Chapter 28 Fish
FISH
We eat pizza in her bed because neither of us can be bothered to move to the kitchen.
She’s in my shirt, which hangs to mid-thigh and does things to my brain that should require a warning label.
Then the image of her in my jersey and nothing else on except a pair of heels pops into my mind and wakes my dick up.
Her hair is a mess, the bandage above her eyebrow is slightly crooked, and she’s eating pepperoni pizza cross-legged on her sheets like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I’m in my underwear because she told me to put something on or she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on eating. Also, no one needs to look at dick while eating pizza.
“This is the best pizza I’ve ever had,” she says with her mouth full.
“It’s just from downstairs.”
“I don’t care where it’s from. Everything tastes better after orgasms.”
“That’s scientifically accurate. Endorphins heighten your taste receptors,” I tell her.
She stares at me. “Did you just make that up?”
“One hundred percent. But it sounded good,” I tease.
She throws a piece of crust at me. I catch it and eat it because I’m not wasteful. We finish the pizza, and she leans back against the headboard, licking sauce off her thumb, and the sight of her tongue on her skin makes my cock twitch. Down, boy. She just ate. Give her ten minutes to digest.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she says.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m the next course.”
“You might be.”
“I just ate.” She groans, rubbing her belly.
“Take your time.” I lean over and press a kiss to her bare shoulder, then her collarbone, then the side of her neck. She tilts her head to give me better access, which tells me digestion is going well.
“You said something earlier,” I murmur against her skin. “In the kitchen, before we ended up here.”
“I said a lot of things, most of them were insults.”
“Not those, the thing about the toys.” I pull back and look at her. “You said you’ve been using every toy, imagining it was me.”
Her cheeks flush, in the low light of the bedroom, with my shirt hanging off her shoulder, she looks caught. “The painkillers made me say that.”
“You hadn’t taken the painkillers yet,” I remind her.
“Then it was the head injury,” she states.
“Lettie.”
“Fine.” She covers her face in embarrassment. “The toys you sent me, when I use them, I think of you, because you gave them to me.” She cringes over her confession.
“Is that so?” Now I am intrigued. When I bought the toys for her, I kind of hoped that would be the case.
“Can we not make a thing of this?” she pleads.
“We’re absolutely making a thing of this.” I grin. “Where are they?”
“Where’s what?”
“The vibrators.”
Her eyes snap to mine. “Why?”
“Because I want to see them.” I slide my hand up her thigh, pushing my shirt higher on her leg. “And then I want to use them on you.”
Her breath hitches. “You want to use my vibrator on me?”
“I want to do everything you’ve been imagining. Except better. Because I’m here now and I’m not a battery-operated substitute.”
“That’s very cocky of you,” she says, pointing her finger into my chest.
“Accurate, not cocky.” I kiss her shoulder. “Where is it?”
She hesitates for a second, then reaches over to her nightstand drawer and pulls out a small rose-gold vibrator. She holds it up between us like evidence at a trial.
“That’s cute,” I say, taking it from her.
“Don’t mock my vibrator.”
“I’m not mocking. I’m genuinely impressed. Where are the others?” I ask.
“In the drawer …” She bites her lip.
“Fine, we will play with them later,” I warn her. “This is quality.” I turn it on, and it buzzes in my hand. I test the settings, cycling through the speeds. “How many settings does this thing have?”
“Seven.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Four.”
“What does four do?” I ask.
“It pulses.”
“Interesting.” I click to four, and the vibration changes to a slow, rhythmic pulse. I look at her. “Lie back.”
She swallows and lies back against the pillows. Her hair fans out, my shirt rides up exposing the curve of her hip, no underwear, and my mouth goes dry. I settle between her thighs, propped on one elbow. “Tell me what you do when you think about me.”
“Fish …”
“Justin. And I’m serious. I want to know exactly what you picture. Walk me through it.”
“This is embarrassing,” she says, covering her face.
“It’s not embarrassing. It’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever told me, and I want details.” I run the vibrator lightly along her inner thigh. Not touching her where she wants it. Just close enough to make her squirm. “Start from the beginning.”
She closes her eyes. “I usually start by thinking about your hands.”
“My hands?” I trail the vibrator higher, still not there, she shifts her hips.
“You have good hands. Big. The way you grip your stick on the ice. I think about them on me.”
Not sure if I’m going to look at my stick again without getting a boner. “Where on you?”
“Everywhere, my waist, thighs, my …” She gasps as I press the vibrator against her inner thigh, right at the crease, so close. “You’re doing this on purpose.” She moans.
“Obviously, keep going.”
“Then I think about your mouth. The things you say. The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”
“I’m always watching.” I brush the vibrator over her clit, just barely, the lightest contact, her hips jerk off the bed.
“Fuck.”
“Not yet. Keep talking.” I pull it away again.
“Justin, please.”
I love hearing her beg, it’s my new favorite thing. “Please, what? Tell me what you do next.”
She’s panting now, her eyes still closed, her good hand gripping the sheet. “I turn the vibrator on to setting four, and I press it against my clit, and I think about you going down on me.”
“Like this?” I press the vibrator against her clit on setting four, the pulsing rhythm. Her back arches and she moans, loud and desperate.
“Yes. Fuck, yes. Just like that.” Then I lean forward and give her one long lick right up her slit. “Fuck.” She squeals.
“What else do you think about?” I keep the vibrator steady, watching her face, watching every micro-expression, every catch of breath.
“I think about you inside me. How you’d feel. How big you’d be.” Her voice is shaking. “I think about you telling me I’m yours.”
“You are mine.” I increase the pressure slightly, and she whimpers. “What else?”
“I think about you making me come. I think about the noises you’d make. I think about …” She’s close. I can see it in the tension of her body, the way her thighs are trembling. I pull the vibrator away, I’m not ready for her to come yet.
“What the fuck?” Her eyes fly open.
“Not yet,” I tease.
“Justin Crawford, I swear to God …”
“I want you to feel what I felt. Months of wanting something and not being able to have it.” I lean down and kiss her hip bone. “Patience.”
“I will murder you in your sleep.”
“You won’t. You like me too much.” I press the vibrator back against her, and she gasps, her hips rolling into it immediately. I let her ride it for a minute, watching her climb toward the edge, and then I pull it away again.
“I hate you.” She groans, throwing her good arm over her face.
“No, you don’t.” I set the vibrator down and replace it with my mouth.
My tongue drags flat across her clit, and she practically levitates off the bed.
I grip her thighs and hold her still as I work her with my tongue, slow and deliberate, tasting her, savoring her.
She’s soaked and swollen and sensitive from the vibrator, and every lick makes her shake.
“Please let me come,” she begs. “Please, Justin, I can’t take any more.”
I reach for the vibrator without lifting my mouth, slide two fingers inside her, and press the vibrator against her clit while my tongue works alongside it. The combination of my fingers, my mouth, and the pulsing vibration is too much, her whole body locks up.
“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my … Justin!”
She comes so hard, her thighs clamp around my head, and I can’t breathe, but I don’t care because the sounds she’s making are worth suffocating for.
I work her through it until she’s shaking, pushing my head away, gasping for air, and my face is drenched by her.
I crawl up her body, grinning. She looks destroyed, eyes glazed, chest heaving, hair everywhere.
“You’re evil,” she pants.
“I’m thorough.”
“You edged me.”
“I built anticipation,” I tell her.
“You edged me with my own vibrator.” She groans.
“And my mouth. Don’t forget my mouth.”
“I could never forget your mouth.” She grabs my face and pulls me down into a kiss that tastes like her, and I groan because I’m so hard it’s painful. She reaches between us and wraps her good hand around my cock. I hiss through my teeth. “Lettie.”
“My turn.” She strokes me, slowly, her thumb sliding over the tip, spreading the wetness there. “Tell me what you thought about when you were alone.”
“You. Always you.”
“Be specific.” She squeezes gently, and my hips thrust into her hand.
“I thought about your mouth.”
“Yeah?” She strokes faster.
“I thought about these thighs.” I grip her thigh. “Wrapped around my face.”
“What else?”
“I thought about you on top of me, riding me. The sounds you’d make, the way your tits would bounce.” I’m losing the ability to form sentences. “I thought about you coming on my cock and screaming my name.”
“Like this?” She guides me toward her. “Justin.”
“Condom,” I manage because I still have one functioning brain cell.
“Nightstand. Second drawer.”
I reach over and grab one, rolling it on with unsteady hands.
She pushes me onto my back and climbs over me, straddling my hips, my shirt still hanging off her shoulders.
The sight of her above me in my shirt, about to sink down onto my cock is something I want tattooed on the inside of my eyelids.
She reaches between us and positions me at her entrance.
Then she sinks down, slowly, inch by inch.
Taking all of me until she’s fully seated and we’re both breathing hard.