Chapter 29 #2
It’s Saturday, and nothing is booked for tomorrow.
I’m wearing some of my best red lacy underwear underneath this cute skirt and top, and Eli is about to find out that there are black hold-up stockings, not tights.
I got changed in his bathroom this morning so he wouldn’t see.
I want the element of surprise to work in my favour.
I’ve waited and plotted all day, and once Dean, Sadie, and Leo have left, I’ll lock up, head back to Eli’s studio, and pounce on him.
I think Leo’s twigged. I’m not sure what gave me away, but hell, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about my boss, it’s that he doesn’t miss a thing. Ever. And from the twinkle in his eye as I see them all leave, he knows exactly what I’m up to.
“Show no mercy,” he whispers to me as I am hugged goodbye. They all do that all the time, now, even when they’re just going to lunch. It’s so sweet.
I wink at him, and he grins at me. “Welcome back,” he murmurs.
“I never left,” I laugh.
He chuckles and nods. “Fair.” He turns and calls to Sadie and Dean, who have already wandered away.
“Hold up, folks.” They stop, and he turns back to me.
“Don’t forget to turn off the security cameras in his room,” he says quietly with a dirty grin, “unless, of course, you want to leave it on and make a cool home movie? I mean, that’s fine, but you'll owe me a new tape…” I shove him out the door with a laugh, and he holds his hands up, yielding.
“Just saying,” he says, giving me a look filled with affection.
I have a rush of love for my friend, who welcomed me into his world with open arms, no questions asked, and gave me so much.
He gives me finger guns, clicking his tongue, and then catches up with the others, slinging an arm around each of them and steering them away from where they were headed and into the direction of the pub.
I pause in the bathroom on my way to Eli’s room to check my appearance, after shutting off the cameras.
My top has a hint of cleavage, and I pull it down so it’s less of a hint and more of a shout.
No lipstick on my teeth. Eyeliner still straight…
I’ll do. The strapped up hand doesn’t really fit in with the sexy look I’m trying to create - not to mention having to put my American Sign Language studies on hold for now - but I only need one good hand to show my guy a good time.
I feel the flutter of butterflies in my stomach when I head to his studio, and it makes me smile. I’ve wondered how to go about this all day, and I think the direct approach will be best.
He looks up and smiles warmly when I enter. “Hey. Still want Italian tonight, or - ”
I cut him off with my lips, backing him up against the nearest wall and kissing him, hard, deep, fast, as passionately as I can.
I put the full force of my frustration over the last few days into every pull of my lips, and snake my good hand down to the front of his black jeans to give his cock a friendly squeeze.
Startled, he kisses me back, matching me shot for shot, but then pulls away a little. “What are you doing?”
I give him a ‘duh’ look. “What does it look like,” I murmur against his lips, licking the seam of his mouth so he’ll let me back in, and to goad him into responding. I grin as I feel a shiver pass over his skin, and he groans quietly.
“Chère,” he breathes, eyes flashing, sounding a little desperate, “I don’t want to hurt you…”
I lean back and look him dead in the eye.
“Then why,” I purr, “have you been making my hoo-ha all achy this entire time? Cos that’s been agony.
” I take his hand and place his fingers up under my skirt, letting them brush the tops of my thighs to clue him in about the hold ups.
His eyes widen, and then close when I place them at my core.
I think the hot slipperiness he finds there is more eloquent than anything I might say.
“Seriously, just do me. Throw down. It’s what I want.
” I can’t help my pleading tone. I love him, and all, and the slowjam touchy feely gentle sex is nice, but dear god just have me and be rough about it…
After all, it’s only my hand that’s hurt.
He looks at me for a long moment, and just as I’m about to start pleading again, he yanks me closer to him and kisses the life out of me like he just can't resist it anymore, pushing my underwear to one side and plunging two fingers inside me, stroking my walls juuuuust right, in perfect rhythm with the sweeps of his tongue in my mouth. Oh, thank GOD…
“That what you want?” he growls, and it’s so hot I can hardly stand upright anymore.
I squeeze his cock again, which has gone from interested to flint hard.
“Uh-huh.” Slowly, I give him my dirtiest smile, and something sparks in his eyes that lets me know I’ve won.
I’ve told him what I want, and he has never been able to resist giving it to me.
I decide to up my game a little, catch him off-guard and show him just how recovered I truly am.
Turning him, I shove him hard, and he falls into his leather chair.
I can see from the flash in his eyes that this has really turned him on, seeing me so strong and assertive, and I don’t give him a chance to think before I pull at his fly, tugging his jeans and his boxers down together.
He lifts his hips a little to help me, and I hear him mutter, “Jesus…”
The second his hard-on is free, I grab it and wrap my mouth around it, eliciting a groan from him.
He tastes so good. I’ve missed the sweet, salty tang of him; over the past few nights, it’s all been for me, and he’s distracted me every time I’ve reached for him.
Well, screw that. I moan loudly for his benefit as I lick up the rapidly gathering pre-cum at his tip.
I put more of him in my mouth, swirling my tongue. Another inch. Another…
“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, and my mouth vibrates with a filthy little chuckle. It makes him throw his head back and groan again. That. That’s how I want him: panting and out of control and dazed and utterly beside himself. That’s when he’s at his most beautiful.
I drag my tongue up his shaft, and it pulses in my mouth. Good boy. He loves when I play with his banjo string with the tip of my tongue, so I finish my lick with that. He swears through gritted teeth like a demented sailor. I’ve never heard such language in all my born days.
Good. This is fun.
I grasp his thighs and dip my head again, fitting as much of him into my mouth as I can, fisting my hand around the rest, rubbing in tandem with every dip of my head until I have a good rhythm going, one I know from experience will have him cross eyed with need.
He’s gasping now. “Fuck, Em...suck me harder,” he begs.
I pause, to make him wonder if I will or if I won’t, teasing him. But to be honest, this is hot as hell for me, too, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him in this zone. So I do exactly as he asks, like a good girl.
Before long, he grasps my shoulders, fingers digging in a little, and pulls me upwards.
Before I can protest that, excuse-me-very-much, but I’m not done, he rolls me in the chair until I’m underneath him and kisses me hard until I’m dizzy and writhing with lust. Pulling my skirt up, he yanks my knickers to one side and positions himself at my entrance.
He lifts his head, and if he asks me if I’m sure this is what I want, I swear to god I will brain him.
I tilt my hips, and the first inch of him slips inside me. His jaw clenches. “Don’t you dare be gentle,” I growl at him, reaching down to grasp his arse and squeeze it, hard. To provoke him further, I lift my head and bite his lower lip until his breath hisses.
I am rewarded for my warning when he slams inside me as hard as he possibly can, harder than he ever has before.
It hurts, but it’s a nice hurt. The best kind.
I cry out, and he smothers the sound by kissing me again, thrusting inside me like a man possessed.
We don’t bother removing any more clothes.
Our bared flesh slaps against each other as the pace picks up, and I find myself squealing with the intense build-up of sharp erotic sensations.
We grunt. We growl. We clutch and rake at each other, animalistic and wild, any thought of gentleness long gone.
I’m so close.
So is he.
I can see he’s struggling to restrain himself from letting go, and he reaches between us and pinches my clit between his fingers, providing me with the extra friction I need.
“Come on,” he snarls, pleading, and no sooner are the words spoken than I start to feel it, the tingles, spreading and building and fizzing…
My walls clamp around him hard, and my whole face is screwed up on a silent scream because this is beyond anything I’ve ever felt before, and I am coming so hard I feel certain I’m going to lose it completely and pass out, but I don’t care, it’s worth it.
He roars like a crazed animal, burying his head against my neck as he shoots his load inside me. I can feel every throb, every pulse, and I float back down to earth into a bed of gleeful smugness.
I knew I could convince him.
We take a few moments to catch our breath and relax. He rolls us back so I’m resting atop him, and I listen to his heartbeat return to normal, slowly but surely.
“Are you telling me,” he whispers, “that you’ve been wearing stockings all day?”
“Yup.”
“God damn,” he sighs. I giggle, lifting my head to look up at him.
“Well, I mean,” I point out, “you barely got the benefit of them.”
He grins. “That’s true. Give me a minute, I’ll see what I can do about that.
” My eyes widen, making him laugh. “Oh, no, Chère. Don’t give me that look.
You called down the thunder, and I’m gonna make sure you and your ‘hoo-ha’ get every last hit of it.
” He runs a thumb over my lower lip. “I’m sorry, by the way. ”
“Hmm?” Not what I was expecting.
“I’ve clearly not been giving you what you wanted lately,” he says with a rueful smile.
“It’s just that…” A shadow passes over his eyes.
“What happened...it scared me. I heard you scream...and I saw what he did to you…” He’s struggling to get the words out.
“I just couldn’t bear for…” He trails off, at a loss. But I know what he’s trying to say.
“It’s OK,” I whisper. “You made him stop. And I’m fine.
I’m healing. And I’m more myself than ever.
” I kiss his jaw. “I don’t want to be the poor little victim anymore.
I want to be me. I’m stronger than I have ever been in my life, and I want to revel in that.
And I can’t if everyone is cosseting me, however well-meaning.
I appreciate it, please believe me. I’ve never had such good friends.
But it’s time for it to stop.” I lean up and look down at him, resting my head on my good hand.
“I want to be your partner, not your burden. Not your poor little wounded bird.”
His eyes soften, and he plays with a lock of my hair with a single finger.
“I am so proud of you,” he says quietly.
Leaning up to kiss me, he slides his hands underneath my top and starts to pull it up.
I lift my arms, and once my top is off, he scoops me up into his arms, hands on my butt, and lifts me up, making me yelp with surprise. “Now, about those stockings…”
I keep them on for him as he screws me up against the wall by his shelves, thrusting in and out of me with such force that most of their contents crash all over the floor.
Inks, framed photos, equipment, my ripped knickers, everything is everywhere by the time we’ve both come for the last time.
Turns out, he’s definitely a stockings man.