Aubrey #2
"Yes," I say, because my dignity has decided to die honest. "I do."
His mouth comes down on mine. He kisses me until I'm pulling at his waistband, desperate enough to be clumsy. He helps because I'm not at my best with fasteners under pressure. Then he's naked, and I look down between us.
Holy.
Shit.
"Okay," I say. "That seems... ambitious."
His laugh is short and surprised, and I like it too much.
"We can stop," he says.
"I didn't say that," I tell him.
"If you're worried, we can do other things..."
I shake my head adamantly. "I also didn't say that."
His hand comes to my face. "Tell me what you want."
"You," I reveal.
His eyes stay on mine. "Tel me exactly."
Fine.
Fine, fine, fine.
"I want your cock in my mouth first," I say, and then I consider leaving my body permanently. "Happy?"
His grip on my face changes. "That's what you want?"
"Yes. I want to taste you." I drop my voice to barely above a whisper. "So bad."
"You don't have to prove anything..." he replies.
"Oh my god." I push at his chest until he lets me up. "Please don't ruin my slutty little declaration with some... seminar."
He almost laughs. He sits back against the pillows, one hand at my waist as I move between his legs.
The closer I get, the less like talking and the more like tasting I feel. His huge cock is heavy and hot in my hand. I take him into my mouth, not far. My hand works what I can't take.
His hand stays in my hair, not forcing. "Look at me."
I do, naked between his thighs, mouth full of him, trying to glare with watery eyes.
"Touch yourself," he orders.
I should refuse on principle. The principle fails immediately. I slide my hand between my legs. The first circle over my clit makes my shoulders shake.
"Good," he says.
I cum with his cock in my mouth. My lips slip off him.
Linden says my name through his teeth. "Aubrey." Then: "Fuck. That did it for you?"
"Do not sound pleased," I tell him.
"I'm very fucking pleased," he replies.
He draws me up, kissing me hard enough that I forget the rest of whatever I was about to say. When he pulls back, he looks closer to losing it.
"I want you inside me," I blurt out. My voice comes out wrecked. "Happy?"
"No." He reaches toward the bedside table and takes a condom from a box I hadn't noticed. "Not yet."
I snort. "Cocky."
"You haven't seen the least of it." He tears the packet and hands it to me.
Oh.
"You don't have to," he says, apparently picking up my reluctance.
"I know." I take it because I want to. Because his control's been making me dizzy, and I want one second of making his breath change in return.
I roll the condom over the head of his cock with my fingers, then down the rest of him, slow enough that his hips shift once.
"You like that?" I taunt.
His hand closes around the back of my neck, not forcing. Holding. "Careful."
He pushes me back onto the mattress.
I should make another joke. I should absolutely make another joke.
He lines himself up with my pussy, and I have no joke for that.
"Say my name," he orders.
"Linden," I reply.
He presses in.
The stretch steals the rest of my sentence. My hands clutch his shoulders. He goes slow, watching my face, stopping when my nails dig into him.
"Breathe," he says.
"I am breathing," I gasp, though he's right, I'm not.
"Breathe," he orders.
He waits until I breathe, and then pushes another inch inside me. My eyes sting from fullness and pressure. My body has to make room, and I feel every second of it.
"Keep going," I gasp.
His forehead lowers to mine. "Tell me if it hurts."
"It doesn't. It's just..." I grip him harder. "It's a lot."
"I know."
When he's fully inside me, he stops.
He withdraws halfway and thrusts back in. My mouth opens against his shoulder. The second thrust is harder. The third finds the place inside me that makes my vision fill with spots at the edges.
"There," he says, because he's apparently insufferable even while fucking.
Before I can say anything, his hand slides between us and his thumb finds my clit.
My entire body jerks.
"There we go," he says. "Don't cum yet."
I stare at him. "Excuse me?"
"Hold it," he replies.
"You're kidding," I tell him. "I can't."
"You can."
He thrusts again, slow and deep, and keeps his thumb on my clit. My pussy grips him. I'm too close, too fast.
And then he slows down just enough to make me whine.
I didn't know I could whine.
"Linden, please," I beg.
His hungry eyes grow taunting. "Please what?"
I may pass away from lack of release. "Please let me cum."
He looks so gloriously hungry now, I could cum just from that look. "You're mine tonight. Say it."
My nails drag down his back.
He stops moving.
I hate him. I hate this room. I hate first names and clean sheets and the fact that being told what to do is making me even wetter around his cock.
"Yours tonight," I say.
He drives into me, his thumb firm on my clit, and I cum so hard I lose track of the room.
My pussy clamps down around him. He curses into my neck, still moving, giving me no space to tidy myself up.
The orgasm keeps going, messy and too much, until I'm shaking under him and grabbing at his arms because I need him closer need him need him.
He follows me over with a harsh sound, hips pressing deep, his body locking over mine. "AUbrEY."
For several seconds, there's only sweat and skin and his weight held carefully above me. Then he eases out with a hand at the base of the condom, and the loss of him makes me wince.
He slides off the condom, ties it off, drops it in the trash beside the bed, and comes back before I can decide where my arms are supposed to go.
He lowers himself to one side and takes me with him, one arm around my back. I end up half on his chest, hair stuck to my cheek, thigh thrown over his leg.
"Alive?" he asks.
I smile. "Barely."
His chest moves under my ear.
I like that too much.
I push up and grab my T-shirt from the floor. "Bathroom."
He lets me go immediately.
In the bathroom I clean up, splash water on my face, and pull on my T-shirt before I leave.
When I come back, Linden's sitting against the headboard with the sheet low on his hips. He gets up and brings me a bottle from the side table. I take it and drink half of it too fast.
"Slow," he says.
I lower the bottle. "Are you this bossy with beverages too?"
"Yes."
I sit on the edge of the bed. He sits beside me, close but not crowding. The pink scratches on his hands catch my eye when he takes the bottle back.
"Your cat wounds survived?" I ask.
He nods. Says nothing.
I pick at the hem of my T-shirt and refuse to look at him for a second.
"Your skin smells like soap," he says finally.
"Wow. Hot."
He shrugs. "It is."
"Drugstore soap," I reply. "Possibly hotel soap, now. I'm a bargain bin."
He says nothing, just staring at me.
I look at him defiantly. "Don't memorize me."
Again, he doesn't answer.
"Should I go?" I press.
"Up to you," he replies.
His expression is unreadable. That hurts more than I'd expect it to.