I slide onto Cole’s lap, straddling him, while I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him tight against me, pressing my breasts into his broad chest. His hands land on my hips, shifting my pelvis forward so I’m perfectly aligned with the hard bulge in his jeans. “You okay?” he asks. He knows a very small part of my past. What, too soon? Tough shit. I told you, he’s easy to talk to. Now, he doesn’t know every single detail, but from what I have said, he knows that I am jaded. He knows I’m in the process of ending my marriage. And yes, he knows it’s because my husband is gay, but I didn’t mention the kinky choker twins. To say that I’m embarrassed is an understatement, so yeah, that one I’m keeping to myself.
I brush my lips across his ear, lightly kissing his earlobe, and whisper, “Better than okay.” Draping my arms down Cole’s back, I drag my fingernails up his skin as I suck his lobe between my teeth. I keep my voice low and hushed when I tickle his ear with, “I’m going to make you feel real good.”
My equilibrium is shaken when I’m swung around and flattened on the bed. It takes a second for my eyes to catch up with my body, but when they focus, Cole’s beautiful hazel eyes—eyes that are expressive, tantalizing—are staring back at me. They draw me into their depths, hypnotizing me, making my skin crawl with goosebumps. I could stare into his eyes and get lost forever if he’d let me, and by the way he’s gazing back at me, he’s not going anywhere anytime soon.
His hand skims underneath my shirt and pulls down my bra. My breast fits perfectly in his palm, and as he begins to knead my breast, he grazes my nipple with the pad of his thumb then rolls it between his thumb and index finger, rolling it into a tight bud. He dips his head down and drags his tongue from the bottom of my breast up to my nipple, flicking it with the tip of his wet tongue and swirling it around before sucking it between his teeth.
My fingers dive into his hair, pressing him into me as my back arches off the bed, further pushing the swell of my breast into his mouth. Too much attention to one breast is not only unfair to the other lonely tit, but irritating. Look, for any guy out there who has yet to figure this out, there are two breasts, and they like to be treated equally. And the same repetitive movement over the same spot gets painful...it’s not a turn-on, so for Chrissakes, give the same love to both breasts. And a little pointer—knead, massage, caress, flick, kiss, and lick, but for the Love of God, do not pinch—too hard anyway—or pull. Our lady lumps are quite sensitive and they like to be petted not squeezed.
I don’t need to give this lecture to Cole. Nope, he’s skilled and knowledgeable, giving my right breast just as much care as he gave the left one. And while one is in his mouth, the other is being fondled with his hand. He goes back and forth between each breast before sinking to his knees. His lips leave a circle of tender kisses around my navel as his hands glide up my thighs, pushing my skirt up around my hips. The way he’s working around every article of clothing has me reeling. For the first time in a long time, I feel sexy. All because he has my shirt rolled up over my tits and under my neck while my bra is still pulled down so my breasts are perked up, being sandwiched between both articles of clothing. He slides my lacy, sheer panties to the side and slips the tip of his index finger into my wet pussy. Cole’s eyes lift to meet mine as he takes one of the straps to the garter attached to my thigh-high stockings between his teeth. He raises his head, letting the strap slip from his teeth. The snap of the strap against my leg forces a gasping breath from my lungs. The slight sting upon my tingly, aroused skin has me moaning for him to do it again. Behind a smile, he buries his face between my thighs, inhaling a deep breath at the center of my core before licking up my leg, taking the other strap between his teeth then letting it go to snap my skin.
My body shivers. All my senses are heightened, and not just from his teasing foreplay, but also because I’m completely exposed without having one shred of clothing removed from my body. It’s the perfect balance between kinky and sensual, leaving an ache in my belly that matches an ache between my legs. The burn needs to be extinguished, and the only way that’s going to happen is if Cole cools the heat with his tongue or impales me with his cock. I’d take either at the moment, I just hope he doesn’t make me wait that much longer. Grinding my hips at his touch is not helping diminish the desire, it only makes it stronger. But then Cole buries his face at my core and dives tongue-first into my drooling lips, calming the fire with his cool, wet tongue.
Being sex deprived by my definition is me going without having sex at least four times within a twelve-hour span. Call me what you want...slut, skank, whore...whatever, but I like cock, and I’m not ashamed of it. Going as long as I did was seriously the worst torture, ever. Continuously drip a single bead of water on my forehead for ten months straight and that still doesn’t compare to the misery of not having a good rough fuck. Now, add in a skilled tongue, and I’m sent straight to the pearly gates of orgasm heaven. And Cole, he’s my Saint Peter, opening the gates of my pussy, and each swipe of his tongue along my clit is the heavenly bright light that pulls me closer to release. If I was a Godly woman, I’d have my hands raised to the sky, praising Jesus and screamin’ a, “Hallelujah!”
There’s something about a man who knows how to use their tongue. Cole started off slow, delicately brushing up my lips with a gentle flick to my clit, but with each pass over my swelling pussy, his licks quicken and he applies a firm pressure that sends my nerves sparking with a pending orgasm. He utilizes his whole tongue, coating the flattened part with my juices while scooping it back into his mouth with the tip, making sure to collect every bit of arousal I give him. When two of his fingers slide inside me, my inner muscles grab hold, riding and grinding against them. My legs begin to tremble and my core constricts with each pulse of his fingers. The faster my hips rock, the faster his tongue works me into a frenzy until I’m panting and crying out his name.
Like a rocket, my orgasm burst out of me, leaving me wailing sharp “Oh Gods” until I’m left panting for breath. But that doesn’t stop me from flying off the bed, pushing Cole over like I’m a linebacker, and mounting him. I don’t waste a single second before slithering down his body, kissing and licking his skin as I go, prepared to fill my mouth full with his large, solid cock. But when I take him in my palm and position him at my lips, he stops me.
“Not today,” he says quietly.
I lift my head to look up at him, my mouth slightly open to argue, but he holds two fingers across my lips to hush me. “But,” I mumble around his fingers.
“No buts, Jaz. Tonight is all about you.” He folds his arms and crosses them behind his neck, propping himself up. With a nudge of his head, he calls me to lay down on his chest, so I oblige and find a spot to nestle into.
It’s a bit odd, to tell you the truth, having someone stop me from giving him a blowjob. Every guy I have ever been with has always been greedy, wanting to get off before satisfying any of my needs. Don’t get me wrong, I like sucking cock. I’m salivating just thinking about the flavor of Cole on my tongue, but the fact that he just took care of me first without anything in return has my heart fluttering in my chest. I want to pleasure Cole just as much as he did me...no more. Him stopping me is making me pout.
I trace my finger along Cole’s chest then trail down to the defined muscles that line his stomach. He’s legit ripped, with pecs that are seriously larger than mine, and there’s no six-pack on this body. No, baby, he has a fucking eight-pack. And his arms, holy shit, his biceps are huge and quite comfy. They make a great pillow. If this is what he has in mind, me cuddling up next to him after he ate me out like a fucking champ, being wrapped in his strong arms and snuggled...well, who am I to complain?
But of course that doesn’t stop me from trying. What? I can’t help it. He’s a damn beast, completely naked and spread out, teasing me...whether he knows it or not. And I can’t help myself. I have to touch him, caress him, feel him. I let my hand creep lower on his abdomen until my fingertips skim the coarse hair at the end of the de
ep V between his hips. That V is the channel to all things holy. It leads to the forbidden fruit that is calling my name, begging me to take a lick.
I very lightly brush my palm over Cole’s semi-erect cock, sliding my thumb across the tip. His cock jerks under my hand, standing in full salute. He’s ready for my mouth, but as I begin to shift my body further, Cole folds his strong arm around me, pinning me against him. I huff rather loudly, feeling defeated that I can’t get what I want nor give him what he deserves.
“Why won’t you let me make you come?” I finally ask on a sigh.
His lips press against my forehead and his hand sweeps an unruly curl away from my face. “Because you deserve nothing but the best. You deserve to be treated like a queen. I want you to know what it’s like to have a real man take care of you...to put you first.”
“But—” I begin to say.
“I’m not going anywhere, Jaz. I can wait.”
“All right, but can I at least fuck your brains out?”
Cole laughs. He places his index finger beneath my chin and lifts my head so our eyes can meet. “In due time, love. We’re not going to rush this.” He chuckles. “Well, not any more than we already have.”
I smile up at him, letting his words and the meaning behind them sink in. It’s not just that, though. It’s his actions. They speak louder than anything he’s saying...which means so much more to me than invisible letters that loosely roll off the tongue in form of words. It’s what I’ve been searching for for so long. Someone to love and who loves me back with just as much intensity. Not that I love him. It’s too soon for that. But for the longest time, I didn’t think I was deserving of that kind of affection. Maybe Cole is the one who will prove me wrong. I hope he does. I just hope I’m not too jaded. The last thing I want to do is sabotage something that seems so promising. A man like Cole, who talks and acts as if I should be placed high on a pedestal to be worshipped, doesn’t come around too often. You never know...I may have just found my prince charming.
Chapter 22
Gray
I am never this careless, and if I was remotely sober, I would be high-tailing it out of here like I had to take the biggest shit of my life. Somehow, Jett deemed me too intoxicated to drive, which meant that he insisted on driving me home. However, he didn’t drive me to my house, he brought me to his. And now I’m sitting on his couch, paranoid to say the least, looking around the room as if I’m worried that an alien will pop out from behind the couch and probe me with whatever foreign device they have to keep track of us. Yeah, I’m not thinking clearly because it’s not an alien I’m afraid of. That would actually be comforting. The thought of Thomas coming home and finding me, the teacher that kicked him out of her classroom, scares me to fucking death—for many reasons. Thank God I’m already dizzy, because my eyes won’t stop darting back and forth. I don’t even think a roofie could calm my ass down.
In every attempt to help me relax—a warm blanket, soft music, and a glass of wine...thanks, but no thanks, I’m already shitfaced—Jett now has my feet in his lap, tickling the bottoms with his fingertips. I’m trying to act normal...really I am, but it’s not working. I know my face is contorted with a mixed expression of terror and shock, but Jett ignores my stiff body and continues to rub my feet. At the moment, I’m breaking all my rules, and I don’t have enough sense to stop it. Or maybe I don’t want to. Who knows, but at this point, I’m both feet in...literally. And if I don’t jump out of the hole I’m burying myself in, I might as well march down to the police station and sit my ass down in one of the holding cells. I’m good as gone being this close to Jett.
Facepalm.
I’m a fucking mess. I don’t even know anymore...what’s up, what’s down. Is this wrong or is it right? Everything about sitting here with a man that could potentially take me down screams wrong, but then why can’t I shake this giddy feeling that has settled within the pit of my stomach, not wanting to leave me the hell alone. I want to run from it, I do. But do you see me kicking Jett in the nuts and running for the door? Nope, you do not. Because I’m an idiot, that’s why.
“You’re nervous,” Jett finally speaks. “Why?”
Because you’re a cop, and I’m a killer, is what I’m thinking. But of course those words will never leave my mouth. I’ll super glue my lips shut before I divulge that sort of information, and really, I do have a legit concern, so it’s not a lie when I say, “I’m afraid your son is going to come home. And when he sees me, he’s going to want to claw my face off.”
Jett chuckles. “First, Thomas would never actually claw your face off. Spit in your face, maybe, but claw...never. Second, he’s not coming home tonight. He’s staying at a friend’s house.”
“Good to know,” I respond dryly, skimming the room once more. You can tell this house was full of warmth at one time. The hint of a woman’s touch still lingers here. The colors, hues of cream and gray, are feminine, and some knick-knacky decorations still line the mantle that rest high over a brick fireplace. Big, plush white couches with fuzzy black decorative pillows sit on top of whitewashed hardwood floors. It’s neat and tidy. Orderly, much like my own house, and it’s the only thing that keeps allowing my lungs to take in and release air. The more I focus on the actual placement of everything, the more I realize that Jett lives a very obsessive life. Besides the mantle, there are no other decorative items...not even a single family photo. I have a sudden urge to go snoop around his bathroom and the kitchen. You can tell if someone is over the top obsessive compulsive by how they keep those two spaces, and I must know...is he just like me? Minus the killing people, wrapping them up like mummies, and burying them under the flowerbed.
Before I can excuse myself, I hear him ask, “What’s good to know? That he’s not coming home tonight?”
I turn to look at him and almost laugh. Holy hell, he thinks something is going to happen tonight. A boyish grin is spread across his face, perhaps in hopes that I drop my voice to a sultry whisper and give him permission to lay on top of me and feel me up. Eh, no. In true Gray fashion, I kill the moment. “No, that he won’t claw my face off. However, if he spits in my face, I hope you have some bleach on hand ‘cause we’re gonna have a problem. Bathroom?”
He’s staring back at me, disappointed by my comeback maybe? Amused? I dunno. Either way, I don’t give it a second thought. I push my drunk body off Jett and the couch and stumble toward the hall. When I hit the doorway, I look back over my shoulder and point to the left. Jett shakes his head and motions to the right. I nod my wobbly head and turn to the right, skimming the wall with my fingers, using it to keep me stabilized, until I find the bathroom. I shut the door behind me and flip the light on. I blink my lids a few times and wait for my eyes to adjust to the glow of the fluorescents. Just as I thought, the bathroom is clean. Like you could eat off the floor clean. And the only thing that decorates the countertops is a single, neatly folded up hand towel and a glass bottle of hand soap. The walls are painted a pale yellow, which soften the dark gray marble tiles on the floor. And the shower—I slide open the frosted glass doors—stark white. Not a single dirt ring or smudge of leftover soap.
Impressive.
I pull down my pants and sink onto the toilet with a sigh. He’s perfect. Fuck. Why is it that the first time I have an inkling of emotion it has to be towards someone who is no good for me? A goddam cop, for Chrissakes. I think I’m actually disappointed...I think. There’s an odd pang in my chest that’s making it hard for me to breathe. I finish taking a piss and wash my hands, splashing some of the cool water across my face. Holding the hand towel between my palms, I bring it up to my nose and take a whiff. It smells of lavender fabric softener, and since it appears that there are no previous damp handprints, I dab the towel on my cheeks. I fold the towel back up and smooth it out then slip open the drawer on my left. It’s home to an organizer that’s holding a toothbrush, toothpaste, and razor. I continue down the line, opening all the drawers on both sides of the vanity, gasping every
time I see the perfectly lined up content. Towels, toiletries, first-aid kits. Each item is neatly stowed away and lined up in a harmonious order. The beauty of it makes tears form in the corners of my eyes. Oh shut up, if you don’t have OCD, then you will never understand what I’m saying, but if you do...well, you get it. Don’t you?
Look, I know what you’re probably thinking. I realize I come off a bit coo-coo for cocoa puffs, but all is right in the world when things are tidy and organized. Yes, I have obsessive compulsive disorder, and by the looks of it, so does Jett. And that makes me happy, relieved, and nervous all at the same time. See, this is why I don’t do emotions. They’re too confusing, and when they start surfacing, they wreck my brain, and that’s when I feel the control slipping from my grasp. And I need control. As in me being in control of, well, everything. I have depended on it since I was a kid, and it’s what keeps me moving one foot in front of the other. It’s a coping mechanism that I have used as a crutch. But in my defense, I work much better when I have it. It allows me to remain focused, keeps from getting caught, and helps me meld into society.
If I didn’t have my obsessive compulsive tendencies I would be a fucking mess. Okay, more messed up than I already am, but that’s only because of the man that’s waiting for me in the living room. I was peachy up until the day he walked into my classroom. Since then, each day becomes more and more outta whack, and I can’t have that. I need to get out of here and back into my world.
What Lies Beneath The Flowerbed Page 15
