door, practically tossed it in, then shut the door before turning back to me.
"There. Fixed it," he told me, giving me an uncharacteristically boyish grin as he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.
"Now," he added, eyes roaming over me on the bed, gaze getting heated again, "back to your pussy," he said, grin turning more into a smirk.
A devilish one at that. "I gotta find out if it tastes like peaches like the rest of you," he told me, easing over my body once again, sealing his lips to mine.
The contact sent off a ricochet of need from my lips to every nerve ending of my body, pinging from one place to the next simultaneously, each sensation begging to be felt first, to be felt to the fullest.
My body warmed as my legs wrapped around his lower back, holding on with arms and legs as he nipped my lower lip, as his tongue slipped between.
My hands clawed at his shirt, hungry for the feel of his skin on mine.
He broke away just long enough to reach behind his neck, pulling his shirt forward and off, then tossing it to the side of the bed.
My hungry hands dug into the firm muscles on his shoulders as my hips ground upward into him, dragging a ragged moan out of me as his cock pressed up against where I needed him most.
"Nixon, please," I begged, grabbing at the waistband of his pants, shameless in my need for more. For everything.
Frustrated when he didn't move to lift up, to rip off his pants, then mine, to bury deep inside, I planted my hands on his shoulders, pushed.
Caught off guard, he rolled onto his back, grabbing me just quickly enough to take me with him, leaving me straddling him, in control.
My lips ripped from his, and I lifted my body up, looking down at him, feeling a delicious tightening in my sex as my gaze moved over his perfect skin, stretched over tight muscle.
His fingertips slipped up the sides of my thighs, settling low on my hips, his thumbs slipping dangerously close to where I needed his touch most.
My hands moved upward, grabbing the bodice of my romper, sliding it down and off my body, leaving me bare, save for my little swatch of pink panties.
His breath hissed out of him, his eyes going small as his gaze roamed over my breasts for a long moment before his hands raised, slipping up my sides, closing over my breasts, thumbs rolling over the hardened buds of my nipples.
The shock of pleasure moved outward from the touch, moving down my stomach, pooling between my thighs.
When his thumbs and forefingers grabbed and rolled, I damn near came right then and there, a loud moan escaping me as my head tipped back, as my eyes pressed closed.
Without looking, I missed his intention until I felt my panties being dragged roughly down, forcing me to tilt to one side, freeing one leg, then the other.
I barely got a chance to settle once again when Nixon's hands were snagging me behind my knees, yanking up and up and up.
My breath caught when I realized his intention, as his hands grabbed my hips, pulled downward, as his tongue traced up my cleft.
His tongue found and worked my clit. Perfect pressure, perfect speed, driving me up hard and fast, making my legs shake, my breath catch in my throat, my upper half fold forward a bit so my hands could plant on the headboard—I held on as his tongue did another swipe, sending me crashing through an orgasm that stole my breath, made the world go white, dragged a choked, unfamiliar sound from somewhere deep inside as the waves crashed through my system.
My body collapsed down on the mattress, my chest tight as I tried to draw in some breath.
Nixon had no mercy for the airless, the limbless.
He turned, snagging me at the ankles, yanking me back to the middle of the bed, sealing his lips over mine before pressing up, settling back on his heels, his hands moving downward toward his button and zip as his eyes stayed on me.
My gaze, however, roamed.
Down the strong muscles of his chest, the indents of his abdominal muscles, the deep V of his Adonis belt.
I sucked a slow, deep breath in as my gaze moved lower. A garbled, mewling noise escaped me as his pants lowered, as his hand moved to close around his straining cock.
My body folded upward, my hands moving his out of the way, closing around him, stroking him to the hilt as my head dipped, as my lips parted, as he slipped inside my mouth.
"Fuck," he hissed, his hand moving to the back of my neck.
He wouldn't let me work him long, though, his hand sifting into my hair, turning, curling, yanking until I moved back, looked up at him.
His other hand lifted, thumb brushing over my swollen lower lip as he took a breath so deep his chest shook.
There was a tight sensation in my chest at the look in his eyes. Something deep and warm. Something close to—dare I even think it—affection.
Affection from a man like Nixon.
That sure sounded a lot like a gift to me.
One I felt really honored to receive.
"Baby," he murmured, head shaking like he couldn't quite figure out what he wanted to say.
Uncertainty and its cousin tension started to thicken the air.
"Are you still thinking about goat Satan?
" I asked, making a chuckle burst out of him before he shucked off his pants, fetching a condom out of the wallet before tossing them aside, then dropped down beside me, pulling me onto my side as well, yanking my knee up over his hip, hand gliding down to squeeze my ass.
"Well... I was thinking about you,” he admitted with a snort, glancing over toward the closet. “Now…”
"Well," I said my hand sliding down his chest, reaching between us, grabbing his cock, "let's see if we can get your focus back on me," I said, gliding his cock up my cleft, sucking in my breath when the thick pressure of it pressed against my clit.
"That'll work," he told me, voice getting rough, his breathing turning shallow.
His hand grabbed my ass harder, used it to guide my body to slide against his, making his cock slick, driving me back upward with the friction.
"Nixon, please," I begged, my nails digging crescents into his shoulder, my body rocking wildly against him.
His hand left my ass, both slipping between our bodies for a moment, handling protection, before grabbing my ass again, using it to guide my body closer.
This time, when his cock slid down, it pressed, pausing there, teasing at fulfillment for a long moment, until the need was a clawing thing, until I couldn't take the torment anymore. I clamped my leg around his ass, and slid my hips down, feeling his cock press deep, filling me completely.
"Fuck," he hissed, his forehead resting on mine for a long second as he took a few deep breaths.
His restraint, meticulously controlled before, disappeared.
He hooked an arm around my lower back as he rolled, pinning me beneath him as his arms planted, pushing up to look down on me as he withdrew, then buried deep again.
Not fast, but deep, making me aware of every inch, my muscles tightening around him.
He kept that pace until I was writhing beneath him, then went harder, faster.
Just when I was sure I was going to tumble over, he jerked away, sitting back on his heels, grabbing my legs, pushing them into my chest, then cocking them to the side, pressing them tightly together as he pinned them to the bed at my side.
When he slammed back inside me, the new position—and the pressure it created—had my whimpers becoming moans, then turning into something else entirely, some ragged, airless sound as his hand slid between our bodies, pressing into my clit, working me up and through.
I soared through the orgasm, feeling suspended in air for a long moment before the pulsations started, hard and deep and overwhelming, making his name cry out of me as my hand reaching for his wrist, holding on for dear life as I kept getting pulled under.
I was just surfacing when I heard him hiss out my name as he planted deep, his body tensing as he came.