Chapter 24
ALEX
Idon’t know how my earlobes survived thirty-two years of neglect from women, but Emilia is enthusiastically making up for it as I carry her through the sliding doors into the kitchen.
I kick off my flip-flops and slide the door shut with my elbow.
“The counter, the counter,” she mutters between feverish kisses.
“What about it?”
“Put me on the counter.”
I was headed for the bedroom, but whatever the lady wants…
I set her ass down in the center of the counter, and she wraps her legs around my waist. The crazy pink skirt is bunched up between her legs and fanning out around her.
I want to get my head under there, but I also never want her to stop kissing my face like this.
Like she’s trying to keep me alive with her kisses. And she is.
I’m mostly in-the-moment here—it’s hard not to be, with so much blood rushing to my dick.
But tonight, more than usual, I’m flooded with thoughts of the past, present, and future.
My ex-wife was my dirtiest dream and my worst nightmare all at once.
Emilia is somehow every boyish fantasy, every divorced dad practical wish, and every filthy grown man desire that I’ve ever had.
She’s brought a weary part of me back to life, and I want to give it all back to her. Every night and day.
I feel her leaning away from me, even as she continues to kiss my chin and my jaw. She’s reaching for the open bottle of wine nearby, taking a brief intermission to take a couple of swigs and wipe her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Want some?”
“I’m good.”
She puts the bottle back where it was, and now her kisses are even more intoxicating.
She isn’t wearing a bra under her shirt, and it’s been driving me crazy.
My hands slowly make their way from her hips up under that shirt.
But before they reach her ribcage, she stops kissing me again to pull her shirt up over her head, tossing it aside.
She stares at it on the floor, eyes widening as if she’s realizing what she’s just done. She covers herself with her arms.
My topless, hesitant little vixen.
Before she can question herself, I pull her loose hair to one side and kiss her neck.
This long, smooth, fragrant neck. Licking and gently sucking and biting the skin from her bare shoulders up to her jaw and cheek and behind her ear.
Her gasps and sighs are sexy and rewarding, but they only make me want to get to the part where I make her scream my name.
But I’ve waited this long.
The eternal build-up has been the most exquisite torture I have ever known.
I kiss her mouth and move her hands, holding them behind her back until she understands that I want her to keep them there.
“Alex,” she whispers. It’s a complete sentence. A statement and a question and a prayer.
I take hold of the two soft, creamy white tits that I’ve been fantasizing about since the summer.
I take my time, kissing and licking all around each one, and then I lick and kiss her areola and nipple, and I kiss both breasts, all over.
Ravenous. Controlled. Ravenous again. She tastes like lavender and honey and sex.
My hands are greedy, and my mouth is watering, and I have never been so hungry for a woman.
Her hands are in my hair. Her moans are high-pitched and growing pained and desperate.
I kiss her and kiss her. Until her tits are pink and swollen and heaving, and her whole body is trembling and writhing, and her spine is useless.
She can no longer sit up. She probably couldn’t open her eyes if she tried.
My cock is the Incredible Hulk, trying to tear through my jeans.
I pick her up and carry her in my arms, out of the kitchen. She’s limp and her head keeps rolling around, but when I get to the bottom of the stairs, she mumbles something.
“What?”
“TV room.”
“What about it?”
“Take me there.”
“You want me to take you to the screening room right now?”
She nods, and then her head rolls back and she’s a porny rag doll again.
I carry her to the screening room and place her on the sofa. It’s still dimly lit from when I was in here earlier. With great effort, she sits herself upright and opens her eyes to look around. “Mmmm.” She licks her lips. “Put on a movie.”
“You want to watch a movie? Now?”
She nods. “Just put something on. Anything.” Her voice is hoarse and so husky, and I will do whatever the fuck she says.
I find the remote and hit Play, without turning on the speakers. I don’t remember what I was watching this afternoon. I can’t remember the name of any movies with those beautiful tits in my face. I start to kneel before her, but she grabs my hands and pulls me to the sofa and then straddles me.
This fucking skirt makes it impossible for me to reach between her legs, and I’m starting to hate it.
Except how can I hate anything with those beautiful tits in my face?
Emilia is unbuttoning my shirt and rocking back and forth and bearing down on my erection and biting her lower lip.
She pushes my shirt apart, dipping down to kiss my chest, swiping her hands across my pecs, inspecting the chest hair, and then climbing off me as she unbuttons and unzips my jeans.
Holy fuck.
She pulls my jeans and boxer briefs down and off, and I fix my gaze at the screen in front of me.
A grown man in an elf costume runs around, and honestly, this is exactly what I need to concentrate on to keep from exploding.
Think of Christmas. Santa Claus. Reindeer.
Do not think about the white-hot woman between your legs and the hands on your thighs.
Do not concentrate on what she’s telling you, about how she’s fantasized about doing this for months—about having my big hard cock in her mouth while I watch a movie in my screening room.
Jesus.
Is she kissing the top of my foot?
Do not concentrate on how fucking good it feels to have her kissing and licking her way up the inside of your thigh.
Fuck that. It feels so fucking good, I want to live in this delirious moment.
This moment of her confident but gentle hands and her warm, adventurous tongue and her moist lips and the sound of her devouring my throbbing cock.
My hands are in her hair, and she is gripping my shaft and cupping my balls with exactly the right amount of pressure while sucking, and when the tip of her hot tongue swirls and flicks beneath the head, I groan and reluctantly push her away.
“Baby. You have to stop. I need to fuck you. I need to.”
My vision is so clouded with lust, but I know she is nodding and wiping her mouth and slowly standing up.
“I want you to fuck me too,” she says plainly. She looks over her shoulder. “I love this movie.”
“I will probably get hard every time I see Will Ferrell for the rest of my life.”
She smirks. “Sorry not sorry.”
My little vixen is not so hesitant anymore.
She waits for me to regain the use of my limbs and pulls me up. I lead her up the stairs, to my bedroom. I’m naked, and she’s still wearing that long, pretty, terrible skirt.
When we reach the second floor, I turn to pick her up and carry her over one shoulder.
She squeals and laughs. “This. Fucking. Skirt.” I drop her onto the bed, flip that skirt up, and bury my face between her legs.
She isn’t wearing panties. She’s been going commando all this time, without telling me, and I will punish her for this.
With my tongue. I will punish myself by waiting just a few minutes more.
I will savor her sweet pussy, and I will drive her wild until she is begging to have me inside her.
And then I will fuck Miss Stiles, long and hard.
All night.