Chapter 19 #3
“Eyes on me, baby,” he orders, and I dip my gaze back down.
“You know what you have to say if you want it.” He starts to move his hand again, this time the other joining it so he’s double fisting his length.
Even his large hands can’t cover it all and the dusky head thrusts through his stacked fingers.
Please. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back as I thrust my fingers roughly into myself, crying out as I’m tipped over the edge. Every muscle tightens and bursts gloriously apart, pleasure rocketing through every inch of my body like wildfire.
“Fuck! That’s so fucking hot,” he snarls, his fists pumping wildly as my stomach muscles convulse, each one drawing raspy cries from my throat.
“Mouth open, tongue out,” he snaps, and my orgasm-numbed brain obeys, in total auto pilot.
“Perfect,” he grunts. “One day soon, you’re going to get on your knees and take my cum like a good little girl.
” His rough voice is laced with a carnal promise that has me whimpering as my fingers chase the last fleeting waves of my orgasm.
Capturing his eyes, I draw my hand away from myself, pressing my two wet fingers into my open mouth, swirling my tongue around them. His eyes go wide, and victory burns in my chest as he groans deep in his throat.
“Filthy. Fucking. Girl.” Each gravelly word is punctuated with an uneven, jerky thrust. One of his hands shoots out and slams against the glass above his head, just as every breathtaking muscle in his torso strains tight like an elastic about to break.
My eyes go wide as I watch his enormous cock begin to throb and jerk, each movement accompanied by a deep gravelly grunt and a thick rope of creamy cum.
It hits the glass and begins to slide down as he pumps the last of himself out with gritted teeth.
When we both finally still, we do nothing but pant and stare at each other for what feels like minutes on end.
I can hand on heart say that was the most erotic experience of my life, and the guy didn’t even lay a finger on me.
Closing my legs slowly, I drop my feet back down from the edge.
Whatever small portion of logic my sex-hazed brain has left is knocking wildly at a door of my mind, demanding attention.
Awareness rushes in, a low thrum of panic making me sit a little straighter.
“Chloe,” Zeke warns, his hawk-like eyes catching the subtle shift. Time to do what I do best. Duck and weave. Aka, run.
“Well, thanks for the peepshow, Guerra. Ten out of ten. Gotta go!” I hop down from the vanity counter and avoid his eyes as I scurry away with my tail between my legs.
I’m across my old bedroom in a few quick strides, grabbing up my clothes and careening toward the door.
Once I’m through, I pick my way across the hallway in a pattern of steps branded into my mind from years of sneaking through this house without hitting the floorboards that creak.
I barrel through Tilly’s bedroom door in a tangle of shaking limbs and wide eyes, causing her to jerk awake where she’s lying in bed with one arm lazily slung above her head.
Her grey-blue eyes blink groggily twice before she rolls her head to look at me.
“What happened?” she rasps, rubbing her eyes and pulling herself up to sit while I close the door.
“Why would you say something happened?” My voice is high pitched and jittery even to my own ears. Gaze darting around the room, I avoid looking at her.
“Erm, because you’re bright red and you look like you’re running from a poorly executed bank heist?”
I scoff, dumping my stack of clothes down on her bed, snatching up panties, and beginning to tug them on beneath my towel. A wince runs across my features as I realize I should have cleared up the slick mess between my thighs before I did.
“You slept with him, didn’t you?” Tilly whisper-screams, bolting upright in bed.
“No!” I cry louder than intended before following up in an elevated whisper, “No!” I avoid her disbelieving regard as I pull on my jeans and tank top.
Snatching up the checkered shirt, I walk over to her dressing table and plunk myself down heavily on the stool.
Pale, flushed skin and rounded eyes meet me in the mirror.
“We…. God! I don’t even know what to call it.
We participated in group masturbation?” I shove my arms roughly into the sleeves of my shirt as Tilly gasps gleefully, slapping a hand over her mouth.
“Like, voyeur style?” She’s up and out of the bed, closing the distance between us with a stupid grin on her face.
“Yup,” I croak, snatching up her hairbrush and starting to attack my sleep-tangled locks.
She lets out a loud guffaw. “Hot.” She brandishes the one word like a commandment that should wash away the twisted threads of warring emotions burning a hole in my chest. Gentle hands pry the brush out of my fingers. Finally meeting her eyes in the mirror, I see all her usual humor is gone.
“Tell me what’s going on in there.” She taps a finger softly at my temple and then begins to carefully brush my hair away from my face.
The gentle scrape of bristles across my scalp does nothing to alleviate the tension bunching my shoulders.
When I don’t reply, she clicks her tongue and twists her lips together in contemplation.
“So, by my logic, this man is attractive, smart, rich, accomplished, and by the way, totally fucking into you.” She pauses, flashing me a soft glare.
My responding scoff is reflexive, but even I can’t deny that he must be on some level, even if it’s just physical.
“Don’t give me that shit, I saw you two in the car—that was not fake. For either of you.”
I nibble on my lip, my one-track mind flitting away to the feel of his firm lips on mine.
How I'd come alive for him. “So given his outstanding attributes, I can only surmise one thing to be the problem.” She continues to brush my hair softly as the seconds bleed into one another. “Sweeney.” Her voice is gentle, as though she’s addressing a bull that might buck her off at any moment.
My teeth grit and hell, I want to buck. I want to scream and rage and break things because I swore that man would never have power over me again, and yet here I am being haunted by his words and actions.
“I don’t trust my judgement when it comes to men, Till. I thought he was a good guy.” The words feel like lead on my tongue, and I don’t think I would have the courage to speak them to anyone but my sister, standing here brushing my hair like I’m the most precious thing in the world.
She nods, considering. “He was very good at concealing his true nature. We were all fooled, not just you.”
I cast my eyes away, blinking rapidly. I will not fucking cry over Anthony Asshole Sweeney. “He said fucking Zeke and taking his money is no different than what he did.”
“He WHAT?” Tilly rears back, her eyes hardening to cool steel in the filtered light seeping through the white linen curtains.
“Shh!” My eyes bounce to the door, ever conscious that just along the hall is my boss/fake fiancé/sometimes co-masturbator.
“That slimy fucking asshole!” She snaps her mouth shut with an audible click, tossing the brush in her hands roughly back down onto the dressing table. “It’s not the same thing. Not in a million years! Don’t let him get into your head.”
“I do see the logic.”
“Shut your fucking mouth!” she fumes, making me blink in surprise. “The exchange is not sex for money. It’s a public pretense of marriage. If anything else develops on the side, it’s inconsequential.”
“Big word for”—I glance at the clock above the door—“eight A.M.”
“Don’t do the deflecting bullshit with me, missy.
I can see what you’re doing. Burying your head in the sand because you’re scared shitless of getting hurt or…
being humiliated.” I wince, her words landing like little arrows of searing hot truth.
“But you can’t live like that. Life fucking hurts sometimes.
We get proven wrong. But if we don’t put ourselves in a position for that to happen, we won’t weed out the opportunities that are meant for us.
The ones that bring joy and happiness and love. ”
My brows are nearly buried in my damn hairline while she rattles off her rant, her hands flapping animatedly in front of her chest. I don’t think I’ve ever seen laid back, happy-go-lucky Tilly spout anything so serious or so passionately.
“I’m more of a ‘what is meant for me won’t pass me by’ kind of gal.
” I try to insert some humor and lighten the scowl dragging down her brows.
“Bullshit. What’s meant for us will disappear into the horizon if we don’t grab it by the horns. Now go.” She drags me up, hustling me across the room to the door. “Grab your bull by the fucking horns.”
I’m pushed through onto the landing with only a brief second of surprise while I stare at her determined scowl before the door slams in my face.
***
“Have you thought about a date for the wedding?” Mom asks brightly as she spoons buttered corn onto Dad’s plate at the other end of the table.
The sip of water I just took decides to take a nosedive into my windpipe.
Zeke’s broad hand swipes my back comfortingly as I cough.
I fight the urge to shrug off the hand that is sending white hot zaps of electricity across my skin.
I’ve avoided looking at him all day. Thankfully, dad has decided that the best way to initiate him into the family is to square him away in his den and watch football reruns.
“Nothing specific yet, but we both agreed that the end of next year would be good for our schedules.” Zeke handles the question with all the poised suaveness of a man used to putting on a seamless front.
“So far away?” Mom’s brows crease and her gaze jumps to mine.
“There is no rush, Mom. We want to enjoy the engagement first.” The word “engagement” comes out a little hoarse.
“Smart to take your time. I mean, how well can you really know each other after a few months?” Cade chimes in.
He’s been suspiciously quiet today, even by his standards.
None of us truly knows what his work is like, but since he joined the service, something changed in him.
It’s like nothing gets by him these days.
He can sit at the back of a room in silence and pretend he’s not interested, but I’m not fooled.
He’s soaking it all in. Assessing. Weighing. Calculating.
“Cade!” Mom snaps, fixing him with a glare. My brother winces, because no matter how big and tough you are, a reprimand from your mom will always bite. Tilly and I catch eyes and smirk.
“No, it’s okay.” Zeke laughs, trailing his hand up my spine to the back of my neck.
He squeezes lightly and I swallow a moan, forcing myself to look his way.
Dark, chocolate eyes sparkle with a muted mischief that I’m sure only I catch.
He’s watching me intently, a lazy smile playing on his decadent mouth.
“I know this woman well enough to know that I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”
A shiver runs through me as the deeply spoken words wrap like silk around my body. Acting. He. Is. Acting, I remind myself as color pools in my cheeks. It takes a colossal effort to paint a demure smile across my face before turning back to my food. Suddenly, it all looks unappealing.
“So, how’s retirement treating you, Dad?” I ask as I spear a green bean and pop it into my mouth. Duck and weave. Duck and weave.
“Good actually, I’ve been given a few hand jobs on the side, which is enough to keep me happy.”
Everyone at the table goes still as I choke on the green bean, thumping my chest with my fist. “Sorry?” I croak. Tilly’s eyes are wide as she stares at Dad like all of her Christmases just came at once.
“Hand jobs. You know, manual jobs with hands.” Dad waggles the fingers on one hand at me like I’m the mad one. I stare at him as Cade lifts a fist to his mouth to hide his smile.
“Are we talking, like, long, messy hand jobs? Or quick, efficient hand jobs?” Tilly asks evenly. The tension around the table amps up, but my father seems none the wiser as he carves apart his chicken thigh.
“Bit of both, actually. For instance, Mrs. Arndale around the corner had some old pipe on her back porch, so she asked me to come round and see what could be done.” Tilly lets out a strangled, high-pitched sound before slapping her hand over her mouth.
“And how do you feel about that, Mom?” Cade asks innocently, almost burying his face in his plate as he leans over to push his food around it with a fork.
“Oh well, you know. There aren’t many hand jobs waiting for him at home these days, so it’s good he keeps busy,” she says with sparkling eyes, lifting her glass to her lips to hide her smile.
“What the fuck?” I mutter quietly, burying my head in my hand and refusing to look Zeke’s way.
“She’s just happy I’m out of the house most of the day.” Dad nods. “You see, it’s not how quickly you can get a hand job done. It’s all about taking the time to do it properly.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Zeke deadpans, lifting his bottle of beer to my father in a toast. I peek sideways at him with a pleading look and see he’s straight faced, but his eyes are glittering like a night sky filled with stars.
My dad makes a complimentary noise. “It’s nice to meet a man who can appreciate a quality hand job well done. It’s not a skill set everyone possesses these days.”
“I don’t know, I reckon Tilly is pretty good at them by now,” Cade drawls.
Mom snorts into her water and it’s the permission everyone needs to descend into hysterics.
Cade presses the heels of his palms into his eyes as he howls and Tilly snorts with unrestrained glee.
Mortified as I am, I’m unable to prevent my own giggle from bubbling up at the look of pure confusion on my dad's face. Zeke’s deep laughter joins the ensemble, throwing a thick blanket of warmth across my chest.
“You’re all fucking nuts.” Dad sighs, resigning to ignore his hysterical family and eat his dinner.