Chapter Five #2
“Where is your underwear?” she choked out, her eyes locked on his bobbing dick.
“I didn’t want to waste time,” he told her, fighting to keep his voice even. The end of his dick was damp, sensitive, and the conditioned air was like cool fingers stroking.
“What, like you knew we were going to end up here?” she asked, outrage seeping into her voice as she finally raised her eyes to his.
“I told you. I know you.” He jerked his chin. “Get in the middle of the bed.”
“Asshole,” she accused hotly, but she shifted to the center of the mattress anyway, and he would’ve smiled if he’d had enough blood in his brain to direct his mouth to move.
“Panties off.”
She hissed like a feral cat, and he figured the odds were again about fifty-fifty that she’d tell him to go to hell.
But there was heat along with the defiance blazing in her eyes, and after a glaring at him for a solid five seconds, she shimmied out of the purple briefs and tossed them over the side of the bed.
He kept his eyes on her face out of pure self-preservation, because if he looked at her pussy, he was a goner. “Up against the pillows.”
Eyes still flashing, she wiggled her way up the mattress, all the round, bouncy parts of her bouncing—that bra was doing nothing to restrain her tits—and he knew damn well she had her knees further apart than necessary, and when she finally sank into the pillows stacked against the headboard, she didn’t bring them back together.
“You sneaky slut,” he accused.
She just smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh. Grab the headboard.”
The smirk deepened, and she stretched out her arms to run her hands over the smooth, sleek, wood panel. “How am I supposed to do that, exactly?”
“God, you’re a brat.” He fucking loved it. “Grab your hair.”
“No.”
“What happened to ‘I can give up control’?” he asked.
“Well, I could, but I didn’t shave my armpits.”
Jesus Christ, who cares? “Then put them behind your back.”
“You’re really making this complicated,” she complained, but obeyed.
He climbed onto the bed. “And keep them there.”
The sparkling anticipation in her eyes turned to shock when he grabbed her knees and shoved them wide. “What—?”
“Shut up,” he said and, flopping forward onto his belly, shoved his face between her legs, stopping about two inches from the promised land.
She squealed and tried to jerk her legs closed, her thighs slapping against his ears before he managed to firm his grip and shove them wide again. Holding tight, he looked his fill.
God, he’d missed her pussy. So pretty and pink and gleaming wet, with a plump, fat clit that he’d once lived to suck on.
She’d shaved her pubic hair completely back then, a practice she’d clearly abandoned.
He found the thick thatch of ebony curls at the top of her mound fascinating and, curious, he let go of one knee to delve his fingers into it.
She made a sound, a kind of throaty exclamation, and he looked up from between her thighs. She was watching him, eyes dark and cheeks flushed, that Bailey smirk firmly in place.
He gave the damp curls a light tug. “You stopped shaving.”
“It’s a pain in the ass,” she replied. “Deal with it.”
Amused that she thought he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—he said, “Okay,” and dragged his tongue from her taint to her clit in one long, slurping lick.
He had the pleasure of seeing her eyes go hazy and her mouth go slack, erasing the smirk, and he wanted to keep looking at her face so he could savor every twinge of delight, every spasm of ecstasy.
But her pussy was right there, the gorgeous, glorious taste of her in his mouth for the first time in eight long years, and he was too eager for more to spare even a second of his attention.
He’d look at her face when he was fucking her, he decided and, wedging his shoulders between her thighs, got reacquainted with her pussy.
She tasted as rich, as ripe as he remembered, like a decadent dessert, spicy and sweet.
Her skin was soft, plump and hot with her arousal, and he devoured her like that dessert, licking and sucking and plucking with teeth and lips and tongue while she ground herself eagerly against his face, her little whines and pants and wails echoing above him, a familiar and beloved song.
He let it wash over him, let the joy of it rush through him. His own arousal was keen, a heady rush that would’ve left him shaky on his feet if he’d been upright, but he didn’t care. All his focus was on the woman in front of him, and the needy, greedy flesh between her thighs.
He knew that flesh as well as he knew his own, had dreamed of it, of her, more times over the years than he could count.
Dreamed of having this chance again, to make her squeal and pant, clutch and cry, scream and come.
He’d lived for her orgasms, for the way she’d fall apart, sweaty and shaky and incoherent with pleasure, clinging to him like he was the only thing holding her together.
He’d dreamt of those moments most of all.
She brought him abruptly back to the present when her hands slid into his hair, tried to drag his mouth up to her clit. With a warning growl, he bit her labia. “Behind your back,” he mumbled, his mouth full.
“Goddamn you,” she choked out, but her hands disappeared, and he rewarded her with a strong, hard suck on her distended clit before moving down to the open, dripping hole of his dreams.
He shoved his tongue as deep as he could, wiggling and jabbing and stroking against those sensitive inner walls, pushing his hands under her ass to tilt her up, and was rewarded by the first flutters of impending orgasm.
His dick was so hard it hurt, and he had to force himself not to grind against the bed.
More than once while going down on her he’d gotten so turned on by the taste and feel—and the power trip of making her come—that he’d shot his load on the blankets instead of in her, and that was not going to happen tonight.
He was older now, wiser, more in control of his dick. In control of her, he reminded himself, and with that thought echoing, slowed the thrust of his tongue.
“No,” she choked out, ass bouncing in his hands as she thrust upward, trying to jam her crotch into his face. “Dammit, Nash.”
“Not in charge, remember?” he told her, and gave her clit a delicate lick that made her shudder before rising to his knees between her sticky thighs. He gave one of them a pat. “Stay put.”
“I fucking hate you,” she snarled.
He climbed off the bed, holding the grin until his back was turned, and walked to his dresser. “Sweet talker.”
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
He turned back, holding up the condom he’d gotten off the dresser. “Condom. Unless you want to go without?”
Her flush deepened, and under the lace of her bra, her nipples were rock hard. So that hadn’t changed, either.
She had a thing for come. Not a fetish, exactly, but given the choice and reasonable safety precautions, she much preferred taking a load bare to using condoms. They’d both enjoyed indulging that preference, until a birth control fail in their junior year had made them paranoid, and much more cautious.
He walked back to the bed, flipping the little foil packet over in his fingers. “What birth control are you on these days?”
She licked her lips, her gaze flickering from the condom to his face. “The permanent kind.”
He halted next to the bed. “Huh?”
“I got rid of my uterus a year and a half ago.”
The condom slipped from his fingers to flutter to the floor. “Seriously?”
“And my fallopian tubes. I kept my cervix. And my ovaries.”
“How?”
Exasperation sparked in her gaze. “The usual way, with surgical tools and anesthesia.”
“No, I mean how did you finally manage to get it done?” he wondered. The doctor she’d had in college wouldn’t even consider it when she’d asked.
“Do you really want to discuss my reproductive health history right now?” she demanded.
He kind of did, because it was interesting, but he could ask those questions later. “Nope. Just need to know if you want me to wear a condom.”
“When was the last time you were tested?”
“Beginning of the month,” he told her, and left out the part that he’d done that with just this scenario in mind. “All clear.”
“Any partners since then?”
He shook his head. “You?”
“Annual physical a week ago,” she said. “I’m good.”
“Last partner?” he prompted.
Her eyes flickered. “A while ago.”
“How long is a while?”
Now she sighed, a sound of exasperation and annoyance. “Like a year.”
He grinned. “No wonder you’re ready to go off like a rocket.”
“Would you just shut up and fuck me already?”
“Okay,” he said agreeably. “With a condom or not?”
“Not.”
“Aces,” he decided and climbed back on the bed.
She slid her hands out from behind her back to reach for him, and he clucked his tongue. “Uh-uh. Keep your hands where they are.”
She shoved them back underneath her with ill grace. “Were you always this big an asshole and I just didn’t notice?”
He knelt between her splayed thighs and took his dick in hand. “You were always in charge, so it never came up.”
“You liked me in charge,” she accused, her breath hitching when he edged closer, bumping his penis against her swollen clit.
“No argument.” She was so hot, so wet, and the deep pink opening between her glistening labia beckoned like a siren’s song. He managed through sheer power of will to keep from thrusting deep and pumping away like a mad man. “You can be in charge again next time.”
“What makes you think there’s going to be a next time?” she challenged through gritted teeth.
He guided his penis in a slow circle around her clit, down over slick and swollen flesh to rest at that hot little hole, fluttering and clutching at him as if desperate to suck him in.
“Please,” he said with a smirk, just to see her eyes flash.
He waited until she opened her mouth to blast him, then angled his hips and slid balls deep.