Chapter 8 #2
I notice that he’s not pulling away, in fact, he’s thrusting against my ass with equally slow, intentioned movements.
He wants this too. Pushing all rational thoughts out of my head, I take his hand from where it rests on my ribs and place it on my breast. My hand guiding his, I cup and squeeze as my nipple becomes an aching, stiff point.
“Nic,” I moan, turning my head sideways toward him. “Please touch me.”
His eyes widen at that, and he stills. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” It comes out breathy and wanton.
Rolling me onto my back, his knees straddle my hips. “Lindsay, I…” He stops, looking so vulnerable my heart squeezes. “It will change things between us, don’t you think?”
I shrug. “We were becoming friends, right? Now we’ll be friends who have sex. That cool with you?”
Something flashes across his face that I can’t decipher. That’s when I start second-guessing every moment that led to this. Am I pressuring him? Did I misread the vibes? I thought he was into it.
“Friends who have sex,” he repeats. Eventually, he nods before dropping his head and placing a kiss just beneath my ear. “Yes, I think I’d like that very much.”
Once he gives the green light, we become a flurry of limbs and mouths and strewn clothes. His tongue swipes across my collarbone, making my bare chest arch into him, and he whispers, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
His presses wet kisses down my chest and takes the time to flick each nipple with his tongue before sucking hard. He’s leaving a trail down my belly when he adds, “If at any time you wish to stop, say the word.”
I nod, but that’s not enough for him. He grabs my wrists and holds them over my head with one hand.
Then, with his free hand, he reaches down between my legs and traces a line along my inner thigh, so close to what I need, but not close enough.
I lift my hips to get him closer, but I end up chasing his hand.
“I need a verbal confirmation, gorgeous.”
The authoritative tone brings me back to Halloween night when he was scolding Finn. As much as I hate the memory, I’m pretty sure I could survive on that calm, confident voice alone. Fuck food and water, just talk to me.
“Y-Yes,” I whimper. “Please, Nic.”
Five seconds into this, and I’m already fucking begging. Have I ever been on the verge of coming this quickly? No. Have I ever been attracted to anyone like Nic? Also no. I’m not about to get soft for this guy, but this does feel different, though I can’t totally place how, or why.
When his hand dips beneath my underwear, his brow furrows. “You’re bare.”
A wave of early aughts shame washes over me. “Yeah, I had it lasered off in 2008.” I scrub a hand down my face. “Thank goodness my eyebrows recovered from that time.”
He responds by kissing me hungrily right out of the gate. “Bushy or bare,” he says against my lips, “you’re straight out of a dream.”
It’s really, really hard not to melt into a puddle at that.
“Tell me what you like,” he groans. “What you need to come.”
“I like…” I begin, and my stomach twists slightly with nerves.
Will he be cool with my answer? Or will he judge me for it?
He’s asking, so clearly, he’s eager to give me what I want, which is more than I can say for the majority of my previous partners.
“I like being told what to do. Being bossed around.” What can I say?
Feminism leaves my body when the clothes come off.
Or maybe it’s because I have to make a million decisions from the time I open my eyes until the moment I pass out, and it’d just be nice to not have to think for a little while.
To know that whatever I do with my partner, it’ll make us both feel good.
“Yeah?” he asks.
Nic’s finger swipes between the lips of my pussy, and he moans like he’s in pain. It does something to me, that moan. The sound makes me feel powerful. Like I could knock over a building with the back of my hand.
“I’d be honored to boss you around, lioness.”
“W-What about you?” Speaking clearly is becoming a challenge with the way he’s touching me, as is forming thoughts.
He nips at the shell of my ear before whispering, “I like it rough. Not all the time, but sometimes.”
I very much like the sound of that.
“Fuck. You’re gushing.” He circles my clit a few times before inserting a finger, then a second.
They slide in easily, I’m so wet. It feels amazing, but not exactly what I need.
Reaching down, I press the heel of his hand against my clit.
“Ahh, like that,” I tell him when he hits the right spot.
“Pressure there.” He finds a rhythm that has my thighs quivering as they wrap around his hips.
I lift my hips to meet his hand, and we’re moving faster and faster as my stomach tightens, and I feel like a bowstring about to snap.
Shit, this is happening so fast. Too fast. I wanted to explore him too.
I wanted to study the details of the black grim reaper tattoo that covers his left pec, to trace every white scar with my tongue, and palm his dick through his sweatpants until he begged me to stop.
I wasn’t planning on this being all about me.
I reach down between us, beneath the hem of his boxer briefs, but he pushes my hand away. “No,” he grunts against my neck through panting breaths. “Later.”
As soon as the word leaves his mouth, he curls his fingers into a hook shape, and I’m barreling off the edge of a cliff, shaking and crying out into the early morning light as if someone is murdering me. He may as well have. As far as my pussy is concerned, it’s dead, ruined for all other men.
When I come down, I’m still struggling to catch my breath and Dominic is smiling with his hand held up.
“What?” I ask. Then I see it. From the tips of his fingers down to his elbow, he’s soaked. Dripping, in fact.
The fuck? How can all of that be from me?
“Have you ever squirted before?”
I lean up on my elbows to get a better look. “Is that what happened? Jesus Christ.”
“I’ll take that as a no.” Then he glides his tongue up his forearm to the tips of his fingers, savoring every last drop of me with a gleam in his eye.
I shove his chest hard enough to roll us over until I’m on top of him.
His hands settle on my hips, one of them very distinctly wet.
Not gonna lie, I’m annoyed my body did something I didn’t think it could and I didn’t even get to witness it.
On the other hand, it’s hard to stay mad when I have a man the size of a tree beneath me just waiting to be played with.
His hands move up to my belly, and he proceeds to gently squeeze and cup my rolls with the purest adoration I’ve ever seen shining from his eyes.
“I love your stomach,” he says, continuing his tour of my body.
His finger traces the horizontal scar just below my lower abs. “Is this a C-section scar?”
I nod. “I thought I’d be able to deliver her naturally, but they decided to cut me open instead.”
He runs his fingers along the raised uneven skin once, twice more, and I feel the sting of tears forming behind my eyes.
I’m not sure if it’s the memory of how scared I was at the time, or because no one has ever touched that scar before, not even Billy, but I have to turn away to keep Nic from seeing.
I take a breath, and once I push the tears down, I return my attention to him. His body. His scars. This is about him now. “Is there a special meaning behind this tattoo?” I ask, drawing a bubble around the reaper’s scythe with my finger.
“A reminder that I’ve met him before, and whenever he returns, I won’t fear him.” He looks down at it. “A little on the nose, I know, but I wanted to celebrate my recovery with a tattoo, so this is what I got.”
“I love it.” I reach up to touch the white scar beneath his left eye. It’s bigger than a lot of his other scars, I’ve noticed. “How’d you get this one?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Don’t remember. When I started coming back to myself, it was an open wound that had just started healing. Took a long time.”
“You never asked the doctor?”
“Nah. Didn’t want to know.”
I can understand. After surviving what he did, some things are better left unknown. To keep the sad memories from creeping in, I lean down until my chest is pressed against his and start inching backward. The moment he realizes what my plan is, his cheeks darken.
“You don’t have to.” He lets out a shuddered breath as I trace his abs with my finger, the muscles tightening all the way down to that delicious deep V shape directing me to the main event.
“But I want to.”
He jolts to a seated position when I pull down his boxer briefs, the movement so lightning fast I almost fall off the bed. “Uh, I should explain.”
When I look down, I don’t understand what I’m seeing. “What, um…” How do I put this respectfully, without him feeling like a science experiment?
“This is another way my body has changed.”
It explains a lot, but not enough. “You grew a second dick?” I don’t mean to sound so taken aback, but I can’t help it. It’s that jarring.
“No, not exactly.”
“What do you call…” I begin, pointing at it, but my curiosity takes over. “Can I touch it?”
He nods nervously, holding his breath.
A second dick is the wrong way to describe this body part.
His primary dick is long and thick, covered in veins and ending in a swollen mushroom head.
Unlike the average human dick, however, this one is green, an even darker shade than the rest of him, and has the same little white scars that cover his body.
The idea that he was injured here, and all over his heavy green balls, makes me wince on his behalf.