"And what did your research tell you?"
"After all that research, I sat down and watched all your movies. I even found footage of you on stage at NYU."
I laughed. "You did? How?"
He shrugged. "If one knows how and where to look, such things are simple."
I wasn't sure what that meant, and decided not to ask. "And? What does all this tell you?"
"That my feelings for you encompass the entirety of you, including your public persona." He followed the strap of my bra up over my shoulder. "But to me, you are merely and perfectly just...you."
"You're teasing me, Xavier," I murmured.
His brow furrowed. "I am? How? I am not teasing. I'm telling the honest truth of my feelings."
I rubbed my hands over his chest, under his shirt. "Not teasing me with words, teasing me with your hands."
"I am?" he asked, still sounding confused.
"You keep making me think you're going to do something. Like touch me under my shorts, or take off my bra. But you never actually do it."
"If I allowed the way I touched you to become overtly sexual, wouldn't it cheapen the emotional impact of what we're talking about?" he asked, his eyes searching mine with his disconcertingly open intensity. "I don't want you to think I'm only saying this to...get into your pants, so to speak."
"Xavier," I whispered, "you getting into my pants is a foregone conclusion."
"It is?"
"If...if that's what you want, then...yes." I swallowed hard, heart thundering with barely restrained need. "I want you so bad I can't stand it."
"Then why don't you touch me?"
"Because..." I let out a shaky breath, sitting back again to meet his gaze, taking his hands in mine, palm to palm between our bodies, fingers tangled. "Because I want you to make the first move. I want you to show me how you feel. I need to know you want me as much as I want you."
"I do. I told you how intense my desire is."
"Don't tell me, Xavier, show me." I closed my eyes, thinking, trying to put what I really wanted as clearly as possible. "I've always been strong and in control, and like I've said--you make me feel weak and out of control. Being vulnerable with you is scary, but if I'm going to be totally honest--I want to be that way with you. I want to let my guard down. I want to be...not in charge, not in control, not the one directing and guiding and making all the decisions."
Xavier nodded, but I could tell he was thinking, so I sat in silence, letting him have the time he needed to formulate his thoughts.
"My brothers, especially the older four, are these big, tough, dominant alpha male types. They take what they want and don't apologize for it, and somehow, they always seem to give their women exactly what they want just by taking what they want. And I've always wanted to be like that, but I don't know how."
I hesitated, considering my next words carefully. "I don't ever want you to try to be anyone but yourself, Xavier. Don't hide who you are. If you need to flap your hands, flap them. If you need to stare off into space, stare into space. If you need to count, count. If things are too much and you need a break, tell me." I slid my fingers through his hair, grazed his beard with my palms. "Give me all of you, Xavier. Every little part of you. I'll love all of it, if you'll let me."
He blinked rapidly, and when he spoke, his voice was thick and rough and hesitant. "Why? How?"
"I've never loved anyone before, Xavier. I never knew how. More than that, I never knew why. Why would anyone love someone? It always seemed like so much risk for so little reward, but I get it, now. I don't have a choice about loving you--I can pretend I don't and be miserable, or I can admit that I do and accept it and go for it with everything I have."
"What does this have to do with what I said about wanting you, and what you said about why you want me to make the first move?"
"Because the other part of it is that I...I want to open my heart and be soft and vulnerable with you, and trust that you'll take care of me. And I want to need you and want you, and know that...that you need me and want me back." I stared into his eyes and just breathed for a moment. "I want you to take what you want and not apologize for it. Because I want everything with you. All that intensity you were talking about? Xavier--I want that. All of it. No matter how intense or scary or powerful it is."
He stared past me, over my shoulder, unblinking, unseeing--or perhaps seeing more than I could comprehend. Once again, I allowed him the silence and the space to say what he had to say in his own time.
Eventually, Xavier turned those fiery green eyes to mine, and when he spoke his voice was deep and thick and husky, rough with emotion and need. "You're telling me that if I want to touch you, that I should just touch you. Don't wait for you to ask me, or to show me you want me first."
"That's what I'm saying, Xavier."
"Just take what I want." His eyes flicked to mine. "What if what I want was...rough, or wild? What if I took what I wanted and lost control of how badly I wanted you?"
"You are a gentle person, Xavier. And if you went wild, I would go wild with you." I met his gaze, letting the fire I felt in my blood and bones, in my core and my hands and tongue and lips blaze into my eyes. "Give it all to me. You want rough and crazy? I'll meet you there, Xavier, and take you miles beyond it."
His jaw tensed, flexing, the dark stubble on his jaw shifting in the morning sunlight. His hands slid up my back, roamed over my shoulders. Paused, and then danced up my nape, to the high ponytail that had my hair off my neck and shoulders while I was running. With a slow gentle tug, he pulled the elastic ponytail holder out of my hair, letting my strawberry blonde curls explode around my shoulders.
"I like your hair down," he murmured.
I waited, breathless, for whatever would come next.
He skated his palms back over my shoulders, tracing the band of my sports bra around my back, his fingers running along the lower edge as he'd done minutes earlier.
"So, if I want to see your breasts bare--if I want to nuzzle my face between them and kiss them," he said, his fingertips curling under the elastic band at my diaphragm, "then I could just remove your bra? Right here, right now, and you wouldn't mind?"
I couldn't speak, though a million versions of go ahead and find out ran through my mind.
He hesitated another moment, and then slowly lifted the sports bra upward, as if waiting for me to stop him. Instead, I lifted my arms over my head. He tugged the tight purple undergarment up and off, folding it neatly and placing it on top of his jacket.
Naked from the waist up, the air was cool on my skin, and his hungry gaze made my nipples pucker and stand out hard as diamonds, aching, sensitive, and begging for his attention.
He gave them the attention they were begging for--he buried his face between my breasts, his stubble rough and scratchy on my skin, making me gasp and whimper in delight at the contrasting sensations of his soft lips and wet tongue and rough beard. He kissed and kissed, everywhere, over my breastbone and down the upper slope of my breasts, down between them, his beard scratching the insides, and then he kissed his way to my left nipple first, his tongue flicking over the erect nub. I gasped, arching my spine, burying my fingers in his hair.
"God, yes," I breathed.
"You like that?" he asked in a gruff murmur.
"Fuck yes," I growled. "More."
Cupping them, holding them up, he licked and lapped and flicked his tongue against my nipple until I was throbbing all over, and then he transferred his mouth to my other breast, teasing his way from the underside and around the circumference of it and across the slope before finally taking my aching, begging nipple into his mouth again.
"Jesus, Xavier--"
I was panting, breathless, and my core was throbbing. I seriously felt like I was approaching the edge of orgasm just from his mouth on my breasts.
Abruptly, he pulled away, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, jaw flexing. His hands latched onto my hips and he pushed me off his lap.
"Xavier, what are you
--" I began, confused by the sudden absence of his touch and heat and mouth.
He stood me up, facing him, his hands resting on my hips. Keeping his eyes on mine, he hooked his fingers in the stretchy white fabric of my running shorts, which was all I had on, nothing beneath them except bare skin. I exhaled a tremulous breath; my thighs clenched together, core aching. His eyes raked over my body, pausing at my tits before traveling down to the V between my thighs.
"If I want to taste you again--if I want to bury my face between the warm silk of your thighs and taste the sweetness of your pussy--" his voice dropped to a whisper at the last word, his cheeks flushing as he said it, "then all I would have to do is this..."
He drew the shorts down a few inches, baring the upper swell of my pudendum, his eyes on mine, waiting for the demurral, the reproach--and when I didn't offer one he tugged them off all the way, picking them up as I stepped out, folding them and placing them on the pile with my bra.
Naked, then, I stood aching and trembling, flesh pebbling from the cool air and from desire, nipples damp from his mouth and throbbing for more, my pussy seeping the essence of my need, clenching around nothing.
He didn't move, just sat staring at me, his eyes roaming my body as if no matter how long and hard he looked, he simply could never get enough, could never believe I was real, that I was for him.
"Touch me, taste me, kiss me, make me come," I whispered. "Take me inside and give me a dozen orgasms in a row." I swallowed hard, licking my lips, shaking all over. "Please. Anything."
He reached for me, his hands cupping around my buttocks and pulling me closer, so I was standing between his knees. "Anything?"
"Anything," I repeated. I ran my hands through his hair, gazing down between my breasts at his handsome face. "Everything."
"Show me your bedroom."
I took his hand and led him inside, through the gleaming marble and stainless steel of my kitchen, past the heavy dark beams and stark white walls and white leather of my living room, up the stairs and to my suite of rooms, which took up the whole upper floor. My bed faced a wall of windows, with a view of LA spread out beyond, the hillside falling away. Dawn bathed the room in shades of gold and orange and grapefruit-pink light.
I led him to my bed, and I sat down on the edge, holding his hands. He stood over me, a lean, masculine god in black leather and white cotton, his hair gloriously messy, his eyes sharp and fiery and fiercely green. His zipper bulged, his erection straining behind it.
He leaned forward, bending over me, taking my face in his hands and tilting my mouth up to his, and he kissed me breathless, kissed me stupid, kissed me dizzy.
"I want to make love to you," he murmured, his lips moving against mine, his voice a rough whisper.
"God, please..." I murmured.
He lay me down on the bed, bent over me, kissing my throat and my tits. "Allow me to clarify." My feet were still flat on the floor, my ass at the edge of the bed, and he dropped to his knees in front of me. "I'm going to go down on you until you scream, and then I'm going to make love to you."
Fuck.
Could he get any more perfect?
His tongue hit my clit and I realized that yes, in fact, he could.
15
Xavier
* * *
She was gasping raggedly, and I felt her legs shaking against my face as I slowly nuzzled my way up between her thighs.
At first, as I spoke boldly and touched her and did what my desires told me, I felt like an imposter--I was always waiting for her to tell me no, to stop me, to change her mind. But she never did. The opposite happened, in fact--the more explicitly I told her what I wanted and what I intended, the more boldly I touched her, the more she seemed to enjoy it. The more she seemed to want me, the more she seemed to want what I was doing, what I was saying.
So now, I parted her thighs with my hands, spreading her legs wide, exposing her core. I smelled her essence, and inhaled deeply. I was tempted to close my eyes in enjoyment of her scent and to focus on the feelings, but I didn't. I wanted to see her. I took my time exploring her--I used my thumbs to spread apart the petals of her womanhood, examining the lovely pink flower within. I slid my index finger inside her, slowly and gently, feeling the wet slick heat clenching around the digit, and I explored the inside of her, watching her, studying her reactions. When I turned my palm face-up and curled my finger in a come-here motion, I brushed against something inside her and she jerked, gasping a shriek.
I flicked my tongue against her clitoris, and she jerked again, but in a different way, and her whimper was different then, too. Different kinds of pleasure?
I did both things at once, touched her inside where it made her flinch and circled my tongue around her clit as I'd discovered she liked best last time; now she arched up off the bed, her heels sliding up my spine. I cupped her ass with my free hand, holding her up, and she clung to me with her thighs, and I massaged that spot inside her and licked her clit, and she went wild. Screaming wordlessly, writhing, panting, moaning.
I kept my eyes open, watching every movement of her body. Her tits shook and swayed and trembled as she ground her core against me, and her stomach flexed and her face twisted into a rictus of ecstasy so potent it looked almost like pain.
I knew the moment she reached orgasm: her voice broke on a whimper, and her spine arched, and her inner walls clamped down hard around my finger, and the taste of her essence burst in my mouth, sweet and tangy and musky and thick and pungent. I pushed her through the orgasm, licking and massaging until she settled back onto the bed limply, panting raggedly.
"I know I said to make me come a dozen times," she gasped, "but...fuck, I need a minute."
I lifted her in both hands and settled her higher on the bed, gently depositing her head on the pile of throw pillows, and then moved to sit on the edge of the bed, watching the way sweat dappled her skin, watching the way her gasps for breath made her breasts twitch and sway.
When she'd caught her breath, she opened her eyes and turned her head to look at me. "Jesus, Xavier. You make me come so fucking hard it's crazy."
"I love watching you orgasm," I said, running a hand along her thigh from knee to hip, wanting to touch her again, to make her come again, to watch her come apart from the way I touched her.
She rolled toward me, moving to her hands and knees, crawling across the bed like a primal beast, like a tigress. Her shoulder blades shifted and her breasts swayed and her hips undulated sinuously from side to side, the explosion of red-gold spirals of her hair illuminated and made more red and more gold by the sun.
"My turn," she purred.
I swallowed hard. "Your turn?"
"To watch you come apart."
"I want to make love."
She grinned hungrily. "We will. I'm not letting you leave until we've made love so many times we pass out." She slid off the bed, kneeling on the floor in front of me. "But first, there's something I want to do."
"What's that?"
"Something I've fantasized about since the first time I saw you."
She peeled my shirt off, tossing it carelessly away. Then she trailed her fingertips down my chest, stuttering them over my abs, pausing at the button of my riding leathers. Biting her lip, she undid the button and lowered the zipper. My cock sprang out, still restrained by my underwear. She hooked her fingers in the belt loops at my back and tugged--I lifted up and let her yank the leather pants down my legs and off. Now inside out she threw them aside. Her eyes were greedy, full of blatant lust as she removed my underwear. She did this slowly, however, deliberately tugging the elastic away from my erection, and then tugging them down past my buttocks. Off, then, and the underwear were tossed in a third direction, and now I was sitting naked on her bed, as she had been minutes before.
My erection jutted upward, laying flat against my stomach, straining, aching.
Low remained on her knees on the floor, sitting on her heels, shimmying closer and closer until she was kneeling between
my wide-spread thighs. Her eyes met mine, and her hands danced up my calves, over my knees, and slid up my thighs. I had stopped breathing.
I needed her touch like I needed to breathe.
"Low--" I breathed. "If you touch me, I won't last but a moment."
She smiled, biting her lower lip. "I know." She traced my abs, and then ran a finger down my belly next to the column of my raging erection.
"I don't want to--"
"Just sit and watch. Enjoy what I'm going to do." She palmed my cheek, rubbing my cheekbone with a thumb, her smile sweet. "Trust me, okay?"
I exhaled carefully. "Of course I trust you."
"Then let me make you feel good."
"Okay."
"Good," she breathed, and wrapped her hand around my cock. "And Xavier?"
I couldn't breathe, and barely managed to grate out a reply. "What?"
"Don't hold back. Not a single thing."
I smiled in acquiescence. I couldn't have held back, even if I'd wanted to.
Her fingers slid down, ringed around my cock, stroking my flesh with a slow, loving caress. On the upstroke, her thumb rolled against the tip. Her eyes flicked between my face and what her hands were doing. I clenched my fists at my sides--despite what she'd said, I was holding back...not out of embarrassment, but because I didn't want this to end.
Her touch was fire, all-consuming, but this time, instead of overwhelming me, I let the sensations own me. I delved into them, accepted them, and lost myself in them.
A few slow caresses, then, first one hand and then the other, and then both, and I was aching and throbbing, breathing hard. Still holding back. Wanting more. Wanting her to touch me forever, wanting the feeling of her hand around my cock to never stop, never end.
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