Chapter Twenty-Eight

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

She didn't think anything of stripping off once she was in his bedroom. Even though it was freezing in there. The windows were half falling out of their frames; she was pretty sure there had to be a hole somewhere. And the only way to get warm was the bed. The one that she had given him a potion to make, which had apparently made it grow arms.

It tried to grab her as she jumped on.

Naked as the day she was born, not a care in the world.

Because the thing was: she knew she didn't have to have one. He burst into the room, hands full of candles she hadn't been able to obtain the other night, and what looked like a mix tape she had no idea how he was going to play, and a bunch of snacks she was assuming he needed so they could do this all fucking night.

And he took one look at her, all bare and spread out across his bed, and pretty much dropped everything. Candles spiraled under the bed. She got to see that one of the snacks was a pack of Red Vines—still a favorite of his, it seemed—because it fell face up. A can of something definitely burst. She heard it go, even if she didn't see it.

And his expression. It was all eyes, all stunned delight.

Though she couldn't resist pushing him to say it, anyway.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked as mischievously as she could make it.

And sure enough, he didn't even hesitate.

"I'm thinking about what I did to deserve your hot tits and ass all completely exposed to my extremely unworthy eyes," he said, and with such bemused earnestness she had no choice but to believe it. And even more so when he added, "Okay lemme just—"

Then he simply started yanking off his own clothes in a frantic scramble. He hocked his T-shirt over his head with one hand, while trying to shove his pants down with another. And as he did both, he did his best to toe off his socks.

Though one of them still remained, when he got to the bed. Like he'd forgotten what he was doing halfway through. Which was, weirdly, one of the hottest things about everything he'd just done. That eagerness, that single-mindedness—it was a real killer. It had her pushing her mouth into his before he'd even made it fully onto the bed.

And not chastely, either.

She went directly to wet and hot and open-mouthed, in a way that almost felt like too much. Like the other night. But then she pulled back, and oh, oh. He followed . Like a big kid being fed something super tasty, then fumbling after it the second it went away. And that was nuts, it was ridiculous, but at the same time it was so sexy and so sweet that she didn't know how to react.

She wanted to laugh and moan, all at the same time.

In fact, she did. Much to his embarrassment.

"Sorry, sorry, I just wasn't expecting your tongue in my mouth like that, and it is ridiculously hot. Like almost too hot. I think I almost came just feeling it fucking into my mouth like that," he said, almost as if he shouldn't.

So she kissed him again. "And that would be a bad thing why?" she asked, archly enough that it left him blank-faced and flummoxed. He had to work up to an answer, while licking her taste off his lips.

"I have no idea, considering you seemed to hate me taking a while to get there last time. In fact, at one point I think you practically demanded I finish."

"Yeah, about that," she said, with a rueful look. And he got it before she even said.

"You didn't actually want me to just finish, did you?"

"Not even a little bit, no. Although you should know, at this point, that I also do not care if you do it fast. Mainly because (a) it's very hot to me that you're so into whatever we're doing here that a kiss can make you come, (b) there are plenty of other options available to us aside from your cock in my pussy, and (c) we both know you definitely do not need to stop at one in a night. Or even five in a night. Or seventeen. I think I remember you saying seventeen was your limit."

"I did, but it was actually more like twenty-seven."

"Jesus Christ, I'm not gonna make it out of here alive."

"Oh no, don't worry, you will. I have lots of rest breaks penciled in, between the five thousand delicious and disgusting things I definitely now think you're okay with me doing to you. And hope you want to do to me."

She thought about the snacks.

The way he'd looked at her outside.

The way he was looking at her now. And proceeded accordingly.

"I'll do whatever you want. Just tell me where to start," she said. Then expected maybe a kiss. Like before, when he had wanted to start out nice and slow. But instead, he took hold of her hand, all tender and sweet about it.

And he put it somewhere that sent a thrill right through her body.

It made her glance down, immediately. Just so she could see how it looked: his bare cock, all stiff and already so fucking slick. Then his hand over hers, urging her to stroke. Though it wasn't as if he had to urge her at all. She started moving almost before he did, every part of her eager to feel that thick, solid thing. To make him moan for her, to make him feel good.

And it worked.

"Oh yeah, just like that," he gasped the second she tightened her grip around his already slick shaft. And it felt so delicious, so exciting, she couldn't resist doing more. She waited, until he was flushed and trembling and practically rocking into her hand.

Then she simply dipped her head. She licked, over that glistening slit at the tip of his cock. Just once, just to see what would happen. And oh, the sound he made. The words he got out. "Ohhhhh man. Oh that is—that is super intense," he said in a way that definitely told her he wanted more. But she paused anyway, almost entirely for the tease of it.

"So much so that you want me to stop?" she asked.

And got what she'd been imagining.

"God no. No, please just do that again."

"You like it then."

"Like isn't the right word."

"Then what is? Tell me. Tell me."

"Whatever will make you lick me that way a second time."

"Even though I could do more. I could do this instead," she said, leaning down again. Only instead of licking, instead of stroking, she let that thick, swollen cock slide all the way past her lips. She took him in, as deep as she could, and then slowly, slowly worked her way back up again.

And oh god when she did. He tried to make a sound, and in stead almost seemed to choke. One hand went to her shoulder and gripped her there tightly. Like he wanted to stop her or push her away. But of course he didn't do anything of the kind. He just held on, the way a drowning man would cling to a life preserver.

As she did it again. And again. Each time bolder about it. Filthier about it.

By the time he got his act together enough to talk, she was working him steadily, hand on all the places her mouth couldn't reach, tongue licking over that now constantly spilling slit at the tip, greedily, so greedily. Of course it was greedily—it tasted too good, felt too good.

And the things he said only made it sweeter.

"Okay, just so you know, I am definitely going to come. As in, I am ten seconds away. So if you want me to do it somewhere other than your mouth—" he started to say, then seemed to stutter to a stop when he realized she wasn't easing up. She heard his intake of breath—felt the tension in him like someone pulling a wire taught—and went faster. She went harder. She went slicker and sloppier, until that wire snapped. "Ohhhh god, you want me to. You want me to. Okay, fuck, that's hot, oh you're so greedy for it, oh that's it, oh that's my good girl."

And it almost made her snap too, when it did. She felt the words pour through her, just as his dirty talk had done before. More than they had done before, because now it was truly him saying it. This was really how he felt. These were his actual feelings about what she was doing.

And that realization made such a mess of her.

She found herself getting sloppy, shaky. She couldn't stop herself rocking—as if he were already inside her, working her into the orgasm she could almost already feel. The beginnings of it burned through her, bright and brilliant enough that she couldn't help making sounds. Lewd sounds, of the sort that would have embarrassed her before.

But how could they now?

When she let out a low, heavy groan, his hand fisted in her hair. His cock swelled in her mouth. Then even better, even hotter—he made sounds of his own. Rich, deep, guttural sounds that seemed to vibrate through him, and into her. They buzzed over her sensitive nipples, her swollen clit, so strongly she wasn't sure she could take it.

She almost pulled back, almost begged for mercy.

But that was when she felt it. The first jerk and swell of that fat cock, too obvious and too delicious to ever back away from. In fact, she found herself working harder, until she got what she was greedy for. That hot burst of come, over her tongue. Just a little, at first. But then so thick and fast she had to swallow and swallow and swallow to keep up.

And it still spilled over her lips.

She looked up at him with it running down her chin. Watched his eyes flash wide and hot to see it. Then she curled her tongue over her lower lip to catch it, and he couldn't seem to help himself. "Oh you like that, don't you," he groaned. Then even hotter: "Here, have some more."

And he took his cock in his hand, and stroked. He worked himself, until another stripe of come coated her lips, her tongue. She had to open her mouth again to catch it all, then thrilled when he slid that still swollen head back in.

Because God this was Seth, her sweet Seth, and he was doing something so fucking filthy .

He was letting her clean his cock of come.

He even said so. He told her she was his sweet girl, for licking up every drop.

So it wasn't a surprise that she was a wreck by the time he was done.

Every bit of her seemed boneless, breathless. She had to take a second to rest her face against his thigh. But that was all right, because he seemed to feel the same. She heard him breathing raggedly. Felt him trembling, one hand in her hair, petting her in a half-reassuring, half-grateful way.

Before he finally got it together enough to speak.

"Okay, that's one of the things I wanted to do down. Now on to the other 4,999. Starting, I think, with running my hands all over every inch of those maddening fucking curves. Unless of course you have any objections?" he said, like some scout leader rallying the troops.

Though, really, he didn't need to rally anything. The moment she nodded, still half pressed against his leg, he trailed a finger over the place where her throat met her shoulder. He said, "Then I'll begin here, at this smooth arch." And just like that, she was lit up again.

"And after that?" she asked eagerly, as he ran his hand further down.

"This sweet groove, between your belly and your hips."

"Because you like that. You're saying you like that there."

"I love it," he murmured. "I dream about it. But not as much as I dream about this."

"But that's just my lower back."

"It's not. It's where you have these two dimples. Just right there an inch away from the starting curve of your ass. Easy to glimpse whenever your top rides up, but impossible to forget once I have. Even back in high school I used to wonder what it would be like, to just—" he said, and pushed two fingers into those little dents, rubbing and rubbing in a way that made her arch her back helplessly.

Then just as she was wondering if he'd really thought of something so strange back then, he urged her to turn. He got her on her knees, back to him. And he simply went ahead and replaced his fingers with his mouth. He kissed those dimples, hot and wet enough that she bunched the sheets into fists. She made a sound, instead of speaking.

And when she did speak, her voice came out ragged.

"But I'm guessing you didn't think about following it with this."

"No. No, I never let myself think about that," he replied. "Or about doing more after I'd touched them." And then he did just that. He did more. He slid one hand between the legs she hadn't realized she'd spread, and stroked through her slick folds, her swollen clit, and down, down, until he was there. He was working her open, as slow and steady as before.

Only better, because he talked about it as he did. "Or about your liking it. Because I'm pretty sure you are, judging by the way you're rocking into my hand right now and getting it all wet and, oh yeah —that's happening because you're gonna come, right?"

He meant because she was clenching around his steadily working fingers, she knew. She could feel it happening, hard enough that he could hardly stroke into her. He had to slow down, and just sort of twist and rub—though of course that only made things worse. Now she was panting, shaking, so flushed she felt as if she was on fire.

And she couldn't stop herself mewling at him for more.

Even though it made him give her less. He slowed, to the point where she had to ask.

"Oh god, why are you stopping?" she managed to squeeze out, and cringed a little over the sound of herself. Until he answered her, that was.

"Because I want to feel you doing it on my cock again. But this time, I want to absolutely know that's what you're doing," he said—and so casually, too. Like it was nothing. Instead of something so hot it made her breath catch in her throat. It made her squirm and try to push back against him, before he'd done a single thing. She had to actually fight to keep herself still, just so she could get every little detail of what he had described.

But it was worth it, when she got that big hand of his on her hip. Stroking, at first, all soft and slow. Then he simply slid his fingers into that cup, between her thigh and her stomach. And he used it to haul her back, back, back, until she could feel it.

The thick head of his cock, sliding through the seam of her sex. Back and forth and back and forth, so steady and teasing she wondered how he could stand it. It was too much for her, and he was barely touching any of the good stuff. He only just grazed her clit with every stroke; her greedy hole got little more than a hint of him.

She almost pushed back, on one of those maddening strokes.

Just fucked herself on him, good and hard.

Yet somehow, it was still a shock when he finally broke. She got a sudden groan, so desperate it had her fisting the bedsheets. Then that thick cock just sliding into her, spreading her, in a way that felt even sweeter than it had the first time. He seemed to spark every nerve ending she had, as he filled her pussy.

Though it was more than that, and she knew it. She could feel it again—that strange echo of whatever pleasure he was experiencing. As if they were still connected in that way, somehow. Like it had left a kind of delicious scar when she'd healed them both.

Only somehow, that didn't seem quite right.

It was something else, she could feel it. But before she could really think about it, he put a hand on the small of her back. He pushed her down, until her belly and breasts were pressed to the mattress. And then he practically rolled into her.

And every thought she had ever had flew out of her head.

All she could think about was the sensations, the feelings, the sweet blooming beginnings of her orgasm, as inexorable as the tide. How much she wanted to tell him she was close, but couldn't quite make the words come. They stuck in her throat, too dirty to speak. Too much, too raw, too like holding back was still the best idea.

But of course he knew, he knew.

"Don't hide it from me. Tell me how good it feels," he said, so soft and full of understanding and reassurance that it would have been enough on its own. Then she felt his hand stroke over her back, and that was it.

She didn't know how to keep it inside anymore.

"So good I'm going to cream all over your cock," she burst out.

And it was worth it, just for the groan she got in response.

"So you like it when I do you like this."

"Yes yes yes, oh god, yes please please."

"And how about now? Hotter or colder?"

Hotter , she thought, too hot. I'm burning alive and don't want to stop .

Before she could say it, he got hold of both hips with those big hands. And he hauled her back, onto his cock. Then again, and again, hard and fast and right up against that sweet spot inside her. The one she couldn't reach with her fingers, and hardly could with toys, and definitely never had with any other men she'd fucked.

But he reached effortlessly—and she knew it wasn't because of the way he was built. It was because of that echo, that connection. It had to be, because he shuddered with her every time he got it right. He said her name every time she wanted to say his. And when he reached a hand between their bodies and stroked one wicked finger over her clit, it wasn't just her that lost control.

She felt him buck and grunt and dig his fingers into her hip, the moment he made contact.

Though it was her who got there first. The pleasure just bloomed upward from every point of contact, thick and intense enough that she said his name through gritted teeth. She tried to get away from it.

And she knew she'd made a mess of him. She felt herself spilling all over his cock, felt it coating her thighs and soaking the sheets. Heard him gasping over it, in a way that would have embarrassed her before. But it couldn't here, because she knew what that gasp meant. She knew what everything meant with him now. He had removed all doubt, and replaced it with something better, something sweeter.

She didn't even need him to say.

Though he did, anyway.

"Thank god you brought that potion that cuts the cord between getting turned on and becoming a beast. Because if you hadn't, I'd be mauling you and growling that you're mine, right around now," he panted out between heavy, ragged breaths. Between kisses, god the way he dropped kisses on the nape of her neck.

She couldn't be normal about it.

"I wouldn't care if you did," she replied without even thinking twice.

And got his voice in her ear, breathless, barely human.

"You are, you are, you're all mine," he growled as she felt the first wave of his orgasm running through her. "Say you are. Say you're mine. Say you always will be."

And though his words felt like too much, she didn't hesitate.

"I will, I am, I'm all yours," she gasped.

Then waited for a sense of regret that simply never came.