Chapter 15 #3
His free hand closes around my waist and pulls me against him. I can feel his hard cock bulging as he presses himself into me. I grip his shirt, the glass forgotten between us until Julian takes it from my hand and sets it blindly on the table.
Then both of his hands are on me as the kiss deepens, harder now, his mouth demanding as I slide my arms around his neck. My body presses into his, every nerve alive beneath the thin fabric of my dress.
Julian breaks the kiss just long enough to look at me. His breathing is uneven. So is mine.
“Tell me to stop,” he says.
I stare at him.
“I don’t want you to.”
Something changes in his expression. He kisses me again. This time there is no caution left in it. When he pulls back again, his forehead rests briefly against mine.
I feel the warm sensation of his touch travel from my chest to my throat to the dull ache pulsing between my legs. There’s no mistaking the way he’s looking at me now—like he’s ready to devour me.
He backs me up against the long oak table. My breath catches as he reaches for my waist, pulling me toward him before leaning in, pressing his mouth to mine.
The kiss is nothing like the one we had before. This one is fierce, almost possessive. A sharp inhale of need, like he’s been starving for hours and finally gets to taste again. I moan softly, my arms sliding up around his neck, pulling him closer as I melt into it.
His hands grip beneath my thighs, and in one smooth motion, he lifts me—hoisting me up onto the edge of the table.
My legs fall open around him instinctively.
My back arches, my breath sharp against his mouth.
The feel of him between my legs, the hardness grinding against my center—it’s all too much–but it’s also not enough.
His kiss deepens as his fingertips graze my skin—cool, deliberate—as he lifts my dress, sliding it higher and higher until the fabric bunches around my hips.
A rush of air kisses the bare skin between my thighs.
His touch is slow, teasing, his fingers squeezing into the flesh with such purpose that my legs part on instinct. Julian steps between them.
I let out a shallow breath, dizzy from wine and want.
Then his mouth finds mine again, fuller this time—laced in desire and the dark red blend we’ve both been sipping.
His tongue strokes mine, lazy but demanding.
He tastes like tannin and heat. I melt into it, letting the kiss consume me, my body drunk on more than alcohol.
Then he pulls back, his blue eyes filled with hunger.
Without a word, his fingers continue to drag slowly up the inside of my thigh until they reach the edge of my panties.
He presses against me, rubbing through the thin lace, and I gasp—because I’m already soaked.
He must feel it too. His eyes lock on mine as his fingers pause.
Then, with one calculated move, he slides the lace fabric to the side and runs his finger through the wetness slicking my folds.
He growls low, his voice is almost feral.
His finger teases the length of me once, twice, then he pushes inside—just one finger at first, but the stretch is maddening.
I gasp as he adds a second, the thickness of both curling, probing, reaching.
I throw my head back, my hips arching forward, my body giving itself over to the feel of him.
“Oh… god…”
He grips my panties with both hands and yanks them down, his movements rough and efficient.
The lace slides off my ankles and lands in a soft heap on the table beside me.
Then his head is between my legs. Before I can even catch my breath, I feel his face press against my pussy, his nose dragging through my arousal, his stubble scraping just enough to make my thighs twitch.
Then his tongue flicks across my clit. I nearly cry out.
His hands grip me harder, keeping my legs open and still as he sucks my clit into his mouth and rolls it with his tongue.
His fingers thrust back into me, curling, twisting, moving in rhythm as he feasts like a man starved.
I reach down, my hands flying to his hair, fisting it as my hips begin to rock forward into his face.
“Julian—fuck—”
I lay back on the table, the cool wood against my spine grounding me while the rest of me floats. I feel his tongue replace his fingers, plunging deep into me. He groans as he tongue-fucks me, his grip moving to the base of my ass, pulling me tighter against his mouth.
The sensation builds fast. His lips find my clit again and suck harder. His fingers thrust deep, curling upward, hitting that spot that makes my entire body contract. A wave crashes through me, relentless and hot.
My legs fall open wider, uncontrollable now. He slides his tongue deep again, my juices coating his lips, his chin, his mouth. The wet sounds echo in the silence of the cellar, vulgar and hypnotic.
Then I hear him unbuckle his belt. The clink of metal. The swift hiss of his zipper. I barely have time to look up before he’s standing between my legs again, his cock thick, hard, glistening in the low amber light. He grabs my hips, dragging me to the edge of the table.
Without warning, he pushes inside. I gasp—loud and sharp—as his cock fills me, the stretch immediate, the pressure exquisite. The angle is deep, the table perfectly aligned for him to drive in hard and deep.
His arms anchor around my thighs, stretching me open as he begins to thrust. Hard. Slow. Deep. The sounds of skin slapping skin mix with our breaths, ragged and hot. My hands fly around his shoulders, and my nails dig into his back. I feel the sting of my own grip. I don’t care.
“Fuck me,” I cry out, loud and reckless.
Maybe it’s the wine. Or maybe it’s this—this moment, this pace, this hunger that’s lived inside me since Boston.
His eyes darken at my words, and he slams deeper into me, his pace brutal now. His grunts grow louder. The slap of our bodies fills the room.
I can’t hold back. It hits fast—my orgasm—a wave that starts deep in my core and spreads like fire. My moan rips from my throat, long and drawn out, my back arching off the table, body pulsing around his cock.
“Julian—” I cry, clutching him harder.
He thrusts a few more times, his jaw clenched, and then I feel it—his release. Deep, pulsing, filling me completely. A raw sound tears from his throat as he holds inside me, buried deep, cock twitching as his cum coats my walls.
I lay back, legs still parted, completely undone.
His head drops, forehead brushing my shoulder.
He breathes heavy against my skin. Then, slowly, he pulls out.
His cock slides free, thick and glistening with cum.
I can feel it dripping from me. I lift my head and glance down, staring at the mess between my thighs. He stares too.
His eyes meet mine as he mutters something inaudible, his voice rough and satisfied. He winks at me. I smirk back at him, breathless. He then reaches for me, lifting me gently off the table, setting me back on my feet. My dress falls naturally into place around my hips. I don’t bother fixing it.