by Lory Wendy
“Are you tired?”
“No, I'm good.”
“Take your shoes off and relax. You can turn the TV on if you want. The remote is right there."
“I'm okay.”
“Liar. Do I make you that uncomfortable?”
“A little bit,” I answer honestly.
“In a good way or bad way?”
“Is there more than one way to make someone uncomfortable?”
Only one side of his mouth curls up into a smile. “Of course.”
I lean over to the table, pouring some wine in both our glasses. It’s red wine—my least favorite, but that’s hardly relevant at the moment. I’m going to need some liquid courage to go toe to toe with Julian.
We should just go straight to his room. I lean over but hesitate to figure out the best move. I could brush my lips against his cheeks then trail them down his neck. Nip at his ear while scraping down his chest with my nails. I could tease his nipples, see if he liked that, if it’s a sweet spot for him. Or straddle him, hooking my fingers behind his neck while I bounce up and—
“Hey, you all right?” he interrupts what was about to become a very vivid fantasy.
“I’m fine. But… you didn’t bring me here to watch TV with you.” I brush my lips against his.
He responds hesitantly, not the reaction I’d expected. Then he leans back and shuts his eyes. I, of course, frown. Good grief, man.
“What’s wrong?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“You have no idea how bad I want you right now.”
“Umm ... okay, I repeat, what’s wrong?”
“Tonight’s just not a good night for that.” He looks down between my legs and licks his lips. “I’ve wanted to be inside you for too long, and when I get to fuck you for the first time, it won’t be on the same night some guy probably fucked with your psyche. I want your mind on me and only me.”
Some guy fucked with my—Oh! Terrence. I’d almost forgotten about that.
“That’s really sweet of you but completely unnecessary.” I straddle his lap. The situation with Terrence was hardly serious enough to consider traumatizing. And it’s definitely not how I want to remember this day either. I came here for a reason. He brought me here for a reason. I am so over the cat and mouse game now. My entire body is literally vibrating for him, aching for him, begging to be caught.
“Don’t start something we can’t finish, baby,” he whispers, snaking his hand down and around to cup my ass, pulling me harder over his erection.
Aching need ripples through my core. I palm his cheek just as he turns his head into mine. “I’m not.”
Chapter Eighteen
Our mouths meet and touch, mold and move against each other’s.
Lips and teeth nip and suck.
He rolls over to reposition us. I’m on my back; he’s resting in between my thighs.
The wine tastes sweeter on him than it ever could from the bottle. I can’t stop from wrapping my lips around his tongue, sucking softly on his bottom lip, and pulling the flesh away from him, biting, then giving him soft licks and kisses to lessen any possible stings.
Thick fingers slip down my panties, and Julian leans back slowly, locking eyes with me. “Why are you so wet?” He smirks. “Were you thinking about it?"
“I've been thinking about this since the first time I saw you.”
“Oh, yeah?” He brings his mouth back to mine, leaning us both to the side. My head hits the arm of the couch, and while his hands continue their assault on me, his tongue works over the flesh at my neck.
“You know what I keep thinking about?” he murmurs against my skin, sliding his fingers up and down, up and down, moving the drenched fabric to the side. Soft, yet rough hands come in contact with wet skin, and he continues speaking, completely unfazed by my arching back, my moans, and my pants. “The night at Armand’s and the way you were moving. The look you were giving me. Actually, no…”
“Oh God.” I gasp when I feel a finger prodding, twisting and pushing inside of me.
“The night I first met you, I came home and couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop thinking about this.”
He hovers over me, with one arm over the back of the chair. Barely coherent, I manage to gather enough wits about me to realize he’s doing this to anchor himself—gain more control.
“I wasn’t sure if…” He leans forward, and because of the way my legs are thrown over his hips, they open wider in response. His belt buckle digs into my side, almost uncomfortably so, but it’s so whatever at this point. It’s a welcome discomfort.
He doesn’t finish what he was going to say, and I don’t push him to.
Like magnets, our mouths find their way back to each other. A push and pull happens. I’m trying to lean up and hold on to his shoulders with one hand while reaching for his dick with the other hand.
Meanwhile, he’s trying to lay us down and focus solely on me.
In the end, he wins out as I sag against the couch. My legs wide, my mouth agape in a silent scream, letting him work me over with his magical fingers. I’m a squirming mess, moving along with him as if I’m attached to a string and he’s the puppetmaster. When one finger becomes two, then he tries for three, I stiffen and dig my nails into his shoulder.
“Like that,” I plead, then I’m instantly quiet again. It’s good; so good there are no words. So I don’t offer them. My mouth stays open wide, little noises escaping. I’m close, so close, but then . . . my head snaps up when he pulls away. Why’d he stop? Is he trying to get himself killed?
Julian stands and grasps my hand to pull me to him. His fingers slink to the back of my neck and up to my hair, playing with my bun until my hair falls from the clips and down my back.
He smiles, running his fingers through it, and I cringe, sure it's looking like a rat’s nest now.
“Better. Come on.”
I follow him blindly, knowing full well where we’re heading. The only light streaming into the room is from the half-moon peeking in through the window. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make out shapes of furniture, most importantly, the bed. We both stand at the edge of it, my back to his chest, knees hitting the mattress. Cool air hits the side of my neck when he moves my hair to the side.
His wet lips brush against my skin.
With one arm wrapped around my middle, Julian's free hand toys with the back zipper of the dress.
My breath catches in my throat as he snakes his hand around my body, cupping both my breasts with only one palm.
Agonizingly slow, he continues pulling my zipper down, pushing the thick straps off my shoulder until the dress tumbles down to the floor in a heap around my feet. I feel the give of my bra loosening, then I’m turned around, slowly being laid in the middle of the bed.
I’m glad when he doesn’t say anything—that he isn’t quick to robotically reassure me how beautiful or sexy he thinks I am. His appraising stare says it all. I’d been able to read him all night by simply looking into those eyes. Now as they seem to darken, lying underneath squinting eyelids, they’re cocky and turned on.
“You do realize this isn’t going to be where I ask you if this okay, or if you want me to stop, right?” He leans back to stare at me. “I’ll take my time if you want me to. I’ll give it to you as soft or hard as you want me to. But by now, if you didn’t want me, you would have said something.”
He’s all smirky and trying to be blunt, acting like he doesn’t need to hear it, but his eyes say differently. He needs some reassurance just as much as anybody else would. I widen my legs, dropping my knees to the sheets as a way to invite him into me.
“Do I look like I want you to stop?”
“I like these.” He pinches at the lace of my thong before it comes off too. “Oh… and this too,” he adds, trailing a finger from the top of my pussy, over the small strip of hair, down below my entrance, and back up. “I like you not being completely bare.”
Noted.
In comparis
on to the way he undressed me, he’s not as slow and meticulous when it comes to his shirt. I want to do the sexy thing—stop him from removing his clothes and offer myself up to do it for him, but I don’t. I can’t. There’s something about me lying here, watching him strip for me, layer by layer like he’s baring himself to me. I want to stay where I am: bare for him too.
With the give of each item of clothing, the tatts that are always hidden under a long-sleeved shirt or collar are on full display. I stare, not at all prepared for what stares back at me. On Julian’s chest are large letters I hadn’t expected covering the expanse from one shoulder blade to the other.
It’s his last name, kind of, but the “E” is shaped like a three.
CAIN3
His shoulders hunch a little at my gawking, and I look away quickly, feeling like I’m seeing a part of him I’m not meant to yet.
Smirking, Julian produces a condom from what seems like thin air. I stop him short of ripping it open with his teeth.
“Lie down.” For once, I have a reason to be the smug one. I got this.
He lies on his back, lifting his hips to allow me to strip him completely. His cock bounces against his stomach, and I smirk too, not at all surprised to find him groomed. He may act like a tough guy asshole, but he’s also an undercover pretty boy.
Placing my hands on his thighs, I rub them up and down and settle in between his legs. His hand darts out to my head to stop me. With a finger under my chin, he brings our mouths back to each other, his tongue roughly seeking out mine. I moan, reaching out blindly to grab his cock and stroke it. I pull away from the kiss, intent on my goal when he stops me again. His eyes are focused on the rubber in my hand.
“You,” he says, and I understand.
I’m flipped over unexpectedly. Julian’s positioned himself between my thighs, legs slightly bent. His eyes flicker between my eyes and my pussy. He doesn’t seem hesitant, more calculating than anything as he takes the condom from my hand and rolls it on himself. I hold my breath as I watch. His dick isn’t the longest one I’ve seen, but the girth, the width, the motherfucking circumference… Jesus fucking Christ. My excitement dims, replaced by my nervousness.
“I know.” He pinches my chin to tilt my head back. Then soft kisses are placed at the corner of my mouth, my cheek, my neck. “I’m gonna get you so wet,” he promises. “So fucking soaked, sweetheart.” He nips at my collarbone. “I won’t hurt you,” he continues, fluttering the kisses down my chest. “This pussy . . .” He snakes his hand down to pat at my flesh. “You’re trusting me with it, and I’m going to take good care of it.”
With his fingers wrapped at the base of his dick, and my legs spread wide for him, he rubs the head up and down my slit a few times before slowly pushing into me. A moan escapes my lips and a hiss escapes his as he fills me. I can feel every inch of him inside me, and as he slowly lifts his hips to push back into me, my hips arch, following him—instantly attached and ready to follow wherever he’s willing to lead.
Somehow Julian manages to be gentle but rough, aggressive but attentive and makes me feel like he’s fucking the shit out of me while making love to me at the same time.
At one point though, his moves become unsure. Hesitant.
“Don’t hold back,” I say. He wasn’t before. Why now?
His fingers ghost over my skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do!” God, I do.
Holding himself up with his fist digging into the bed, he looks down at us—where we’re joined. “Then, open those pretty legs wider for me.”
I do, as best I can, almost doing the splits in the air. But that only lasts a few seconds before he brings them to rest over his shoulders.
He bucks into me so hard, the bed shakes and the headboard sounds like cracks of thunder against the wall. My nails dig into his arms, and I scratch his skin, loving the sound he makes and wanting to hear it over and over.
“I want this again,” he says between grunts. His forehead falls to my shoulder—hips still moving. “You, this, us, I want… again."
My breathing picks up, becoming heavy and labored, and I nod even though I know he’s only saying it in the moment.
It's weird how he can seem like he's rushing while at the same moment taking his time. His hips dance wildly, but his gaze is soft like he's actually trying to see me.
Then he snaps his eyes closed, dropping his head back to my shoulder.
“Are you—”
His lips on mine cut me off, and one arm slips under me, lifting up my ass, opening me wider.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, digging my fingernails into his shoulder. He's so much deeper. Almost too deep. “Fuck.” Ow!
He looks up and the soft gaze he'd been given me seconds ago has passed. His eyes look wild now—feral. But I'm so lost in him—the way he's making me feel, the way he’s holding me, touching me, fucking me—I don’t stop to think what caused the change.
When he starts pumping in and out of me at an almost brutal pace—accompanied by the furious rubbing against my clit—time, words, and thoughts cease to exist for us. I start trembling like I’m having a seizure and, after a round of spastic movements, Julian collapses on top of me, sounding like he might be experiencing an asthma attack.
Both our bodies are covered in sweat. My hair lays matted against my neck and the side of my face, and I can barely breathe with Julian’s weight on me. But fuck if I don’t feel anything but bliss.
I don’t need to open my eyes to know Julian isn’t in bed with me. The emptiness and cool sheets deflate me in a way only reality can. Taking a deep breath, I smile at the lingering smell of his cologne and the sore feeling between my legs. It’s a soft consolation prize. Even after he sends me away, I’ll always have this memory to hold onto—the ache between my legs to keep me company for days.
A throat clears from the doorway, interrupting my thoughts.
I dart up, keeping the sheet high around my neck. I’m a walking contradiction, feeling shy and modest now by hiding my chest when just hours ago his mouth and hands were on every part of me.
But it’s the only way to feel when he’s already dressed and messing with the cuff of his shirt. His flesh is hidden again—the markings and art on his skin back to being a mystery.
The clock on the side table and the soft glow coming from the window, lets me know it’s still early, just past dawn—the time of day where the only people awake are up to no good.
“You don’t have to leave,” Julian says.
I spin to face him, exhaustion mixing easily with confusion as dots dance in my line of sight. “What?”
“I know it’s early.” He nods at the clock. “I have important business to tend to that can’t wait. Stay. Go back to sleep. Just don’t look through or take any of my shit.”
Caught off guard, my face betrays me, my fist clenches against the sheets. “I would never—”
“I’m not insinuating anything,” Julian says with a roll of his eyes. “Just making a statement.”
I’m too annoyed and too fucking tired, not to be offended. “Yeah, well, I don’t know what kind of girls you normally bring here, not to insinuate anything, but I’m not a thief.”
His jaw clenches and nostrils flare.
Did I hit a nerve? I fucking hope so.
“You just can’t help being a bitch, can you? Get dressed. I’ll take you home.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll call a cab.” A ride home with him now would be horrible. I’d rather hold onto the memories of the night we had, not the realities of tense goodbyes. I’m good at this part of the game too. The part where I break my own heart and excuse myself before he can do it for me.
“Fine.” He turns without another word and exits the room.
“Fine!” I say to… no one—my hurt and annoyance quickly deflating.
Dropping the sheets, I make quick work of stuffing my body back into the dress and sliding my feet into
the shoes from last night.
The bathroom lights greet me like an indifferent friend, neither harsh nor welcoming, and once my eyes adjust, I bite back a scream at my reflection.
I’ve caught sight of myself after a long night before and errant thoughts that I look like a strung-out prostitute crossed my mind. Right now, I’d kill to look that good.
“Do you want something else to wear?” Julian asks, appearing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with both hands in his pockets. I catch his appraisal of me from head to toe. He stops for a beat too long at my shoes. “I have some slippers here that might fit you.”
The thought of wearing some chick’s leftover shoes makes my stomach roll.
“No thanks.”
“Very well then, if you’re ready, I’ll see you out. My car’s already waiting for you downstairs.” His formal tone and demeanor coupled with everything about this morning makes me feel worse than if he’d just sent me home last night. He reminds me of the way I’d imagine cold businessmen act after closing a deal: proper but unbothered.
“I’m ready.” I take a step, hobbling a little bit.
The now familiar sleek black car is the first thing I see when we step outside. The second is the colors of the sky—the blues and golds of a barely risen sun.
“I’ll call you,” Julian whispers, opening the car door for me.
I grin, but it’s just on the right side of appeasing. Julian has yet to actually call me on the phone, or even ask me for my number.
“I mean it, and I meant what I said last night about wanting... you again.”
Unsure how to respond, and refusing to get my hopes up, I simply nod and say, “Thank you for last night.”
It’s the best night I’ve had in a long time. The best orgasms I’ve experienced. The sexiest I’ve felt. I think he gets it because he grins, winks, and tells me he’ll give me a call in a few days.
Whether that’s true or not, only time will tell. But either way, it’s okay, because I got to play his game. I took a chance, and knowing I might not see him again, isn’t enough to make me regret a thing in this moment.
