Chapter Fifteen #2
Of course, I’m nowhere near stupid enough to ask for anything more serious- not after she turned me down the last time- but I’m also just dumb enough to attempt something mildly more pathetic.
“Ready to tell me what the fuck that was all about?”
That being the sex marathon she just put me through the last few hours. We went from the couch to the hall, to my bedroom, then the shower, then back to the bedroom. Only after I was pretty fucking sure one more orgasm would actually kill me did she finally call a ceasefire.
She demanded I make her breakfast, so I threw together some protein pancakes from a box I miraculously still had in the cabinet and some eggs and mildly questionable sausage.
We ate in silence, it was awkward. Now I’m sitting here, nursing my second cup of coffee and she’s standing there, looking like that and…
She looks up, wine still streaming into her cup- because why would I own wine glasses- as she glares at me. “Do you actually require an explanation for being fucked?”
“Considering exactly a week ago I watched you walk out of my bar to get dicked down by no less than half a starting lineup, I’d say yeah.” It’s my turn to glare now, though I’m sure mine is nowhere near as murderous as hers. “I think deserve a fucking explanation.”
Naomi has the nerve to scoff at me as she recorks the bottle, setting it aside. “Deserve is a strong word when I just extracted your soul through your dick—”
“Why are you so incapable of having a conversation with me?!” Graham threw his arms wide. “You and I haven’t been able to have a civil discussion in months—”
“We talk all the time—”
“We bicker at Sunday dinner—"
“You regularly agree with Cristian that I’m a cunt—”
“Well, you have yet to prove me wrong—”
“I just fucked your actual brains out of your skull—”
“And now I have found them, and they would like to make sense of why they were so abruptly ejected—"
“Because you were fucking right, okay?!” She takes a very long drink of wine as I blink stupidly at her. When she sets her cup down her jaw is tight. “You are… The only one who can make me come.”
It looks like it physically pains her to admit it, but my ego has never been bigger. The grin that overtakes my face is probably wider than a horror movie clown’s.
“Oh?” I link my fingers beneath my chin, batting my lashes at her innocently. “Care to expand upon how you finally came to that conclusion?”
Her glare is bitter as ever. “Do you really want me to recount all the sex I’ve had in the last three months?” That sobers me up instantly, stealing the stupid smile from my face because no, I really don’t. “Or would you rather be a good boy and shut the fuck up?”
Crossing my arms- on my own counter- I mutter, “I’ll be good…” And try to hide how aroused she’s made me with just that simple directive.
Again.
Already.
This woman could bully me straight into my grave and my corpse would beg her to pour dirt in my mouth.
“So,” I swallow, watching her refill her glass. “Are we gonna make this a regular thing then or…?”
Naomi sets her cup down again, licking wine from her lips. Nooo, my subconscious whines, I wanted to do that.
“If you’re asking if we’re going to couple up and be all cute and romantic and shit in front of our friends the answer is a very firm no.” My shoulders and dick immediately deflate. “However,…”
Oh?! No, now we’re back.
“It would seem I am incapable of avoiding your magic cock despite all my efforts to do just that.”
“My… Qué?!”
Did she just say my magic cock?!
Has she ever said that before?
Honestly, hearing her say the word cock always leaves my brain about seventeen sentences behind. Her mouth is absolutely heinous for a woman of her status. I’ve known sex workers who speak more elegantly about their work than she does about what we do.
Have done?
Are doing?!
She glares at me again and honestly, not even going to try and hide that it gives me a boner. My sweatpants hide nothing and I am desperate to get her to let me bend her over this counter.
“You know exactly what I mean,” she snarls.
“That does not disqualify further explanation.”
I grin like the devil, making it obvious that I’m adjusting myself which- yep, draws her eyes straight down. She immediately looks away, but I notice the way she rubs her thighs together. So maybe I’m not the only one who has a Pavlovian reaction.
Naomi finishes her wine, reaching for the bottle. “Stop smirking you fucking psycho.”
“Mi reina, you just called my dick magical. This is the best night of my fucking life, so no, I absolutely will not stop smirking.” I lick my lips slowly. “I am happy to put my mouth to use elsewhere though. Or is it only my cock that holds the deep magic?”
Her eyes meet mine across the counter and I catch her looking at my mouth. She can’t lie to me. I know my tongue works wonders for her too.
“Tell me what to do, mi reina,” I beg, rising from my stool, sinking to my knees on my kitchen floor.
She watches me with dilated pupils, breaths quickening as I do what I know we have both been dying for since we ran into each other at The Cellar that first night.
I crawl to her.
Then, when I’m only a foot away I stop, sit back on my feet with my hands on my thighs. I keep my gaze trained on her gorgeous legs. “I’ll be good,” I promise.
Something in her control must shatter then- maybe it’s seeing me on my knees, maybe it’s the begging, maybe she’s just too fucking wet to keep pushing me away- because she suddenly snaps her fingers and points to the spot directly between her feet.
“Show me how good you can be, pretty boy.”