by KC Decker
“There’s something I have wanted to tell you for a long time, Alabama. I can’t even fully enjoy your body or your mouth until I get it off my chest.” I pull back. This doesn’t sound good.
“Is this when you tell me you are fucking married?” I ask with so much derision in my voice, it doesn’t even sound like my own.
He looks stunned, like I just slapped him with a dead salmon. If he’s married, I will get out of this tub and be out of this room within three minutes.
“No! I’m not married. Fucking hell, what do you take me for?” Now both of his hands are holding my face. “No, it’s nothing like that,” he says gently.
“What then? Just say it.” My chest feels like it’s been caved in by all the disappointment hanging in the air. Why is trust such a fickle bitch? He lightly kisses my lips, but the only thing I return is an empty stare.
“I just want to tell you, I’m sorry I called you a cunt.”
It takes some time to register what he just said, but then I risk a smile at his acknowledgment. I’ve often wondered if he remembered saying such a thing.
“That’s not who I am. I wanted to kick my own ass after I said it.” He looks completely sincere and dangerously sexy—more so now because of his admission and apology.
“And I’d also like to say that it made me really proud of you to hear you stand up for yourself after I said it.”
“Yeah? Well, I’ve never been called a cunt before, I’m glad my instinct was to defend myself.”
“Somehow I doubt you’ve ever not stood up for yourself,” he laughs. This time when he wraps his arms around my lower back to secure me against him, one hand drifts down between my cheeks. Though his fingers dally with my ass, he doesn’t penetrate me. It’s more like he is feeling out my comfort level with butt stuff. He is playing, not entering.
Come to think of it, last night when he got me off, he didn’t press his fingers inside of me either. It seems purposeful, now that I’m analyzing his lack of penetration, and Ivy’s words rise to the surface of my mind, he never would have fucked you after just one date.
I’m done pondering his fingers and their apparent boundaries because while the fingers of one hand play, his other hand flattens against the sway of my back and pulls me tightly against his stone-hard erection. At this point, I don’t know who’s motion is grinding us together, but the sensation against my clit halts my breath and steals my thoughts.
“You feel incredible against my cock, Alabama,” he grinds out all raspy, like he just smoked a pack of cigarettes. “Are you done with your bath? Because I’m ready to taste your pussy.”
I grab a towel on the way out of the bathroom, but Gavin thwarts my efforts to wrap it around myself by hoisting me up to his hips and attacking my mouth. We are still wet, and perhaps still a little soapy, so when I wrap my legs around his waist, our skin feels slick and overheated.
He has one arm holding me to him while he somewhat crawls up the bed, depositing me somewhere near the middle of it.
“I’m not going to fuck you right now because I don’t want to skip the natural progression of our relationship—or fuck you for the first time in a hotel room—but, Alabama?”
“What?” I ask while literally squirming beneath his water dappled body, as his heavy cock sways above me.
“I’m still going to have you howling from the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had, and if your throat isn’t raw from screaming my name, it will be because I’m not done yet.” Then his mouth is on my neck, my hands are in his hair, and our bodies are writhing together against a craving that must rival a heroin addiction.
He kisses his way down my cleavage and then aggressively pinches one nipple while simultaneously teasing the other one gently with his tongue.
“Which one?” he asks, still tonguing my nipple while looking up at my face. I shudder involuntarily against the erotic mutiny taking place within. When I don’t answer right away, he gives another rough pinch along with the paradoxical ticklish flutter.
“Both,” I groan as I squeeze my hands into fists, tugging his hair in the process. I can’t choose between a light or rough touch, they both seem essential to me. Each of my nipples are humming from the diverse attention—but in very different ways.
“Good girl,” he says wickedly before he reverses his method. I’m going out of my mind while he unravels my body. The use of his tongue piercing is calculated and very deliberate—and he engages it at will. It’s far enough back on his tongue that it doesn’t get in the way kissing, but it’s also far enough forward to offer a startling array of new and wonderful sensations.
When he starts to nibble on my hip and creep his hand between my thighs, he can tell that my legs are already shaking. It might be a mixture of both the cold, and my neediness, but it’s not cold in here at all. He slides his palm up the inside of my thigh, from my knee straight to the heat of my vagina. His hand is warm and inquisitive, then he widens his fingers, spreading me apart.
“You are so completely sexy, I don’t even know where to start,” he says as he grins up at me. He must only see a look of delirium on my face because between last night, the cabana, and the bathtub—I have never been so wound up or needed someone to fuck me so bad. Add to that the fact that he’s already said we are are not having sex, and I feel like a grenade that had it’s pin pulled fifteen minutes ago.
“Spread your legs, I want to see your pussy.”
I hesitate because it seems crude and indecent to just, show him my pussy. He must disagree because he adds, “Nice and wide, Bama, I’ve been thinking about this moment for a long time.”
“You have?” I ask, touched—however ridiculous that sounds.
“I’ve busted a lot of nut thinking about your tight little pussy. So, now, I want to look at it.” He sits back on his knees, between my legs as I widen them. I feel shy doing it, but also naughty, and like I have some unchecked power over him.
“Jesus, Alabama,” his voice is scratched apart, the same way it was in the bathroom when he played with my tits. It’s like he is seeing some sort of revelation and is being moved spiritually. He looks at me far longer than is entirely polite, which only serves to intensify the heat of my embarrassment. Then he lowers his face to the altar and begins to pray.
Chapter 23
When his mouth first makes contact with my revealing display, he moans the sexiest sound of satisfaction I’ve ever heard. It kind of mirrors my own. But when I feel the warm silver ball of his piercing swipe up my crease, opening me for the tip of his tongue, I reflexively jerk away from his mouth and the rapid onslaught of sensation.
He is undaunted, in fact, he may even up his efforts because then he gently sucks my clit with his warm satiny mouth. Then, when blood has rushed the area, he runs the metal ball back and forth over it. Just that sequence alone is enough to make me come if he repeated it a few more times. But I get the impression he is in it for the marathon, not the sprint.
“Gavin,” I whisper pant, “It’s so good, oh my God, it’s so good,” I can’t lie still, and arching my back changes his angle—but I can’t help it, my neck is straining back, my hands are clutching the pillows behind me—and I’m about to come—already.
When it happens, I’m grinding my teeth together trying to offset the intensity of it. So, a long, drawn-out, growly sound is what accompanies the wild pulsing of my vagina.
Gavin rides out my orgasm with one hand flat on my stomach, and the other arm looped under my thigh and holding it open. He eases up on his ministrations almost completely during my climax, but he doesn’t stop. Not at all.
After only a couple of minutes of lighter, post-orgasm flicks with his tongue, my legs really start to shake. He slides one hand heavily up my torso, then begins to roll my nipple between his fingers. Then he releases his hold on my thigh and brings that hand down to where his mouth meets my body. He widens two fingers into the shape of a V, further opening me for the rumble of the metal ball that sits wickedly on his tongue.
Mere seconds go by before I’m moaning that I’m about to come again. He evidently finds that humorous because I can feel his chuckle with remarkable clarity. This time, he leaves my sensitive clit alone while I shiver from the inside out, but he still rubs his piercing against the raw part of my body that’s exposed between his widened fingers.
I’m not a screamer when I climax—I’m more of an internal rejoicer, so no one is more surprised than me when I shout, “Fuuuuck! Gavin! Ahhhhhh-fuck-gahhhh!” with my latest orgasm.
When it’s over, he crawls up my body—shit-eating grin firmly in place, and whispers in my ear, “I’m just getting started, Love,” and then he kisses a trail of self-satisfaction up my jawline to my mouth.
I’m not saying he shouldn’t be proud of himself, I just got off twice—in record time, but he wears his cockiness like a cape. Actually, you know what? He earned that swagger. Some guys don’t know a clitoris from a pound cake, much less, what to do with one. Gavin—he gets the gold and silver medals.
My whole body is humming. Like, actually vibrating when I bring my hands up to hold his face for a long, indulgent kiss. Then the phone starts ringing, and the jarring sound startles us both.
Lifting his head, and still drunk from our kiss, Gavin grabs the pillow that’s partially under my head and chucks it at the phone. Effectively silencing the ringing by knocking the thing to the floor. Then he resumes tugging my bottom lip between his teeth.
I reach down to stroke his cock, having every intention of returning the orgasmic favor. It’s hot and stiff as a post. When I touch it, he leans his forehead against mine.
“I’m not finished with you yet, I was just giving you a few minutes to recover. So, stay—just like this.” I’m not comfortable with this being completely one-sided. And something he said earlier has just jumped to the forefront of my mind.
“Ok. I’ll stay just like this…” I stroke him a few more times before I continue, “…If you kneel above me—and fuck my mouth.”
He doesn’t respond, he just closes his eyes and breathes against whatever is racing through his head right now. He slowly opens his eyes, pupils blown, and says, “The fuck you trying to do to me?” Then he drops his head and laughs. “I almost just came in your hand.”
Then I laugh too because I know he is kidding, but the thought is still really funny. Gavin, popping off like a fifteen-year-old in my hand.
“I’m not really sure how to say no to that, Alabama,” he is shaking his head, but the laughter is still on his lips.
“Good because, I’m just getting started,” I toss his words right back at him, and he rolls off of me onto his back, possibly realizing he has met his match.
With Gavin’s arm draped over his eyes and his straining erection swaying like a divining rod, I grab two of the non-thrown pillows and adjust them beneath my neck and shoulders.
He apparently comes to terms with the change of events and situates himself so that he is kneeling above my hips. He is hesitating, and I’m not sure why. It’s either because he’s worried ‘fucking my mouth’ will come across as disrespectful, or he’s worried it’s too soon—kinda like the sex he’s taken off the table.
I reach out and take his indecision in my hand, and when I rub the bottom side of it, right at the base of his head, he comes to a rather quick decision. He eases forward, holding the base of his shaft. When he gets close enough, I lewdly hold out my tongue for him.
He slaps the head of his cock against my tongue, twice in quick succession, but that’s it. So, I use the tip of my tongue to tickle the same area I rubbed with my thumb, knowing how sensitive that spot is for him.
He has one arm resting on the top of the pseudo-headboard, and the other hand still wrapped around his dick. Right now, he is only on one knee, the other foot is next to my shoulder. I think that position gives him more control, and he may be worried he’ll be too much for me after fantasizing about doing this for so long.
In his mind, he could go as hard and fast and deep as he wanted to, but now I’m real—and I think he’s worried about crossing the line—or maybe about not recognizing the line once he gets going.
“Slide it in my mouth, Gavin.”
He drops his head back in defeat, but he does advance his cock—slowly. I do what I can to rise up to meet him and flick and swirl my tongue around the tip as I do. As he progresses a bit more, I start to suck a little harder, which loosens him up enough to start carefully pumping in and out.
He is still keeping the movement very shallow, so I moan in encouragement. Which works like a charm, and he begins to lengthen his stride. My arms are between his legs and holding him from behind, so I can also encourage him by assisting with his thrust.
He’s a big guy, so there is no chance of deep throating him or even taking him to the back of my throat without my molars causing problems, but I still have every confidence that this blow job will leave him with a lasting impression.
I’ve created an abundance of saliva, which is intensely satisfying for him to have the slip along with the suction. It’s also super hot that we’ve maintained eye contact the whole time. Then all of a sudden, someone is pounding on the door.
“What the fuck!” Gavin shouts as he withdraws himself from my mouth and looks over in the direction of the door. Then he shoots me a panicked look, “Alabama, what time is it?!”
Chapter 24
I’ve never almost missed a flight before, but the fact that we are on this plane right now is a testament to our speeding Uber driver and some lenient TSA agents. The flight attendants actually had to re-open the door of the plane as we ran down the access ramp.
Thankfully, the impatient hotel staff had taken exception to the fact we hadn’t checked out yet, and housekeeping needed to get in to clean the room for the next guests.
I’d say the whole, almost missing our flight thing, was due to us being so caught up in each other, but in our defense, our internal clocks were all jacked up after sleeping in so late. If you would have asked me, I’d have said we had another two hours before we needed to get to the airport.
Anyway, we made it. And after our walk of shame down the narrow aisle, where everyone we passed treated us to a scowly look, we find our seats in the back of the plane. That’s what happens when you hold up a flight, they save you a spot right outside of the bathroom.
The other seat on our side of the aisle is thankfully empty, and on the other side is an elderly couple and their own empty seat.
“What does the rest of your week look like?” Gavin asks as the plane starts to pick up speed down the runway.
“I have to work. I need to salvage a huge account that I fumbled so I could come here.” I raise the armrest, so I can turn and face him better. He looks like he’s got something brewing upstairs, but when he looks at me, he doesn’t immediately say anything.
“What about you? Long hours leaving your mark across America?” He furrows his brows and faces me pointedly. “I’m teasing. You didn’t just take offense to that, did you? You are a tattoo artist; you leave your mark.”
“What do you mean, salvage a huge account that you fumbled so you could come here?” The way he has closed in on me, pinning me between the isle and his inquisition makes me feel a little reprimanded.
“It’s nothing—work is just busy, and I’m responsible for some of the bigger accounts these days. That’s all.” I try to minimize the impact of my last loud-mouth statement. I don’t want him to get all high and mighty on me right now. I’m a grown-ass woman. I can make decisions without his input or his approval.
“Uh Huh,” he says, his voice void of any inflection whatsoever, as if he knows every word that just came out of my lips was a dirty, foul-mouthed lie.
“Now, why don’t you try telling me the truth, Alabama? You act like I haven’t been paying attention. I know damn well you just got promoted and are in charge of all the exclusivity contracts. I also know you outperformed your peers eight of the last twelve months. That
doesn’t sound like someone who fumbles anything.” His stare is accusatory, and maybe a little hurt.
If you want the truth, I’m impressed as hell he remembered all that from our coffee date. I don’t remember one damn detail of anything he talked about that day. Well—other than, redheads aren’t his type. That one kinda stuck with me.
“Ok, I had a big client meeting on Friday, and I didn’t handle re-scheduling it very well. I rushed it into Thursday evening and wasn’t super prepared for it.”
“Are you sure it didn’t go well?”
“It was pretty bad.” At that, he drops his head back against the seat and exhales a long breath.
“Why did you do that? So you could come help me, right?”
“Listen, I may lose that account, but it’s not going to jeopardize my career. And for your information, salvaging my integrity was more important than landing that contract. I’m thinking of the big picture stuff, Gavin.”
“Why was it so important to change my mind about you?”
“What do you mean? I couldn’t stand that you thought I was that shitty of a person. You know—a cunt,” I exaggerate that last part. To no avail though, because he’s undaunted and presses further.
“But why did you care what I thought?”
“Gavin, I care what everybody thinks. Especially if they think I am like my parents.”
“Hold on, quick detour here. You are going to have to let that go, you know that, right? You are not your parents, fine. So, get the fuck out of their shadow.” His statement hits me hard. It resonates some, but it’s really harsh coming out of his mouth.
I want to tell him I’ll never be able to get out from their shadow because it’s sewn on to me somehow, just like my green eyes and the double chin that’s inevitably coming down the pipes, but I can’t get the words out. I nod in acknowledgment because I know he is right. I also don’t want to keep talking about it, so I leave my response at the nod.
