Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Emily
I’m stiff and achy when I wake up the next morning, and it takes me a couple of seconds to process that I’m not in my bed.
I lift my head, and see Eli, fast asleep, looking endearingly peaceful. We’re still on his sofa. I must have just passed out on top of him after last night, all of which comes back to me in a rush. The TV is on standby.
I can’t stop the grin spreading across my face. That was incredible.
I wriggle slightly to have a little stretch, and two things happen: one, Eli starts to stir, and two, so does his already semi-hard cock.
Neither one of us put our pants back on last night, so I can feel it lengthening further against my thigh as he starts to wake up. God bless morning wood.
He opens his eyes, and I get lost for a moment in his soft, loving expression. He looks pleased to see me. I could very easily become addicted to that. “Morning, chere,” he mumbles sleepily.
“Morning.” I kiss his mouth, making him smile. “Sorry, I guess I crashed out last night.”
“No problem. I did the same.” He runs a finger down my face. “And it ain’t like you ain’t welcome to sleep in my arms anytime.” Looks like his accent is stronger when he’s sleepy, too. It makes me smile to my toes. He rubs his eyes and checks his watch. He blinks. “Shit, it’s half past nine!”
“What?!” I clamber up. “God, I’m gonna be so late! Unless...I don’t think I have time to go home and change, so I’ll have to just wear this and wing it...” I wince a little, and then shrug. No walk of shame here, cos I’m not ashamed.
“You use the shower first,” he says, “I’ll pour the juice.” He stands, and then looks down, realising his morning glory is on display to me. Our eyes meet, and we grin, starting to move towards each other before both saying, “No time.”
I start towards his en suite in his bedroom, and then stop.
Well, it would actually save time…
I turn back.
“Eli?”
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t you join me in the shower?”
He pokes his head around the kitchen door, eyes glowing and a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Because we both know what’ll happen, and we don’t have the time. Plus, I don’t want our first time together to be hurried with one eye on the clock. Screw that.”
I lean against the wall, suddenly keenly aware that, although he’s put his boxer briefs back on, I’m standing here in just a long vest top that just about covers everything with maybe a millimetre to spare.
“Well, yeah, but...it’d be quicker, and I’m sure we can control ourselves.
” I lift my chin. “I don’t want a hasty fumble in the shower to be our first time, either.
We’re both adults. We have self control.
” How I managed to say that with a straight face is beyond me.
He quirks an eyebrow and trails his eyes down my half naked body.
I can almost hear his thoughts as one corner of his mouth slowly lifts, and my pussy warms immediately.
“It would save time,” he agrees, marching forward and grabbing my hand, pulling me to the shower as if he’s scared I’ll change my mind. “Babygirl, you’re on.”
What was I thinking…
Heaven help me, this is torture. I’ve been mentally undressing Eli for weeks now, but the reality is better than anything I could have conjured up with my own imagination.
And there isn’t time to touch him.
Not those thighs, muscular enough to make me wonder what he does to stay in shape. Not that arse of his, which is Swayze standard and beyond perfect. And not that gorgeous cock, which looks painfully hard as it strains towards me, balls tightening as I watch.
We’re not even washing, we’re just staring at each other's bodies as the water beats down on us, trying not to reach out for each other. Focusing all our energy on not touching, not giving in to the out-of-control need roaring its way through us both.
His tattoos are now fully visible to me, and they’re beautiful.
I saw a hint of a skull on his stomach once before when his t-shirt rode up.
I can see the whole thing now, and it’s stunning, lifelike enough to make me feel like I could reach out and pick it up, could smooth my hands over the surface of bone and do my best Hamlet impression.
And I can see that the sleeve of crosshatches and chevrons, and what looks like shark teeth, travels all the way up his right arm and over his right pectoral, almost like armour.
“That’s amazing,” I say weakly, pointing at it.
He takes a deep breath. His breathing has been coming faster since we ducked into this cubicle, and baby, the feeling is mutual.
“It’s a Pe’a tattoo. Samoan tradition,” he mumbles. “My mother was from Samoa.” He pronounces it authentically: SAH-moa, the final ‘a’ barely even a suggestion, and I love it.
His fists are clenching and unclenching, and I realise that mine are doing the same. My clit is throbbing like a heartbeat. I can’t take this.
“This was a bad idea,” I whisper.
His cock pulses at my words, and he lets out a growl low in his throat as he lunges for me, pressing me against the cool tiles and kissing me ravenously.
“Fuck the parlour,” he bites out. “Fuck being on time.” He bites my lower lip. “We are not leaving this shower until you’ve come.”
I grab his erection and give it a firm tug, making him gasp. “You’re not getting left out, boo,” I murmur against his lips, and he grins wolfishly.
“Counting on that,” he replies, running a hand down one of my breasts, squeezing the nipple between two fingers, before dipping his head and biting the other gently.
Positioning my legs to open them a little more, his fingers find my pussy again, and he grunts and bites my neck when he finds me wet quite aside from the shower.
He slips first one finger, then two, inside me, unerringly finding the part I didn’t think I even had and massaging my g-spot firmly as his thumb finds and toys with my clit.
I was already turned on, so there’s a tinge of relief to the aching pleasure, and I gasp.
He covers my jaw and my neck in kisses, whispering the sweetest, filthiest words in my ear: that I’m so beautiful, that I feel amazing on his fingers, that he wants me more than anything and he’s going to spend hours tonguing my pussy the first chance he gets.
I run one hand over his intricate Samoan tattoo, lightly scratching my fingers down, catching the flat disc of one of his nipples and making him groan in my ear.
With my other hand, I rub the full length of him, loving how his hardness seems to reach breaking point.
I squeeze him, momentarily overcome by the bright jolts of pleasure gathering in my pussy as his fingers work, and I cry out.
My climax is within reach, but I don’t want to get there alone.
I want him to come, too. So I pick up speed as I jerk him off, trying to bring him with me.
His hand leaves my waist, where it has been clutching at my skin, and grabs my wrist to hold it still.
His eyes are screwed up, his teeth gritted against the pleasure I’m trying to give him, and he’s holding his breath.
His entire body is rigid. I’ve never seen someone fight so hard for mastery over themselves.
And, amid the zinging arousal, I feel a glow of pride that it’s me that got him this crazed.
“I want you to come,” I breathe, almost begging.
“Not until you do,” he growls, resting his forehead against mine and letting go of my wrist. He resumes working my pussy in earnest, shoving me closer and closer to the edge.
I fist his cock frantically, determined to hold my own in this race, until the bubble bursts and I pulse against his fingers, a ragged moan leaving my lips as I ride the orgasm out.
At the feel of the first clutch and flutter of my pussy, he lets out a raw shout and comes hotly on my skin, his dick surging hard.
I’m dizzy, weak-kneed, leaning against the shower wall for support.
I feel his lips on my jaw, my cheek, trailing to my lips, gentle as only a man this huge can be.
I love him, I think, and mentally jump slightly at the direction my mind has gone.
Isn’t that a bit...soon? Take it bloody easy.
.. But when he lifts his head and we gaze at each other, his bright blue into my grey, blue skies to my rainclouds, I just give in.
Even if it is fast, it’s still true. This gruff, gentle, kind, and patient man has my soul in a warm embrace, and that’s just the way it is.
I can’t ignore how much better I feel, how right I feel, when he’s with me. After all that I’ve been through, that’s worth everything. Even the fear.
I’m done being afraid.
I’m in. All the way.
But there’s no way I’m telling him right now, I think as we smile sleepily at each other, our heart rates returning to normal.
He’ll think it’s the orgasm afterglow talking, and I want him to know I mean it.
I don’t want him to doubt me. He deserves better than that.
So I resolve to tell him another time, when our heads are clear and neither of us are naked.
It’s kind of a shock when he pulls back and his skin leaves mine. The steam from the shower has a cooling effect, and I shiver a little. I want him back again, but if there wasn’t time before, now there really isn’t.
He hands me some shower gel, and it smells just like him: clean, a little woodsy, with a hint of rosemary.
“We really had better get this show on the road,” he says with a rueful grin, echoing my thoughts. He guides me closer to the shower and gently wipes his semen from my skin, kissing me one more time before lathering up.
Eli
I’ve been sexually active since I was 16 years old, and I had no idea it could be like this. No idea at all.