“I’ll be fine. I’ll just shower and then head to bed.”
I nodded. “I’ll go next.”
“Oh shit, actually, is there a phone here?”
I frowned at her question. “I don’t know if it is connected, but I saw one on the desk when we came in. You can give it a try.”
“I have to make a phone call first, if you don’t mind? Mum will probably send Scotland Yard if I don’t call her soon.”
It was something I could see Ruth doing—at least the Ruth that I remembered. “Easy fixed then, you make your call and I’ll shower first. I’ll be done before you’ve finished saying hello.”
Grabbing one of the towels, I headed out of her room. At the very last second, I stopped and my eyes trailed back into the bedroom—to her suitcase—and then back to her. She blushed again, and I couldn’t help but smirk at her before I left.
When she went down to make the call, I followed her to the stairs to see if she’d get through. After a moment, I heard her say, “Hi, Mum,” so I assumed the phone must have worked. I tried not to listen as I turned for the bathroom, but the occasional sentence, like, “How is she? Is she eating?” and, “Put her on,” floated up the stairs to me.
While I showered, my brain was running loops around our conversation. Not only had I learned that Alyssa couldn’t go a week or two without an orgasm, but she didn’t get them from other people very often. At least, she hadn’t until then. I just had to go and convince her to fuck random guys because it wasn’t that difficult to fuck without attachments.
Fucking idiot!
How on earth had that conversation gone so far off track?
CHAPTER ELEVEN: WHISKEY AND ICE
AFTER I’D HAD the briefest of showers, focused on hygiene and not much more, I headed downstairs. Alyssa was just hanging up and offered me a small smile.
“See you in a few hours,” she said.
I nodded and headed toward my goal. My suitcase was still by the kitchen and held a rather bountiful supply of duty-free alcohol. I opened it only far enough to pull out a bottle of top-shelf whiskey and set about hunting down a glass in the massive kitchen. Once I’d found one, I pushed the glass under the ice-maker on the fridge, half filling it with cubes. I poured a triple shot of the whiskey over the top.
My intention was to relax and enjoy the flavour, but once the glass was at my lips I tipped it all down my throat. I hadn’t realised how much I needed it after the flight and subsequent revelations. It was still difficult for me to process the fact that at that precise moment, Alyssa was in the bathroom upstairs—naked.
I poured another, larger, drink and carried it with me over to one of the oversize armchairs. I flicked on the TV but didn’t pay attention to it. My mind was occupied thinking about what it might be like to be upstairs in the shower with Alyssa. Instead of wild imaginings of what she would look like, I recalled the time we had a shower together, in the hotel room after our year twelve formal.
Even as I sat on the sofa, removed by years and proximity, I could easily recall the feel of my hands running along her water-heated skin. The lather from the soap removing all the friction between our bodies. The taste of the water as I sucked it off her breasts. I downed the second glass of whiskey in a rush. I was so fucking hard it was uncomfortable.
After getting a third drink, I returned to the couch and turned the TV off. It was pointless noise that I didn’t really need. I tried to savour the taste of the whiskey instead of gulping it down like a lifeline. For the price, it was a drink designed to be enjoyed, not skulled as fast as possible.
I put the glass to my lips again and sucked a small sip into my mouth and let it rest on my tongue. While I did, my mind supplied me with the incredibly hot, but unhelpful, images of drinking it off Alyssa’s skin. I decided that maybe I needed to make opportunities of my own.
Alyssa was safely tucked away upstairs in the shower, and apparently had no intention of coming back downstairs. She’d said she was going straight to bed after her shower after all.
I raised the glass again taking another, slightly larger, sip. While I did, I sucked one of the ice cubes into my mouth and rolled it around on my tongue, imagining I was swirling it around Alyssa’s nipple. I moaned at the thought.
The cold focused my attention on my mouth, making it a little less noticeable that it was my own hand sliding up my thigh. It was almost easy to pretend it was Alyssa’s.
I popped the button on my jeans and slowly slid down my zipper. Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the taste of the ice and alcohol in my mouth as I pushed my hand into my boxers. I thought of Alyssa under the shower, wet and glistening, and so fucking tasty.
The water in my mouth from the ice seemed to become infused with her flavour. I grabbed hold of my cock and slid my hand along the length. This was my perfection. It was the sort of relief I’d sought with hundreds of nameless, faceless women and never found. The sort of relief which only fantasies of Alyssa could provide. I closed my eyes and leaned back into the chair, sinking further into my fantasy and allowing my hand to glide up and down the length of my exposed shaft to the image of Alyssa imprinted in my brain. It wasn’t me holding myself—it was her. Her hands. Her mouth. Her body.
Her on her knees in front of me, her head in my lap and her lips wrapped around my cock.
Oh fuck, baby.
The ice in my mouth grew smaller and smaller as my body heated with the lust and excitement that raced through me. It had been so long since I’d let myself truly enjoy a fantasy about her. I rolled the ice cube around my mouth one last time before swallowing the mouthful. I left my hand on my erection as I leaned forward with the other to grab the glass and claim another piece of ice. I opened my eyes to locate the side table and met an amused, honey-gold gaze staring at me. Her delight only increased as a warm blush crept up my cheeks.
“Don’t stop on my account,” she said with a chuckle.
Holy fuck!
I pulled my hand out of my boxers and zipped myself up. My erection was almost painful, pulling my pants tight as it sought desperately for the release promised only moments earlier. It would have to wait though. It wasn’t polite to masturbate in front of guests.
“Fuck. Sorry, Alyssa.” I said, running my hand—the one that hadn’t been down my pants—through my hair quickly before downing the rest of the whiskey.
She laughed. “I guess everyone has needs.”
She had no fucking idea.
My needs grew exponentially when I saw the tank top and pants set she was wearing. It was thin white cotton with small pink flowers all over it. She had no bra on and the white cotton was almost completely see-through. Through the material, I could see the thickest black lines of her tattoo, and could clearly make out her erect nipples. The sight was too much. I wanted to put my mouth on her tank top and make out with her nipples. She wasn’t wearing panties either; I could see the dark triangle of hair between her thighs. As if I hadn’t already been hard enough before she came downstairs.
“I just came to get a drink.” She smiled, seeming completely oblivious to her lack of adequate coverage.
“You want some whiskey?” I croaked, holding up my empty glass. Fuck knows I need some more.
She gave a half-hearted shrug. “Sure. Why not?”
When I stood, my erection rubbed uncomfortably against my boxers and jeans. With some difficulty, I walked with an air of nonchalance toward the kitchen. I tipped the mostly melted ice from my glass into the sink and topped it up with some fresh cubes. Then I grabbed another glass for Alyssa, put some ice in it and poured us both a double shot.
The whole way through the actions, which should have been routine and easy, my heart pounded. My head swum, but I wasn’t sure whether that was from the alcohol or from the lack of blood in my brain. I turned to take Alyssa’s drink to her but found she’d followed me into the kitchen.
“So . . .” Alyssa said awkwardly as I handed her one of the glasses.
“So?” I respon
ded, finding it difficult to understand what she wanted to say. In fact, I was finding it difficult to even stay upright or think. Processing anything other than the need for another sip, and my aching desire for her touch, was so far beyond my capabilities it wasn’t funny.
“So, do you really think two people can just fuck with no complications?” She rolled the glass between her hands, sloshing the liquid around and clinking the ice cubes together.
Confused why we were back on the topic, I struggled to keep up. She’d ended the conversation about it pretty abruptly when we’d been upstairs. “Sure. What I mean is, I’ve done it before. If everyone’s upfront about what they want, what’s the issue?”
“And you’ll do it again.” I wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question.
“I guess.” I wondered what her point was. Was she going to have a go at me about sleeping around? If she was, she was going to have—
“Good,” she said, stopping my thoughts in their tracks. She smiled and held up her glass. “To fucking—with no complications.”
After she clinked my glass, she threw her drink back like a pro.
I placed my untouched glass back on the island in front of me as I frowned in confusion. Alyssa rested hers beside it. I tried to get my head around the conversation, but nothing added up like it was supposed to. I’d had far too much to drink for it to make sense.
Before I could register what was happening Alyssa’s lips were on mine. She tasted like the alcohol and her tongue was cold from the ice in her drink.
I was asleep. It came to me in one blinding realisation. It was the only thing that made a lick of sense and the best explanation I could come up with for why Alyssa’s tongue was in my mouth and her hands were tangled in my hair.
It was only logical that I’d fallen asleep during my little fantasy while I wanked, and my subconscious was torturing me for letting her in. It was exquisite torture, but torture nonetheless. Later on, I would wake up and have to face Alyssa and try to drive the thoughts of the dream out of my mind.
Despite knowing I was going to pay for the dream in the morning, I was sick enough to run with the fantasy. My hands found her hips and she moaned at my touch.
Her hands clutched at my hair and she pulled me against her. Her lips wrapped around my bottom lip and she sucked on it in a way that drew a sound from me that was new and utterly unique to her. With her body wrapped around mine, her breasts pressed against my chest and I could feel her erect nipples brushing against me.
“Lys, oh, fuck, Lys,” I muttered around kisses. I’d thought I was hard and desperate before, but it’d been nothing by comparison. After the way her kiss blazed through me, my dick was probably harder than the stainless steel bench she’d backed me against.
I pushed my hand against the waistband of her pants and slipped inside with no resistance. My fingers brushed across the smooth, naked span of her arse.
Fuck.
My erection strained and ached, the exquisite pain being the physical evidence that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t a dream after all.
I broke the kiss off, but my lips didn’t move from her skin. I traced a path over her chin, onto her neck, and then down along her breastbone until I reached the material of her tank top. My mouth sought her nipples through the material. A fresh sound of needful pleasure ripped from me as I caressed her perfect peaks with my mouth. Teeth and tongue worked in unison, dragging the cotton around her tight buds. Even though bending over strained my already sore ribs, I honestly didn’t give a shit. I could have had two broken legs and I still would have found a way to stand there and worship her body.
“Oh, fucking hell, Dec!” Alyssa cried. Her voice dripped with pleasure and need.
I spun us around, picked her up—swallowing down the whimper of pain that threatened to escape—and placed her onto the kitchen island. She yelped a little as her arse hit the cold steel, but I stood between her legs and she quietened. Dream or reality didn’t matter any longer. I was going to take everything offered and I wasn’t going to let either of us leave the kitchen without being thoroughly fucked first.
Grabbing my glass, I took a small mouthful of the amber liquid and then I met her mouth again. Our tongues twisted around each other, swapping the liquid back and forth until it was finally warm. Little by little, it trickled down the back of my throat, but it wasn’t enough. With my eyes open and my gaze firmly meeting hers, I swallowed what was left in my mouth. Fuck, it tasted like Alyssa. A moan of delight left me before I claimed her lips again and my fingers rubbed the wet circles on the front of her shirt.
She shifted against me, leaning into my touch.
After a beat, where I thought I might just burst from the perfection of the moment, I pulled back.
“Do you really want this?” I asked.
“Please, Dec.” She reached for my cheek and traced her fingers over the corner of my mouth. I sucked her finger between my lips and stroked the tip with my tongue. Her eyes rolled back as the pleasure of the sensation rolled through her body.
I pulled her hand away from my mouth and grinned.
“In that case, I have plans for you,” I murmured before grabbing an ice cube from the glass with my fingers.
Holding it between my teeth, I rubbed the ice across the front of her tank top, tracing the cube across her already tight nipples. A hiss of pleasure escaped her and she squirmed in my hold. I used the fingers I’d grabbed the ice with, cold and dripping with whiskey, to trace patterns along her inner thigh. She mewed with pleasure as her body bucked away from the cold even as she leaned into my touch.
Her hands tugged at my shirt, unbuttoning it as quickly as she could. Once it was loose, I shook it off to give her free access. Her fingertips moved to gently caress the swollen bruise around my ribs. Ever so gently, she pressed her lips against each rib. The alcohol haze I’d been suffering from was clearing more and more by the minute, only to be replaced by an Alyssa-induced one. All I could see, hear, smell, and taste was her. I was completely and utterly lost in her.
In us.
How in the hell had I ever let her out of my life?
I’d forgotten just how fucking good she was at getting my body to react. How fucking tasty she was. How the sound of a moan or my name on her lips was almost enough to do me in without any kind of touching.
Her hands ran up and down the length of my back excruciatingly slowly, until finally she circled them around to my front. Fingertips traced my muscles, and I wanted to let her take control and fuck me the way I knew only she could, but I had things I wanted to do to her first.
I alternated between using my tongue and the ice cube on her nipples, drinking down the water as the ice melted. The cold cotton was the only barrier between me and perfection. When I went to lift my head to free her from the material, her fingers found my hair and she directed me back to her breasts. Using my fingertips at the hem of her tank top as an indicator of what I was going to do, I went to pull away again. I leaned back and pulled her tank top off in one swift movement. She relinquished her grip on my head only at the last second but then reclaimed her purchase to guide me straight back to her breasts the instant her shirt was off. I used my mouth on one breast while I worked the other with my hand, pinching and rubbing and caressing. God it felt good to have her in my hands again. It was something I had barely known I was missing, but despite the countless times I’d tried to replicate the feeling, there was no one else in the world who made me feel the way she did.
Looping her legs around my waist, she bucked her hips against mine. Her arse slipped off the bench when she did, but I had her. She was pinned between my hips and the bench. Even though she wasn’t particularly heavy, her weight was enough to cause the constant niggle in my side to blossom into an ache. Her body, and her touch, were enough to soothe it down again.
More than anything, I wanted to rip her pyjama bottoms off, bend her over the bench and fuck her silly, but it was Alyssa. I owed her far more than that. I reached down a
nd slid her pants off before pressing my palm against her mound.
Her hands were at my waistband, tugging on the button and zipper on my jeans. I pushed her back up and onto the counter, pressing her backward until she was lying on it. She squirmed a little at the cold but it warmed quickly on contact. My jeans dropped away as soon as her weight was off my hips.
Taking a moment, I gazed up her body, absorbing every inch—like a man granted just a glimpse of heaven. Who knew how long I’d have with her, whether she’d call a stop to everything and I’d have nothing but the memory to satisfy me. The first thing that drew my eyes was the tattoo under her left breast. I could see now that it was a constellation or something, but fucked if I could tell which one. I longed to trace it with my fingers—or my tongue.
I noticed a new mark running across her stomach, near her pelvic bone. I’d memorised all of the scars on her body one time, and knew where each one had come from. I wondered what sort of accident she’d had to get the new one.
“Declan,” she moaned desperately, drawing my focus back to the moment and letting the question give way to far more important matters.
Lifting the glass of whiskey to my lips, I drew a small mouthful of the amber liquid and another ice cube into my mouth. Hooking my arms around her legs, I lifted her hips up to meet my mouth. I kissed her inner thigh, rolling my tongue through the alcohol to taste her. I twisted my head to the other side and repeated the process. Catching the ice between my teeth, I swallowed down the whiskey.
I rubbed the ice against her clit, fighting the urge to smile as her hips writhed in my hold. In an agonisingly slow circuit, I traced the ice cube from the top of her pussy, down over her lips before brushing it against her entrance. I repeated this a few times until she was screaming and panting for more. Then I swallowed everything that was in my mouth, moaning at the combined flavour, before burying my tongue inside her.
“Holy fuck!” she cried out. Her hands twisted into my hair and she guided me to the position she wanted. I pressed my tongue up against her and she bucked. I ran my nose along her clit and she yanked on my hair again. I traced a small circle around the area and then rubbed at her clit with the tip of my tongue over and over until she was quivering against me. Placing her arse back on the counter, I added two fingers and continued my assault with my tongue until she came hard, screaming out my name and clutching tightly to my shoulders, my hair, anywhere she could get purchase to hold me firmly against her.
Declan Reede: The Untold Story (Complete Series) Page 22
