Chapter 21 #2
I have had two entire years to think about what I’ve been missing and one week to think about what I’ve been needing.
I’ve also had five days and maybe nine months to learn to be completely honest with Nico.
“I want it mean and fast and rough. I want you to spank me. Hard. Like, leave a big, red, Nico-sized handprint hard,” I ramble, shivering.
“Sex for me has always been about conquering. But now I want to be conquered. I don’t want to think.
I don’t want to make any decisions. I want to give up control.
And I have the implant. I want you to come inside m—ah! ”
Nico twists both my nipples at the same time with a hiss. “Oh god, baby,” he moans against my neck. “That’s so fuckin’ hot. I want that, too,” he’s nodding. “Need it. Need it. Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re so good. You’re perfect. Made for me.”
My heart does the explode-y thing again. “And I think I just discovered that I like being praised,” I whisper.
“Got that,” he croons. My butt finally hits the edge of a table.
“My turn. I like a bit of teeth. I want those gorgeous fangs of yours,” he says, with a nip to my collarbone.
“I want you to fuck up my back with your nails, Annie. I wanna toss you around.” He moves over to the hickey on my chest and kisses it.
“And I think I just discovered that I like hearing you beg and I like marking you up. Inside and out. And I say that I just discovered that because I’ve never wanted that with anyone else in my life. ”
Warm, glazed eyes meet my panicked ones. “We’ll unpack that later,” he whispers gently. “Yours too. ‘Cause it’s the same thing, I think. But is everything else okay?”
I blink. “Yes.”
A predatory smile, a lopsided grin. He turns me around. “I know what you need, honey. You want me to tell you exactly what to do,” he murmurs as he bends me over the table, “and then you want to do it well.”
I nod against the hard, solid surface now pressed against my face, whimpering and relaxing with relief at the same time. That he gets it. Because he obviously gets it.
“And then you want me to tell you how well you’re doing. How well you’re taking me. How perfect you are,” he says, thrusting his hard length between my thighs once, inhaling sharply when the head brushes against the wet of me.
I nod again, closing my eyes, letting go.
He pulls away, leaving me cold, but warming me back up with a hand slowly tracing down my back and over the curve of my ass.
I feel it stop to smooth over a tattoo on my back.
“I’m gonna do that for you, honey. I’ve got you,” he says, fingers dragging back up through my pussy and up my back again and into my hair, petting and caressing my entire body into a semi-catatonic state.
Suddenly, his voice is right next to my ear.
“But I’m gonna make you beg for it, too.”
Crack.
A blast of sharp, white-hot fire spikes through my skin, my flesh, through my bloodstream, while the air around me shifts into every color of the rainbow. I soundlessly scream into the table, my mouth pressed open against the woodgrain while I melt into warm, syrupy honey.
“I’m so fucked, Annie,” he sighs, soothing the burn away with a tender hand.
You?! “I like the look of this a little too much, I think.” He traces the shape of a hand into my skin.
“You’re so gorgeous, Annie, this is so gorgeous because it’s mine.
This is from my hand, and you did such a good job of letting me put it there. ”
I suddenly feel like bursting into tears.
The caresses increase in horniness, his fingers brushing against my entrance at every pass. I start squirming. “Another,” I breathe. “Other side.”
“What was that?” he murmurs, dipping a finger into my pussy. I’m embarrassingly wet, his finger meeting little to no friction. He rubs circles on my asshole as a reminder, in a promise.
I make a choked sound into the table. “Another. More. Please, Nico. Please.”
“That’s right, babe.”
Crack, on the other cheek.
“Fuck yes,” wheezes out of me as I claw at the tabletop with my fingernails.
“I can’t wait for you to see what this looks like,” he tells me. “It’s unreal.”
There is a rustle of fabric hitting the floor.
“I should probably ask if you want me to stretch you out with my fingers first,” he says in a conversational tone, as if he were commenting on doing the laundry.
“But you don’t wanna think.” I feel the blunt, broad head of him splitting the flesh of my cunt.
Oh shit. “You just want to feel. And I think you’re going to take me like a good g—fuck,” he chokes.
During his filthy monologuing, Nico had attempted to push in.
However, Nico had met resistance after only a few inches.
There is simply no more room. My feet currently scramble for purchase on the floor, every vein in my body ending in a live wire.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” I cry. “It’s so good, I’ll be so good, give me more, Nico. ”
“Fuck,” he grits out, “let me in, Annie,” pulling out slightly and gaining another slow inch when he presses back in with an agonized moan.
“No, please,” I sob, trying and failing in my pleasure and torment to explain that I need the burn of him punching the fuck through. “Just do it, I want it all, GIVE IT TO ME—”
He tears through the rest with one long, sure, brutal shove, a shocking invasion, making room for his own damn self, and I scream and I come and I black out in a dazzling explosion of gunpowder and glitter all at once.
When I come to, Nico is fucking me in mean little strokes that are simply hitting the spot because of his size—because his size hits all the spots.
“You did so well, Annie,” he’s panting, tilting my hips exactly how he wants them before sneaking a hand around to pinch my clit. “You gorgeous, perfect girl, you.”
I come again, a horrible, delightful, slobbering mess. The table is wet with either my drool or my tears.
“Do you know how many times I’ve imagined fucking you over a kitchen table?”
“How many?” I pant.
“I lost count.” He lifts me up by the neck and thrusts up twice, my feet no longer on the floor, held up by a strong arm around my stomach.
“Bedroom, now,” he says, lifting me off his dick and somehow turning me around to face him, all in one go.
My legs wrap around his hips, and I’m so, so pleased to have access to his pretty, filthy mouth again, his wild hair, the salty skin on his neck damp with sweat.
He carries me—moving and making out and stopping short and turning in circles.
“Why aren’t we in the bedroom yet?” I sigh in between deep, drugging kisses.
“I’ve never fuckin’ been here before, Annie—” another spin, “—I have no fuckin’ idea where the fuckin’ bedroom is,” Nico grits out with frustration.
I giggle (what the hell is happening to me?!) and give him what he needs, a bite right in the meaty part of his neck.
Nico gives up and gracefully deposits me on my hands and knees on what appears to be the fluffy area rug of the living room.
I look over at the kitchen. “We didn’t get very far.”
He rewards me with a sharp slap to the underside of my ass. He lies on his back next to me, his cock a hard, angry-looking leviathan. “Hop on, Annie. Ride it.”
I have to stop for a moment.
“What?”
“I’m calculating an improbable physics problem,” I say to his erect dick, “or maybe math.”
He laughs, tucking a hand behind his head with supreme arrogance. “It fits. Scientifically proven just a moment ago, in fact. Over there.” He points towards the kitchen.
“Displacement, volume, dimensions. Is this what they mean by abstract math?” I ramble. “There’s also something about gases or maybe liquids taking the shape of a container, or maybe filling the available space?” Is my pussy made of liquid? Feels like it.
The sound of Nico’s rich, booming laughter filling the available space of this room somehow feels better than the countless number of orgasms he’s given me. (Five—it’s five, not counting the ones I gave myself. Because I’ve lost count of those.)
I swing a leg over while he grips his shaft and angles it towards where I need it. I do not let myself adjust, just sink down as I watch Nico’s beautiful eyes fall shut and pretty mouth fall open to exhale a slow, extended, “Fuuuck.”
I get it, I really do, a whimper leaving my mouth at the sharp sting of the stretch. I plant my hands on his broad chest, leaning down and biting his mallard, that fleshy part of his pec.
His eyes fly open, blown with lust. “Fuck, baby. Does that fill you up nice and tight?” he slurs, bouncing me up and down with his hips like I’m a rag-doll riding a mechanical bull.
He grasps my hips and wrenches me back and forth while arching his hips up, and I lean back, a hand on his thigh, a foot on the floor next to his torso so he can hit it right…
Six is a slow rippling, like a pebble falling into water, concentric circles of tingles out my arms and legs.
“Shit,” Nico says, all arrogance gone, a wild look now in his eyes, his jaw clenched and fingers digging into my hips so hard I know they’ll leave marks. I want them to leave marks. I want them all over my body, scattered throughout my tattoos. A twisted collection. Gotta catch ‘em all.
His chest is crisscrossed with raised red lines from my nails. The smug satisfaction that bursts through my body is entirely unexpected.
“My turn,” Nico is saying, and somehow I’m spinning or falling or turning and I’m on my back.
“Spread those legs and let me finish rough,” he grinds out in between deep, merciless, dirty drives that make the rug burn my back and leave me gasping for air.
He moves my legs open, knees up, leg over, a container, a vessel, for him to fill and use and take the shape of.
Grunts and moans and wet, lewd slapping now fill the space around us, a chorus of lust and sexual tension getting fucking resolved.
I’ve never had it this good.
“Beg me,” Nico orders, handsome face in a snarl, “beg for it, Annie,” and I’m being good for him, so I do.
I rake my nails across his shoulders. “Fill me up, Nico. Please.”
His hips piston, then stutter, and with a needy, filthy groan, he does.
Something flashes in his eyes when he watches himself leak out of me like a pervert, but he silently closes my legs and carries me to a bedroom, which turns out to be up a flight of stairs.
He doesn’t let me clean up, muttering something about unsound UTI research and wanting me full of him all night.
He lays me down under the covers with tenderness before climbing in himself.
“Nico,” I mumble, already half gone.
“Yes, honey.”
I yawn. “That was the best sex of my life. I don’t hate you anymore. And I think I hate cuddling you.”
He smiles, turning me and tucking my back against his chest, winding his legs through mine.
Through the blanket of sleep already weighing me down, I hear, “That was the best sex of my life. I love cuddling you. And I hate you, Annie Li.”