Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Julian
She turns on the balls of her bare feet, the nearly sheer robe she’s wearing not leaving much to my imagination.
It’s belted at the waist, but the two sides of it don’t meet until just above her navel.
Bold colors of tattooed flowers trail up the length of her back, showing through the material.
Beautiful. I run my palm across my mouth and swallow as I watch her peachy ass proceed down the small entry hall leading into her place.
There’s no mistaking the push and pull we’ve had and the way the tension between us tonight is a hair’s breadth away from fucking snapping. I knew it was a gamble coming over here, but I don’t overthink when I want something. And, fuck, do I want her.
I sat in my Bronco parked across the street and watched as she walked across the bridge to her place.
I wasn’t going to let her leave my sight, not after telling her I was there if she needed me.
I want to understand exactly what she’s wrapped up in.
I’m beyond the point of curiosity. I need to know that she’s safe and what I can do to make sure she stays that way.
That was my intent, but now? I blow out a breath as I close the door behind me, following her inside.
The low rumble of thunder sounds off in the distance as I take in the silhouette of her curves that show through the long, thin robe she’s wearing as she turns to me. She looks down at the bottle of whiskey I’m still holding and then reaches out her hand for me to pass it over to her.
She smiles. “At least you have good taste.”
“There was an incredibly insightful bartender I met once who really talked up Tennessee whiskey,” I say as I look around the loft-style space.
Oversize canvases hang along the largest span of walls.
Books fill her shelves, and more are stacked and used as side tables in the living space.
With her back to me as she pours, I walk through the studio-style room.
The kitchen carries the same bohemian vibe as the rest of the place.
Gold and brass fixtures, a mint-green fridge, and pots with herbs and tiny flowers line the counters and bar separating the kitchen.
“What would happen if you were in that bar again, with Naomi?” she asks as she turns.
Whatever it is her mother and grandmother shared, I’m sure she’s feeling a lot of things right now. And playing along, taking her lead, is something I’m more than happy to do.
Looking at me with a glass in her hand, she adds, “Before she threatened you with a taser, before you saw things you weren’t supposed to see in that office? What if we were back there right now?”
I swallow, knowing there are layers here to what’s happening.
That she doesn’t want to be who we are right now.
Maybe that’s too difficult after hearing what her family had to say before I got here.
Maybe she wants to hold on to some semblance of control.
Maybe she wants to just pretend like the incredible coincidence of finding her again would only happen there and only as who we were while we were in Hideaway.
My mouth waters, taking in the way she looks right now—messy and confident, determined and turned on.
“I would say, if that’s the game you’d like to play, then tell me the rules. ”
Her lips part just as they tip up along one side.
“Sit,” she says, passing me a rocks glass. The room is charged with tension. The way she’s taken command has my dick flexing. When she presses her pouty lower lip to her glass, my body tenses, fully aware of her every movement from her first sip to the path she makes to the record player.
There are many things that turn me on. I’ve enjoyed myself with plenty of people throughout my life, but the woman less than twenty feet from me has a hold on me in ways that I can’t begin to understand.
I feel protective and unraveled near her, aroused and pissed off, and I’m overwhelmed with longing that I’ve never experienced for someone before, so I sit.
The only sound that cuts the silence is of my pulse throbbing as she chooses a record to play.
I watch her wordlessly, pressing my lips to the glass and taking a sip, tracing the shape of her body beneath the sheer robe.
The bite and burn of the drink turns warm and familiar as I drain my glass.
Rubbing my fingers and palm of my free hand along the plush velvet of the chair, I want to take whatever part of her she’s willing to share with me.
I’m internally praising her for letting me in.
A low vibration of bass guitar starts moments after the needle hits the record and an electric guitar chord cuts in just before a low and slow rendition of “Tennessee Whiskey” plays through.
I shift back, getting more comfortable as she walks from the record player to where I’m sitting. Two chairs make up the living space with a direct line of sight to her bed. And she stands at the foot of her bed, facing me, she drains what’s left in her glass.
“I feel sexy when you look at me,” she says, pulling the longest ribbon to the bow that’s holding the front of her robe together. “Like you savor every glance, and that each time, it’s as good as you’re expecting.”
I smirk, lifting an eyebrow. “You are. I do. And it does.”
“Would you like to watch me now?” she asks in a purr, looking like a fucking goddess.
I rub my palm across my mouth. Fucking hell, I’m going to come in my pants, aren’t I? “Yeah, Crowne. I want to fucking watch.”
“So do I,” she says as her robe drifts open and billows to the floor.
I’ve been around enough stylists to know that what Wyn is wearing wouldn’t be considered by any of them as lingerie—my mouth waters—but there’s not a single man on this planet, attracted to women, who wouldn’t have tented pants seeing her in her simple bra and panties.
I shift in my seat, trying to ease the way my dick punches at the zipper of my jeans.
She looks down at my lap. “I said that I’d like to watch too.”
“Fuck,” I breathe out. Unbuckling my belt, I keep my eyes locked with hers. “What do you want me to do? You’re going to have to be specific.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. “I can do that,” she says quietly, lips parting as my fingers work to unbutton, unzip, and fold open the front of my pants.
My dick strains against the material of my navy boxer briefs, a wet spot expanding where the tip of my dick rubs lightly. “Tell me, Crowne, because I’m more than eager to know,” I start to ask, dragging my palm over my lap, “how would you put my mouth to use right now?”
She gives me the most tantalizing tilt of her mouth, just before she turns, showing off the beautiful curve of her ass. Fuck, I want to bite it.
My dick twitches again at the thought. I squeeze my hand over it as she crawls up to the headboard of her bed. The brief pressure of my grip has me grinding out a sound that comes from somewhere deep in my chest.
Keeping me on edge, she perches herself against the ornate wooden headboard.
It would only take a few steps to reach her.
I’d drag her down the length of the bed and eat every drop of arousal her pussy is making for me.
Pretty puckered nipples peek through the satin of her bra, and the illusion of light mixed with the color being so close to the tone of her skin, I can almost imagine what they look like naked.
The fullness of her tits moves in time with her labored breathing as she finally answers me.
“I’d very much like you to suck on these,” she says, drawing fingers in circles around the tips of her nips. “Paying attention to the way I react as you change from licking . . . to sucking . . . to dragging them between your teeth, just enough . . .”
I groan. “Tell me to touch myself, Doc.” I sound out of breath, barely holding my shit together from just a few words. My fingers dig into the plush leather arms of my chair, trying to keep myself in check.
A slow smile pulls at her lips as she reaches behind her back and unclasps the bra so that her tits spill out with a bounce.
Fucking hell.
“Touch yourself, Julian,” she demands smoothly. “I want to see.”
The head of my dick rubs at the waistband as I push the material down. I wrap my palm around the shaft and give my balls a good tug before I rock my wrist and pulse my grip. “Fuuuck,” leaves me on an exhale as I tip my head back.
When I bring my gaze back to her, she licks at her bottom lip before biting into it. “I didn’t think I could get so turned on by watching you work yourself like that.”
Another groan leaves my throat before I make my demand. “Show me.”
Her cheeks flush, and I notice the music looping in the background. The same song, like time doesn’t matter, only the reality that she hasn’t even touched me, and this might be one of the most intimate, sexy moments of my entire life.
She opens her knees, feet pressed to the mattress below her as she drags the material of her panties to the side, gifting me with a beautiful sight. Pink and puffy, warmed up, and if I had permission, I know my tongue would swipe along that perfect slit and she’d taste so fucking good.
One finger finds her clit immediately, then two. She drags them between her pussy lips, dipping ever-so-sweetly into her cunt so she can glide her wetness around where she wants.
My fingers pulse tighter, and I shift, slouching lower in the chair. My wrist drags up slowly, mimicking her moves and squeezing the tip where pre-cum beads and leaks along my knuckles.
“That’s it, spread your juice around for me. Get everything nice and wet.” I exhale and relax deeper into the chair. “I want to see what makes you feel good.”
“Oh god.” A shaky breath leaves her, cheeks tinging a deeper pink as she drags her fingers up and down, from clit to slit and repeats it until her middle finger is coated and dipping inside her, all the way to her knuckle and back out again.
I exhale loudly, not realizing I’ve been holding my breath as I watch, transfixed.
“Don’t forget to breathe,” she says teasingly.
“Can’t help it,” I rasp as I work my grip up and down at a measured pace.
“Not sure I’ve caught my breath since the fucking moment I saw you.
” Her eyes meet mine as my arousal drips across my fisted fingers.
“I’ve thought about this—you touching yourself like this—on your knees for me, me on mine for you . . .” I admit in a low, quiet voice.
She shifts her body up, fingers working her clit while the other hand moves up to her tits, playing with her nipples. “On my knees? Doing what?”
My wrist moves faster as her breathing picks up, a smile dancing on my lips.
“Swallowing my cock, riding my face, fucking in my lap, slipping it into your ass—Fuck.” I already feel like I could blow as I watch her two fingers stretch her cunt, working their way in and out.
The sound of it, wet and sloppy, makes my dick even harder.
Her legs butterfly out, dropping to the mattress as she says, “I’ve already enjoyed your fingers. Your cock, however . . .” She moans, looking at my dick as if she’s never wanted anything more. “I know it’ll fit so tight.”
The thought of it has my skin slicked, my tongue numbing as I watch and listen to her work herself. I try slowing, loosening my grip—fuuuuck.
“Don’t stop,” she rushes out. “Don’t you fucking stop.
” Arching her back, her chest expands and collapses with each breath as her fingers dip and glide.
Sweat slicks between her breasts and the deviant sounds of our arousals mixed with the escaping moans pushes me further.
I squeeze my cock tighter. The tendons in my forearms flex as I swipe my thumb along the slit, slicking from rim to crown, and back down, easing the friction of my palm.
I stretch my legs wide and fight every instinct I have not to get up and go to her.
Her thighs quiver, and my breathing stutters. “Julian,” she says in a breathy plea. “I want to see you come.”
That’s all it takes. Seeing her ready and telling me what she wants is enough to let my orgasm take over.
My body jerks as my hand grips and chokes my dick.
Fuck. Everything quiets, the faint sound of her moaning is the only thing keeping my eyes open as the first pulse of cum hits my chest. I hold on tight for the next pulse as another wave pulls me up, and I come on myself again.
With my knuckles soaked, I loosen my grip and slow my strokes.
Only a moment later, and she sucks in a deep breath, mouth open, chin tilted up.
Her chest bows as every muscle flexes, from her neck to her fingers.
She barely makes a sound as her lips part and eyes close.
The moment her orgasm lets her go, she’s gasping for air.
Her panties are stretched out, but still on, and a dazed smile works its way across her lips.
A breathy laugh leaves her as she meets my gaze and blinks slowly.
“You were very good at listening to my rules.” Her eyes close briefly when she adds, “But I still think you’re right.”
“About what?” I ask as she stretches and settles her body.
She hums, “We’re nowhere near being done here.”