Gradation: an enemies to lovers, steamy romance

by KC Decker

  Chapter 31

  Gavin and I are making a quick stop at his shop before heading back to his place for the duration of the night. I had fervently hoped he would forget all about the slutty video on my phone, but I had grossly underestimated his desire to watch the damn thing.

  Once I weighed my own desires against the video, I decided I could get something in return. Which is why we are swinging by the tattoo shop. It took some convincing, but Gavin eventually agreed to show me a couple of the pictures he drew of me in his sketchbook.

  Not all of them, mind you, he happens to be very possessive of his personal works of art. He finally agreed when I told him he could choose which ones to show me. It was I, who insisted he choose one from the sexy batch of drawings, and one from the angry collection. I figure both will be incredibly insightful. And hot.

  “I like how Christian handled himself tonight,” Gavin says, breaking into my train of thoughts. “I think it’s important to have some balls as well as a softer side. You guys chose well for Ivy.”

  “I think so too. The hardest part about picking a guy for one of your best friends is that none of them seem good enough,” I say as I meet Gavin’s gaze. When he looks back at the road, I continue. “Well, in my case, I think my friends worried I wasn’t good enough for you,” I laugh, but there is truth behind my smile.

  “Jury’s still out on that I suppose,” he says as he takes one hand off the wheel and threads his fingers through mine—then starts laughing.

  ***

  When we arrive, he locks the door behind us and leads me through the darkened shop to the open workspace in the back. Here he punches in a security code that will prevent the wail of sirens that normally follow the tripped alarm.

  “You first,” Gavin says. I think he is afraid I already deleted the videos. Had work not been so crazy, I might have. Sadly, I didn’t think about it. I’m already burning with preemptive embarrassment as Gavin motions me into his tattoo room.

  He presses a button that raises the back of his tattoo table, creating more of a recliner. Then, after toeing off his shoes and leaning back into his tattoo chair, he taps his thigh. Taking my cue, I sit on his lap and lean against his chest.

  With nothing left to do except play the damn videos, I accept my fate and pull the first one up. The video is really dark, and except for a few wild movements in the space between his hand and lap, it doesn’t show any actual footage.

  The second one is better, in that the space beneath the table is actually lit. You can see me raise my dress and then adjust the tablecloth before spreading my legs. The sexy part of the video is not even that my legs are open, it’s the lace-topped stockings and the garter belt that really get your attention.

  The sound is terrible, and we both sound like we are underwater but the outcome of the above-the-table conversation, is me sliding two fingers underneath the crotch of my thong, and then moving it to the side. There is a fair amount of shadow from my hand, so the open view is obscured a bit, but Gavin still has a visceral reaction to what we are looking at.

  He slides his hand up the front of my skirt, and when his movement is hampered, he peels the restrictive clothing up my body.

  He begins nibbling on my ear, and with warm breath, whispers into my sensitive ear canal, “Back it up a couple minutes, and open your legs.” I shiver just as much from the tickle in my ear as I do from the words he says.

  When I widen my legs as much as I can while still keeping both of us on the chair. Following along with the footage, he too slips fingers under my panties and tugs them to the side.

  When vacant air caresses my newly uncovered skin, I decide watching the video is a fantastic idea. I am boldly exposed to an empty room, but there is still a distinct thrill for me. Not only are we watching my shameless display on video, but the anticipation of his fingers touching me is nearly levitating me off the table.

  The video jostles and then shuts off. While I ready the last one, Gavin wraps his fingers around the crotch of my panties, and then roughly tugs them down my legs and off my body. Well, mostly off my body. He is unconcerned when they get hung up on one buckle of my way-too-sexy-for-work, strappy heels.

  “The panties have to go, but the high heels stay. I’m looking forward to having those shoes over my shoulders tonight.” His words rumble in my ear and cause some incredibly vivid imagery to steal into my consciousness. The thought of being naked, except for these heels over his shoulders as he pumps away, warms me from the inside. That warmth is starting to bloom outward and become quite pervasive.

  The last video starts off scandalous and then takes a rapid nosedive toward straight-up depravity. It begins with my legs spread wide—no shadow or camera bobble to hide the showy boldness of my body. I instantly cringe, but when Gavin exhales, Jesus, baby, and runs his fingers over the live version, I have no further resistance to watching the video play out.

  He mimics every timid motion I made beneath the table, and the effect is lighting me up like a rescue flare. First, he swipes up and down my slit—the same as he had directed me to do at the restaurant. Then he rubs my clit with his moistened fingers. Re-creating the action while watching it on the screen is far hotter than I ever could have guessed.

  When he spreads his fingers, opening me up while watching the same raw, pinkness exposed simultaneously on the video, his shaky composure crashes to the ground and explodes into a million little pieces.

  Before I can quantify his loss of composure, he slips two fingers inside of me and aggressively gets to work. His control continues to slip as his need grows, and I can tell he is ready to make a run for home base.

  “First, you are going to come all over my fingers. Then, I’ll flash you two drawings from my sketchbook like I promised. Then, I’m going to bend you over this tattoo chair and fuck you like that pussy is mine. Do you understand, Alabama? Your pussy is mine now.”

  As he rasps his fingers against my g-spot, he reaches up with his other hand and closes it around my neck. He isn’t choking me, but his fingers are restricting something because I can feel my pulse pounding in my swollen lips.

  He releases my throat just as the first waves of orgasm break against my shore. However, he keeps fingering me until every last tremor has leached from my body.

  “Say it, Alabama. Say, that pussy is mine.”

  “It’s yours. My pussy is yours, Gavin,” I say, with no discernable resistance, or any vocal inflection whatsoever. My body is wrung out, yet still snapping like a live wire.

  He moves from behind me and retrieves his drawings from a locked cabinet. While I catch my breath, he flips quickly through the leather-bound book.

  He wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to flash them in front of me because he doesn’t waste a moment letting me fully take them in. He shows me something very sexy, and very naked, and then goes back to rifling through the pages.

  “Gavin, I want to look at them. I want to see where your imagination goes. I want to know how you saw me back then.” He lets out a heavy sigh and then joins me on the tattoo table so that both of our legs are dangling over the side.

  “Ok. This one was strictly based on your profile pictures. We hadn’t really started to communicate beyond messages within the dating site. Actually, I should clarify that. I had only been exchanging messages with your friends at this point,” he says as he cautiously hands over the book.

  The page it’s open to is the very sexy, very naked one I saw for a split second before.

  “So, this was your fantasy version of me, right?” I ask as I study every pencil stroke.

  “Sort of, I guess.” He seems bashful of his work, or perhaps of his imagination. The drawing is a dead ringer of me—in the face and hair, that is. The naked, spread-legged, masturbating woman’s body is a different story. For one thing, the tits he has drawn belong on a Playmate, and no body’s nipples stand out that far.

  “This one is your orgasm face, I called that before we ever met,” he says as he turns the
page, granting me another forbidden look through his eyes. In the drawing, my head is thrown back in ecstasy, while my fingers toy with my nipples. The top half of the drawing is filled with life and detail, the bottom half is just a simple sketch of someone, presumably him, with his face between my legs. I think he is right about my o-face—at least that’s what it feels like my face is doing when I get off.

  “Gavin,” I whisper, “You are insanely talented. If I could draw like this, my loft would be wallpapered with my art.”

  “You might be surprised. Drawing, much like journaling or poetry, is very soul-baring. It’s harder than you think to expose yourself like that. Leaving oneself open to everyone’s criticism will gut you in ways you never imagined.”

  “Who in their right mind would criticize this caliber of work?”

  “The world is crawling with them, Alabama. And I can’t afford to hang my worth on someone else’s opinion. That’s why the vast majority of my art will never see the light of day.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, because you have more talent in your earlobes than most people could develop in a lifetime.”

  “I hope you still think that when I show you the next drawing,” he smiles warmly, but his nervousness is clear.

  “Please tell me I’m not hog-tied. Wait. I’m not hog-tied, am I?” He answers me by flipping through about twenty pages and handing back the open book.

  “Nope, not hog-tied.”

  In the drawing, I’m in this exact room with my legs held wide open, and my ankles tied to the base of the tattoo table. My cheek is pinned against the leather, and my eyes are rolled back in orgasmic bliss. I am being bent over and held down by a hand that has also wound itself in my hair to help restrain me. His other hand grips my wrists behind my back as he fucks me with what looks like a Coke-can-thick, monster cock. It also appears that cum is dripping thickly down my legs and pooling on the floor beneath me.

  Well, now. That wasn’t so bad.

  “That’s a lot of cum, Gavin,” is all I say, but I don’t take my eyes off the image. It’s clear in the drawing that Gavin is angry-fucking me, but I have to give him credit for portraying me as someone who enjoys that type of thing.

  “Are you surprised? Look at the girth on me,” he points out before taking the sketchbook from me. After he locks it back up, he shrugs out of his suspenders and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Enough about the drawings. I can’t get my mind off those videos.” He pulls me up from my seated position and lays a spine dissolving kiss on me while he finds my zipper, and works my skirt down.

  After a somewhat clumsy few minutes of eager kissing and peeling off each other’s clothes, we are both naked. I fully expect him to bend me over the table like he said he was going to earlier—and was graphically illustrated in his sketchbook. So, it surprises me when he again takes a seat on the hydraulic tattoo chair.

  “Come here,” he murmurs as he directs me to straddle his lap. The chair is versatile, in that the back comes up, the foot part can drop down, the whole thing can lie flat—what it’s not, is wide. In short, it’s not exactly built for two, and there isn’t really any space for my knees.

  “You better get a condom,” I whisper between shallow kisses.

  “Do you think I keep condoms at work? Alabama, I’m disappointed you think I fuck my clients,” he is chuckling at the suggestion, but what he isn’t doing—is worrying about not having a rubber.

  “Should we stop then?” I ask, but the way I am stroking his hard-on conveys a different message.

  “Of course not. What’s the worst that could happen?” The way he is plucking at my nipples says he agrees with my hand and not with my objection.

  “The worst? How about a baby or an STD—not necessarily in that order.” Now he puts a palm on the back of my head, and pulls me closer so he can nuzzle my neck.

  “I don’t have any STDs. Turns out, I’m a little more discerning where I stick my cock than you give me credit for.”

  “What about a baby?”

  “Are you telling me you are on no type of birth control?” His mouth against my neck, as well as his determination has not wavered a bit. His warm breath and tickling mouth are entirely unconcerned with such matters.

  “What would you say if I said, I’m not on birth control?” I ask curiously.

  “I’d say you were lying. Then I’d say we would make adorable babies.” His certainty is well placed—about the birth control, and the cute babies.

  “I have an IUD,” I admit.

  “Then what are you waiting for?” he asks, as he drags me forward, up his lap, and skin to skin with his steel-hard shaft. Our position forces my legs to stretch far apart, and leaves them hovering over the sides of the chair. Gavin grabs my ass and lifts me above his cock head while I line it up and then slowly swallow him whole.

  The narrowness of the chair doesn’t allow for my knees to support my weight, or to raise and lower myself on his dick. Instead, I’m fully impaled.

  The erotic feeling of fullness has paralyzed me from moving against him and made it hard to catch my breath. Gavin, more so than anyone else I’ve been with, requires me to take a few moments to adjust to the pervasiveness of his claim. His first thrust always seems to stop time for me.

  Gavin finds my stillness and little gasps humorous, but at the same time, he isn’t in the mood for any lengthy delays. With his hands still on my ass, he rolls my hips forward and back, rocking me against his cock.

  The sudden awareness of my body grinding against his piercing takes me to a new place, and I begin to shamelessly gnash my clit into the silver balls. My kiss becomes nothing more than a whimper that he answers with a chant. Yeah, baby. Ride me. Just like that. Yessss, baaaby.

  Gavin pulls me tightly against his body and holds me there. I don’t know if it’s to slow me down, or to help smash his piercing into the volatile bead of my clitoris, but if we keep up this desperate grind, I’m going to come way too soon. I can’t stop rubbing though, it feels like a compulsion, and it’s impossible for me to stop.

  I feel like I’m about to come unglued, and have some sort of spiritual experience. The combination of his bare cock buried inside me and the torment of the metal balls is borderline too much. I’ve gotten here too quickly. I’m chasing oblivion, and there is no hope of him catching up.

  “Gavin. It’s too much. I can’t—”

  “Let go, baby. I’m right there too,” he coos against the little indented hollow of my throat. “I’ll follow you.”

  When I climax, it’s throaty and unrestrained. When he follows a moment later, he squeezes me tightly against his body and shivers with each guttural surge of his pulsing cock.

  Our recovery is lengthy, considering how quickly we both came. I think the feel of bare skin instead of filmy latex played a big role, but also the videos and his drawings. I’ve never had sex in a hydraulic chair before, but it was insanely good the way the position pitched me forward on his lap and against his piercing.

  “Are you going to delete the videos?” he asks, somewhat out of nowhere.

  “Yes. One hundred percent,” I say definitively. He will never be able to convince me not to. He seems fine with my declaration, as he sits forward while laying me back on the table. Now his legs dangle off the sides while I’m spread open and splayed out before him.

  “I want to see something before you delete them,” he says as he drags his thumb around my cum-soaked vagina. My position makes his view rather raunchy, but him dallying with his own cum is downright filthy. I don’t ask what he means, but I smile knowingly because I assume he wants to see them again.

  “I want to watch my cum ooze out of your Oscar-winning-performance pussy. Then you can delete them.” He punctuates his statement by sinking his thumb inside me and then watching with primitive, lust-soaked eyes as the displaced semen dribbles out.

  ***

  Once we get back to his house, it’s after 10:30. We are both so exhausted, we abandon the att
empt at watching a movie in favor of brushing our teeth and falling into bed.

  As good as our sex is, this is what I crave from him. The intimacy of being held like this—kissed like this. It feels right. It’s effortless in a way that needs no convincing. We fit together—in very simplistic terms, and in incredibly complex ways that continue to baffle me.

  “How did work go this week? There has been so much going on since we got back, we haven’t had a chance to discuss that huge account. I will feel so guilty if you lose it because of me,” he says as he strokes the hair away from my cheek with his thumb. I love that even naked and in bed, he still wants to dial into other aspects of my life. It adds to the feeling of this being universally right.

  “First of all, you have no reason to feel guilty. You had no part of any of that. Second of all, they chose to go with a competitor. But, more importantly, you should know that I have no regrets. I would do the same thing a hundred times over if faced with the same choice.”

  “Oh, damn.”

  “Gavin, had I not gambled that account, I wouldn’t be here with you.”

  “Then, I’m glad you did. I’m just sorry you had to.”

  “I’m not. I could have twenty of those accounts, and still feel something missing. However bumpy the path was, I’m glad it led me to you. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  “You wouldn’t change our first date?” he grins with the question.

  “I don’t think so, it was kinda fun earning your attention. Plus, you said you don’t kiss on the first date,” I say as I palm the back of his neck and draw him in for a kiss.

  “You also said, I wasn’t your type either,” I point out mid-kiss. He backs his head up and looks me directly in the eyes.

  “Let me be very clear about something,” he says with some discipline behind his words. “You are exactly my type.” Then his mouth is on mine again before I can share the sentiment.