by T Steele
“You would?” I ask.
“You want the truth?” he rasps out.
“Always.”
“If I could have my way with you, I’d start off here,” he says, drawing a finger down my stomach until it reaches the apex of my thighs and my breath hitches. “I’d use my mouth and fingers until you were right on the verge of cumming, and then I’d pull back only to dive back in. Because that’s what it would be, a fucking feast full of Ella, and I would enjoy every second. Then, when you were about to cum again, I’d slam my cock inside you until you forgot your own name. I’d have you on your back. On all fours. Against the wall. On top of me, riding me all fucking night long, until you had tears streaming down your face and couldn’t walk tomorrow. But you wouldn’t even mind, because we’d start all over again.”
I stare open-mouthed at him, and I know my cheeks are on fire. The words should scare me, considering I’m a virgin and after everything I’ve been through, but they don’t. They only cause the heat in my veins to ignite into fire and wetness pools between my thighs. I desperately try not to clench them together, but he knows. Knows the effect he’s having on me. The effect he has on most women. The thought has me raging with jealousy, and I look down.
He grips my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Tell me,” he says, knowing something’s on my mind.
“How many women have you been with?”
He studies my face for a moment. “Fifteen,” he says, and I tense, my heartbeat speeding up with more jealousy. I can’t help but compare myself to all the girls he’s been with. They were probably all supermodel gorgeous. Probably all tall and thin and experienced.
“I…I’ve only had one boyfriend. We did some stuff, but we’d never got to that.”
Nixon clenches his jaw. “I have no right to feel any jealousy, but I do. I don’t even know the fucker, but I want to strangle him. I do know one thing, though.”
“What?”
“You were too good for him.”
I give a half-smile at that, butterflies erupting in my stomach. “What about your…” I trail off, not knowing what to call his conquests.
“I’m not proud of this, but they meant nothing to me. I’ve never involved any of my feelings. They were just a means to an end.” His eyes flare with lust and something stronger. “None of them were you.”
I let our embrace dissolve and walk away. I want him, but my insecurities rear their ugly head, telling me all the awful things I don’t want to hear about myself.
Nixon grabs my arm and pulls me back into his heaving chest, and his eyes study my face before he brings his lips down to mine. One of his hands twists into my hair, tugging a bit while the other wraps around my hips.
He pulls away, licking his lips before getting on his knees, kneeling before me. He wraps his arms around my thighs, staring up at me. Like he’s bowing. “I’m sorry, Ella. I’m sorry I lied to you before, but don’t ever feel insecure around me. You have to believe me when I say there has never been and will never be anyone like you. You’re way too good for me, Ella. I don’t know how you haven’t realized it yet, but since you haven’t, I’m gonna take whatever I can get.” His eyes are intense, pupils dilated, and his voice is deep and rough as he speaks. He swallows thickly before getting out the last sentence. “I can’t stay away from you.”
“Am I too damaged?” I could barely get the words out, but they’d been on the tip of my tongue for days now.
He recoils as if I’ve slapped him. “Never,” he whispers fiercely. “Never in any fucking world are you too damaged. You’re perfect, and I’m fucking lucky. If anything, no one is good enough for you. And even though your ex is a fucking idiot for letting you go, I’m fucking grateful, ‘cause now you’re mine. You hear me? Is that what you wanted, to be mine? Because you coming here tonight, trusting me, and with that look in your eyes that tells me you want to give me your body…I won’t forget that. In my book, that means you’re mine.”
His words do exactly what he intended, warming me up, practically making me glow. As if golden light is filling me up and patching up all my broken pieces.
“Nixon?”
He swallows thickly, looking up at me with intense eyes. “Yes?”
“Please, touch me.”
Chapter 18
Nixon
“Please touch me.”
I’m still on my knees in front of her, and Ella’s voice comes out like a fucking siren’s song, and I’m lost. Fuck me, but even the sound of her voice is sexy as hell.
She wants me to touch her, well, she doesn’t have to ask twice. I bury my face between her thighs in those tight leggings. I nuzzle her, rubbing her through her leggings. The sweet scent of her fills my nose, and I inhale like I can’t get enough, and I guess I fucking can’t.
She gasps, and her hands go to my hair, tugging, holding on for balance, and I chuckle darkly. Adrenaline races through me, and I have to tone it down. I want everything to be perfect for her, and that includes me not cumming in my pants.
I pull her pants slowly down her legs, relishing in the goosebumps I feel. My cock hardens to the point of pain, knowing that I have an effect on someone like Ella. She stares down at me, and her light eyes are almost fully dilated with desire.
“You like seeing me on my knees, hmm?” I murmur roughly.
She bites her lip, looking bashful, but nods her head regardless. Fuck, I have to taste her. I can’t wait any longer.
I stand, towering over her, and she looks like she wants to protest since I stopped, but I pick her up bridal style and carry her to my bedroom. I lay her down gently on the bed, and then I crawl on top of her. I crash my lips to hers, loving the way she makes this soft noise of surprise from the back of her throat. Swiping my tongue across her bottom lip, she opens for me. Accepting me. Responding to me, and I can’t help but grind my hips into her sex. I want her so badly that I’d do anything to have her. I’d walk into fire just to feel her lips against mine, and I’d choose her over oxygen just to feel her skin against mine.
My lips are just as hungry as my hands as they trail down her jawline to her collarbone, and then I stare up at her with a need I’ve never felt before. “Can I undress you?” My voice is ragged, and I’m surprised I have enough brainpower to even get the words out. I expect her to shy away, to back out, say no—and of course I would stop if she asked—but instead she sits up, biting her lip. Hesitantly, playing with the hem of her shirt, she looks at me from under her lashes, and it hits me square in the chest. There’s so much fear there, and insecurities, yet also passion and bravery. So much bravery.
“Yes,” she finally whispers, and I sit back on my heels. She’s nervous, and I don’t blame her. I want her to be one hundred percent sure. Then, a thought hits me.
“Come here,” I say, grabbing her hand and walking her out of my bedroom into my bathroom. I make her stand in front of the mirror hanging on the bathroom door. It’s nothing fancy, but it shows Ella’s full body while I stand behind her, the top of my head cut off, not fitting in the glass. She looks so delicate, standing there in front of me, my hands too rough to be handling someone like her.
Ella’s eyes are wide and curious, and her milky pale skin feels smooth as I start lifting the hem of her shirt. Her eyes widen. “What are you doing?” she shrieks, placing her hands on top of mine, halting my movements.
“Showing you just how beautiful you are,” I whisper, my lips brushing her ear, causing her to shiver. “Please trust me,” I say, but it’s more like a plea.
She closes her eyes for a beat and then opens them, taking a deep inhale. “Okay.”
I continue lifting the hem of her shirt until it’s just below her breasts.
“Lift your arms,” I whisper.
She does, and I finally get the shirt over her head, leaving Ella standing in nothing but her bra. Her eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and I unclasp the back of her bra and slide the straps down her arms.
When the garment falls to the ground, I
can’t help but suck in a sharp inhale. My mouth waters and I grit my teeth. This is about her, I remind myself, almost having lost sight of what’s important at the view of her perfect body.
“Open your eyes,” I murmur, my voice coming out deep and rough.
Her eyes pop open, and she stares at herself. Stares at us. Our reflections showing in sharp contrast. I’m big and rough, tattooed, tan.
She’s curvy and soft, her pale skin unmarked. She looks fresh and clean, and everything I’m not.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I say, bending to whisper in her ear, resting my head in the crook of her neck so she can see the sincerity in my eyes. But how could she not know, if the feel of my hard cock pressing into her from behind is any indication.
I lick my lips, imagining my tongue touching her perfect pink nipples instead.
She bites her lip, her fists clenched at her sides, and I know she wants to cover up, but I speak fiercely. “I love the way you look.”
She sighs in relief as if I would’ve said I didn’t.
“Can I touch you?” I ask, and she nods.
My hands go to the flare of her hips, and she sucks in a breath. Slowly, I slide my hands up to her small waist then to her breasts. I cup them in my hands, loving the way they feel, watching the way they fit just right in my palms. Her chest is heaving, and she leans back into me. She’s not relaxed by any means, but she’s definitely not as tense.
I clench my jaw. The woman is fucking perfect, and I’m trying so hard to show her that she is a queen. Because she is, and I want to run my tongue along every inch of her body until she forgets all the shit she’s been through, and only knows pleasure instead. Only knows me instead. The thought might be selfish, but this is the way I react to Ella Black.
My hands rest on her shoulders, thumbs rubbing comfortingly along where they meet her neck. “Your skin is so soft.” I skim my nose along the side of her face, leaving a soft kiss on her neck. “These hands of mine don’t deserve to be touching you.”
I see her lips twitch in an almost-smile.
“I never met a woman whose eyes could slay me with one look. Your eyes see me in a way that sometimes I don’t like, but it’s the raw, honest truth in them that I can’t look away from. You see my worth more than I do.” I look away. As if I’m worth anything at all.
Ella’s hands come to rest on mine that now rest on her stomach, her eyes shining with sincerity and something else. Something new. “You’re worth so much,” she whispers. “Never forget that.”
I bury my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply, her fruity scent wafts into my nose. “So are you,” I tell her quietly. “Your body is what an artist would want to paint or carve. Like a statue of a Greek Goddess. Something to be worshipped. Perfection.”
My hands keep wandering over her ass, her thighs, her toned stomach. Now her breaths are coming out in short bursts, and when I cup her breasts once more, running my hands over her hardened nipples, she lets out a soft moan that I’d do anything to hear again.
“Your breasts are mouth-watering. I want to suck on your pretty pink nipples until you’re writhing and desperate. I love the way your hips are rounded and give me something to hold onto. I love the way your thighs touch when you walk and the way they looked spread before me. I dream about it almost every night.” I shake my head, sliding my tongue along the side of her neck, unable to resist a small taste of her. “The sight of you bared before me, ready to be made mine. Because it feels like that’s what you are. Mine, and mine alone. Your body is something to be cherished, and fuck me, but I want to cherish it every goddamn day.”
I had been so busy watching my hands move across Ella’s body, the way an artist’s brush would a canvas, that I hadn’t noticed the tears streaming down her face.
Pain hits me hard, like a wrecking ball, and I turn her around in my arms, swiping my thumbs under her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I say, thinking back to everything I’d said and done, wondering if I pushed her too far. But she surprises me by wrapping her arms around my neck and bringing my lips down to hers.
Her hands roam over my chest, and my own heartbeat speeds up. Only Ella Black could have this effect on me. No one else.
When she’s the one to make that first move, sliding her tongue inside my mouth, I groan, picking her up and carrying her back to my bedroom.
I lay her on the bed, trying to be gentle. But it’s like there's a beast inside me, and it’s causing my need for her to override a lot of things right now, and we fall in a heap, wrapped in each other’s arms.
I pull back, then I just stare at her sprawled out before me. Her hair has come out of her bun from earlier and is spread across my pillow like a crown of fucking fire.
I’m breathing heavily, and all I want to do is get lost in her, but I still have some sense left intact. “Are you okay? Are you sure you want this?”
“How could I not after those words you spoke…after everything you’ve shown me?” she replies, just as breathily.
I stare at her for a long moment. “I didn’t say all that just to fuck you…you know that, right?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
My eyes drink her in, not wanting to miss any detail. Then my gaze locks back onto hers, and she’s watching me. She seems nervous still, but her face is open. Trusting. Something I’m not used to. I have to look away from her innocent eyes.
Do I even deserve this? Because I can’t hurt her. Hurting her would kill me, and I already have enough guilt eating at me.
She sits up, cupping my face, her eyes boring into mine. “What do you need?”
“What?” I ask, my brows furrowing.
“It seems you’re always the one to comfort me and help me out, but now…you’ve got this look on your face like you’re hurting, too.” Her voice is soft, and I realize she has the power to fucking break me and I wouldn’t even care.
She continues. “I want to be what you need,” she says, cheeks blushing pink and rosy. Her blush is starting to cover her chest over her breasts, just like I had imagined. She’s still cupping my face, but her eyes are downcast. Then she finally brings her blue gaze back to mine. “How can I comfort you? W-would it help if I touched you the way you’ve touched me?” Then her voice gets even lower. “Can you teach me?”
Fuck. I swallow hard, kissing her pretty lips quickly. Those words are enough to almost make me revert back to my fifteen-year-old self and cum right in my pants. “You’re a fucking angel. A goddess I don’t deserve,” I say.
She raises her brows, and I can’t help but cradle her face in my hands, admiring her.
“There’s nothing else you need to do, but I’m not going to tell you no if you want to touch me,” I tell her truthfully.
She smiles shyly, then sobers. “Thank you for earlier…no one has ever made me feel that beautiful…or safe,” she whispers.
“Then that’s because I was the only one you chose to let in,” I say, running my hands through her hair, causing the beautiful red waves to cascade down her back. “Because there’s no way in hell men haven’t been lining up at your door, Ella. I don't think you know the effect you have on men…But I’m the luckiest motherfucker on the planet if I’m the one you’re deciding to give a chance to.”
“You’re doing it again,” she says.
“What?”
“Making me feel good when I’m the one trying to comfort you.”
I smile, leaning into her delicate hand that still rests on my cheek, then I gently bring my lips to hers. “Making you feel good is a comfort to me. Now, I want to give you the best orgasm of your life to make you forget why you were ever sad in the first place.”
Chapter 19
Ella
Nixon’s voice is warm and honeyed, almost a purr when he tells me to lay back and relax. I smile at him, a genuine smile. No one’s ever seen me completely naked before, and I honestly didn’t know if anyone ever would. But with Nixon, everything is different. The confidence
he gives me when I’m around him makes me feel incredible. Like something special. It also scares the hell out of me, because what happens now if I lose it? This feeling is new and fragile and exciting. If Nixon just decides he doesn’t want me around anymore…it’s going to hurt. Bad. But then, when I watch his eyes roam over my body slowly, I know that he wouldn’t just do that. When Nixon looks at me, it’s almost an explosive feeling—as if there's something building, simmering slowly until he’s ready to explode and ravage me.
His forefinger softly glides between my breasts, down my stomach to the apex of my thighs. “Spread those pretty legs,” he rasps.
I do, and he makes this deep noise in the back of his throat. My body responds immediately, sex clenching in anticipation.
“I’m going to fucking worship you,” he growls. “Like a sinner who’s just found his religion.”
“Nixon,” I moan softly at his words. My hands grip the sheets in tight fists, impatient and squirmy.
“Hold your knees up,” he murmurs. “Use your forearms. I want to see everything.” His eyes watch me with brutal focus and intensity.
My entire body is red hot, and I imagine it’s covered in a deep blush, but I do as he says; my legs over top my forearms, helping to spread me wider. There’s a throb between my thighs, and I’m so desperate, I almost feel like I could orgasm by his words and stare alone. He hasn’t even touched me yet, and it already feels like foreplay. Then his facial expression darkens, and his nostrils flare. His eyes watch mine as he lowers his head. The look he gives me is the one I imagine a lion gives his prey. His tongue makes a trail along my inner thighs and then plunges inside me. He does this a few times while I buck my hips against his face. I don’t recognize the noises that come from my mouth, and when he finally gives me what I want and flattens his tongue, moving it in circles on my clit, I come apart hard. My legs fall from my grasp and quiver, while my hands move to tug at his hair.
He sits back, licking his lips, the evidence of my arousal still showing on his face. I sit up, still feeling like jelly, but I force myself to move anyway.
