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16. Evilla

Chapter sixteen

Evilla

M ont looks like a god dipped in chocolate sauce. Isn't everything better with chocolate? In this case, I think he might be the one exception. I can't imagine him getting any more delicious or freaking hot and muscly, even if he was slathered in melted chocolate.

He guides me down to the sleeping bags that are sprawled out on top of the air pads. Oh look. They do inflate on their own. And they stayed inflated, even with our combined weight.

I wrap my legs around Mont's hips. He's hard, hot fire above me.

"Hold on one second." He can still reach his jeans while he's on top, and he takes a small packet out of the jeans pocket. Right, protection. Duh.

"Thank goodness you're thinking straight," I tell him.

"I don't know if that's the right term because I don't know if I'm thinking at all."

"Well, I'm not. All my brain keeps saying is put your dick inside me right now. But like, to you. Not to me. That wouldn't make any sense."

"Christ." He strokes down my center. I'm probably dripping by now.

"Oh my god. That's good. Yes, please. Wow." I ride his finger, and he hasn't even stuck it inside me.

Torturous? Yeah, that was all week long while I thought about doing this. We should have finished last time. A week is a long, long, loooonnnnnnggggg freaking time. It's a miracle I didn't blurt out inappropriate things in meetings.

Evilla, what does your market research show us about pudding this week?

Sex. All the sex.

What new flavor of pudding do you think people would love to see next?

Bergamont.

What ingredients would make up such a delicacy of a pudding?

Specifically tongue, fingers, his ass, his cock, his pecs, and the rest of him.

His knuckle brushes over my clit, and I go into a wild animal mode, trying to get more. I grasp his shoulders. "Condom. Now. Please. Put. On."

The tearing of that packet and the rolling of it down his length seem to take eight hundred and forty-two years. My vagina is not patient. I'm surprised my nipples haven't scored cut lines into his chest, seeing as they're so hard, and every single time he rubs up against me, they get a fraction more nipply .

One million years or not, Mont positions himself above me. I feel him shift, take himself in his hand, and guide his cock to my entrance. I rock upwards, and condom or not, I'm wet enough that there is zero of the bad love glove friction as he enters me.

He's freaking huge. All week, I dreamed of the dirtiest turns of phrase that involved exactly what we're doing now, but none of them even come close to describing the sensation. I roll my hips up, taking more of him. He's gentle and strong and freaking coordinated. He balances himself with one hand above me while he uses the other so my clit doesn't feel left out of the action.

He circles it slowly as he fills me, and fuck, holy fuck, all the fucks, that feels so fucking good.

He has a magic dick and magic fingers, and they are extra magic when used in tandem.

I writhe on the sleeping bag. It's slick and silky on my back. I probably writhe around and pump my hips and get a little too heated because the thing starts to shimmy out from under me, or we're shimmying out from on top of it. I feel my hair and my head hang off the edge, and soon, the rug beneath the sleeping bag and mat feels different.

I don't stop, and neither does Mont. He pumps inside me, filling me all the way. I do my best to take him, and yes, it hurts, but yes, it also feels like I'm going to splinter into a million pieces of light and fairy dust.

He's still teasing my clit as he pumps inside me. I don't know what I'm doing besides making begging and pleasure noises and digging my fingers into his shoulders to hold him tightly as we move around on the slippery sleeping bag.

Then, he does this amazing thing where he changes the angle mid-thrust, and I'm just…gone. I'm here for it, but I'm also freaking gone. I can see him through hazy eyes, and I can see the stars swimming above us like we're underwater in a star-filled sea. I can see his body moving, all his muscles working hard and flexing and veiny.

For a second, I almost forget that he's still working my clit, but then he presses on it while he thrusts hard inside me, and there's no forgetting. Unless it's everything but that. The world goes out of focus as my climax hits. I feel myself coming around his hard length, coming as he continues to drive himself inside me. I'm probably making weird sounds and weird faces, but I don't care. The pleasure is too good, and that's all I think about. The endlessness of it. It might go on forever. We might go on forever. Mont might go on forever. He probably has the stamina for it.

But no.

He comes hard inside me, shaking in that manly way that makes me want to lick all of his muscles. I'm sure it wouldn't be appreciated, so I settled for panting with him and clinging to him through all the involuntary aftershocks. I can feel myself clenching so hard around Mont that he might be in danger of strangulation. I haven't had this kind of pleasure, ever, and I've also never had a mutual orgasm with another person.

My eyes burn a little, but I don't want to cry. I don't want tears to leak out the corners. It would probably just alarm Mont, and then he'd think that he'd done something wrong when all he did was punish my vagina into the most wonderful form of sexy brokenness, and it was the best. Ever.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Damn it. I think my face might be doing something funny.

I open my eyes and smile through the sheen of moisture. "Yeah, I promise I am."

My vision is blurry, but after a few blinks, it clears without the tears spilling over. I kiss Mont nice and slow, savoring the taste of him, the feel of him still inside me, and the nearness of his body crushing into mine.

"I'll be back in a second." He breaks off the kiss but drops a few on my chin and then takes my nipple into his mouth. He rolls it between his teeth, teasing me as he pulls out.

The room is dark, and he's gone, but I do catch a flash of the world's hottest, tightest ass.

When he comes back, he's got a towel wrapped around his waist. He whips it off and offers it to me, but then he flushes. "Oh. I thought you might need this or want this, but I'm not trying to infer that we just made a slight mess on that sleeping bag."

"Oh my god, did I?"

"Yes, but it's hot. Can I grab the other one and just lay on that one with you and watch the stars for a bit? We don't have to sleep here. It's probably so uncomfortable anyway, and seeing as I have a perfectly good bed upstairs and…well, shit. I'm not trying to say you have to spend the night or anything. You don't. There's no pressure at all."

"Mont." I put a finger up to his lips. "I'd really like to spend the night. And I'd really like you to squish yourself up against me right now as we fit on this twin-sized camping pad and tiny sleeping bag and watch the not-real-sky do its sky thing."

Twin-sized things are a great idea because if this were any bigger, we wouldn't have to be so close. I like the closeness, and I like the way Mont squishes up against me and wraps a strong arm around me. I like the way he smells, all manly and literally oozing sexiness.

We're silent for a while, watching the stars, but they don't change or shift. A few minutes in, Mont sighs. "What I was saying before…like, a while ago…I've been thinking about that. In my world, it's wrong not to have a plan. People do things at prescribed times. Not to the year or the date, but it's expected that one finds one's stride, keeps that growth and momentum going, finds a partner to share it with, and then passes it down to the next generation."

"Babies…" Are we having the baby conversation already? If this is hypothetical, then I'm good. But if it's about heirs and whether I can make one anytime soon, then I'm going to panic.

Mont senses my tension, and his body becomes less languid beside me. "Do you want children?"

I become less languid, too. "I think so. That's the thing about being a woman. People give you that question all the time, and the older you get, the more imperative it becomes. I know it's because society still has this burning biological clock notion, but it's obnoxious."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Add obnoxious gas to the obnoxious fire? I know. You're good. I could ask you the same thing. Do you want kids? And I'm sure you'll give me the same answer I did. That you do want them, but you don't know when."

"You're right," he says.

I shift so I can see his face, framed by the stars and the big wood beams above. He's so serious but more lost in thought. "I'm glad there's a pushback on it, but it's still there. All the heavy expectations. It's not that you can't live and have a family or do the things you want to do after you have a kid. I'm not one of those people who believe that responsibilities ruin your life or that kids become this millstone around your neck, dragging you to the bottom of the fun pond. Sure, I do think some things are easier, and some things should probably be done before. I'm just not sure I subscribe to the right way and the wrong way and the timelines because those feel like millstones. I'm glad the world is shifting ideology when it comes to working yourself to death, too. There shouldn't be such a thing as work-life balance. I don't think the scales should ever be even or equal when it comes to working and living. You should always be living first."

"But that's an ideal…." It sounds like a question, and he's watching me with an intense amount of focus now.

"It's very idealistic. It's on the list of working your ass off toward making it a reality. That's just me, and I know not everyone has that or can live like that," I say.

"And marriage? Is that an ideal as well?" he asks.

"I don't want to think it is, but I like it to be in the distant future behind a long list of things I'd like to do first."

"I feel the same way. I don't like to think that all life is just working toward that push to those end goals. I'd like to enjoy life along the way and for my partner to feel the same. I'd like more crab dates with you, more sass and sunshine in my life, and more pudding greatness. One day, and it's a distant one day, when we're both ready, I'd like you to meet my parents, and I'd like to meet yours too. No charade and no pressure."

I chuckle at the no-pressure part. Meeting the parents is always pressure. But, also, meeting his mom again? "Would your poor mom even believe we're dating? I texted Gen and told her we're dating for real, but it was over text, so I didn't get to hear her burst of wild laughter at the absurdity of it."

"At least it's a funny meet-cute," he says with a chuckle.

"Meet-cute. Who came up with that anyway?"

"Who comes up with anything trendy now?"

"I don't know, but I hate it. I wish I could throw my phone in the toilet half the time. That's pretty much where it belongs, anyway," I grumble.

"We should get offline then. Just for a few days. Get away from everything everyone wants us to be and do."

"Are you asking me to come away with you, you sexy beast?" I tease.

He grins and shifts up onto his elbow. I love the angle at which he's looking down at me because the faux starlight creates the most beautiful shadows with his eyelashes on his cheeks. "Would you like me to ask you to come away with me?"

"Maybe."

"Do you think I'm a beast or just sexy or both? That sounds like another ideal I'm going to have a hard time living up to." He traces a pattern along my bottom lip. Slowly, sensually. And it makes me want to pant and growl like I'm the beast.

"If only you knew how my whole body sings whenever you're around. My chemistry likes your chemistry, and there's already a full lab going on. You don't have to do anything to live up to it. It's already a thing. The best beast thing."

"The best beast thing. I like that." He takes my nipple—the one that is positively perfectly healed—into his mouth again. It really likes this man's mouth. In fact, it wants to live in this man's mouth.

The rest of me wants to live inside him, too.

And that's before he does the thing with his tongue. All. Over. My. Body.

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