13. Kiss Her Senseless

13

KISS HER SENSELESS

MAZEN

"Do you want to know a secret?"

Sophia's mouth is a hairbreadth away from mine. I can smell the faint whiff of her toothpaste, mixed with the coffee I made her, when her mouth parts.

Unashamedly, I admit, "I want to know all of your secrets."

"I like the not-nice, dickhead version of you the best. It makes me feral. I already have Ollie, my fierce protector. The one who makes me laugh, promising me something he didn't have until adulthood—a happily ever after. Then, there's Cannon, my dark-knight drummer. His Dom side hurts me in the best way possible. Contrary to what Ollie led you to believe and witness last night, Cannon is full-throttle Dom toward me in the bedroom. He only submits to Oliver, and that is so freaking hot. But underneath the brooding, demanding man, he's a gentle giant. He soothes me just as much as he punishes me. And then there's you."

The very curve of her body glides over my core as she plunges onward with a tinge of defiance tipping up her sweet smile.

"The man behind the T-shirt slogan Wet for Wilde . I'm placing my order for a box of those shirts because that's what you make me. Wet."

An awakening of flames ignites within me by the devious, filthy words that leave her sweet mouth.

I'm shocked by the emergence of feelings—lust, desire, possession—that stir in both my gut and in my pants, and try as I might to be the gold-standard gem of a bastard this morning, I fail miserably as my hands slide around her waist, planting her core right over my thickening bulge. I know we've reached a point of no return when I look into her deep-fields-of-luscious-green eyes, and the look of enthrallment mirrors my own in them.

Our souls sing out to one another because we're the same. Her broken pieces fit together with mine like a puzzle.

"You pushed me away for so long—with your hate for me, your snide remarks, your distance—but it only made my pussy ache that much more for you, Mazen. Feel her . She's dripping onto your pants."

Holy. Fuck. Are you shitting me? Hell. She called her pussy a her , like it's a living, breathing entity.

I'm momentarily taken aback by the immensity of my desire for Sophia Rose Lozier. My cock and my heart wage war on one another.

This is not the time or place to have a mental breakdown.

There're a hundred reasons why I should remove her from my lap, plant her petite, perfectly-sculpted-for-my-hands body back on the couch next to me, and … I don't know … quit my band, move to New York, and start a career as a street performer. I should do so many other things than the one thing I do. Because I'm not a saint, and I'm not a good fucking man.

Despite my flaws, this beautiful, cunningly smart woman grinding on my lap wants me anyway.

If only for a moment, Sophia is choosing me.

And fuck does it feel good to be chosen for once.

Scars and all. Sophia wants me. Not my band, not my friends. Not Mazen Wilde, the singer. Right now, she just wants me, and the magnitude of that sends me into a frenzy. It doesn't matter who hears what's about to happen. I need to mark her. Stake my claim. Reclaim what is rightfully mine.

I don't even care about the obvious fact that I'm the only one in the triad of men at her disposal that is awake, which could mean she is choosing me since the others aren't around. Fuck those thoughts. Fuck them with a giant dildo.

I bite down on my bottom lip, not for a dramatic effect, although my movement does catch her attention. It's more so to bite back a throaty moan that threatens to pass my lips at her blunt confession. Her heavy lashes, thick and black, shadow her rosy cheeks as I lean forward into her space, soft and slow, like a cat sneaking up on a mouse.

"I'm not a nice man, Rosella. Thank you for realizing that early on, and thank you for accepting it. It's going to make this so much easier."

Peeling her needy body from mine, I push her down to the floor by her shoulders with enough force that she doesn't have time to readjust or contemplate what is happening before my pants come down.

"Open," I demand.

The compliant little beauty kneeling at my altar is a very good listener, even in her shocked state. She rounds her mouth, opening it wide enough to fit my aching length into it before she slides her warm lips around my crown without further instruction. There's no hesitation. No contemplation in her eyes when her tongue circles around my opening. Sophia wants this. She wants me. Her eyes are begging for it, lips thinning as they stretch around my engorged shaft the further down she takes me. Sophia's mouth becomes nothing more than a house for my arousal to spill into. I pump once, then twice, hitting the back of her throat causing her to gag. It's a sound sweeter than any chorus I've ever heard. Still, she doesn't retreat.

I'm so fucking hard. I've been hard for her since the moment I saw her sitting on that fucking stool in her studio, wearing that pink bodice top and black leather pants. Even knowing they were around her ankles as my best friend fucked her silently down the hall was a different type of torment.

Last night, we all took turns licking her tight little cunt poolside, side by side, like we were performing, and she was our stage, and it was maddening. I jerked off in the shower three times back-to-back before the hard bastard finally got the hint, succumbing to the fact that he was only coming by my fist and not buried in her sweet pussy.

That's how much pull she has over me. I want to punish her honey-scented pussy for forgetting about me. More than anything in the world, even more than I need my next depraved breath, I want to drive my fucking existence into her brain matter. Which is exactly what I do as I fuck her open mouth with relentless abandon.

I can see my bleached knuckles holding tightly through the strands of her wealth of red hair, demanding her head to bob. Round emerald eyes peer up at me, tears wetting their edges as I fuck her gaping mouth.

Nothing but the sound of her gagging again, choking on my dick, and loving every minute of it as spit leaks from the corners of her mouth fills the air around us. It's the most breathtaking sight I've ever seen. Sophia on her knees, submitting to me like I'm her king .

"The only thing that comes naturally to me is singing and making you come," I say, breath choppy. "The evidence of that was still on my lips this morning. I showered, fucked my fist like it was your mouth, and even then, I didn't wash my face, Sophia. I want to taste your honey-flavored pussy on my lips every day until the day I meet my maker."

She whimpers at my confession, and I watch as her parted thighs press firmly together in an attempt to get any friction between her legs.

Without warning, she pulls back, my cock nodding in the air between my core and her face. Strings of spit drip from the corners of her parted lips, and I die little more by the sight.

Fucking dead.

I'm a shell of the man I once was because the sight of this—her looking like she's been used, and she's fucking happy about it—sends me to my early grave.

As if she's taking the reins from my hand, she sits back on her heels, pushing another boundary between us, and she strokes my long shaft with one hand, places her other palm around my leg and over my ass cheek, and leans forward to suck my balls into her mouth.

The sound alone has my knees almost buckling. I place my hand on her shoulder to keep from bending like a pretzel.

Working my shaft with her expert hands, she licks up the underside of my length, then focuses again on my balls, and then … as her tongue drags across the forbidden land of my taint, my soul leaves my body .

Euphoria like I've never known creeps up on me. It starts at the soles of my feet, tingles through my legs like fireworks going off in my veins, and before I can protest or clamp down my need to come, I explode in her fist.

In the seconds after I bust a nut in her mouth, Sophia cleans every last drop of my arousal like she's my own personal cleaning crew. She gets my star of approval, a solid five out of five.

I've never had my dick sucked so well. It wasn't even just the head. It was the full experience, and I can't—I won't be able to—go back to anything else that doesn't involve all the extras she put into that experience. The tug on my swollen nuts, the lingering trail of her tongue down my taint.

I'm hard again.

Wordlessly, she pulls herself off the floor and tucks my dick back in the confines of my sweats like she's the one in charge—and, damn, I won't even lie, she is. She owned me—owns me. It's evident by the smile on her swollen lips. She pushes me down to a sitting position on the couch once more. Her hair is disheveled, her lips pink and swollen, her smile jubilant. It's like nothing transpired between us when she plants her body back on top of mine and pulls me into her embrace and hugs me. Her embrace is as tight as her mouth was. It feels just as good.

"This okay?" Her nose nudges mine.

"What if I said no? Cuddling after coming isn't something I'm used to. I just told you I wasn't a nice man. "

I also promised her something last night that I've never promised another female on the face of this earth.

My heart.

As if she's detected the condescension in my demeanor, she motions to the spot on the couch she previously abandoned. "I guess I'll go back to sitting over there. Bored and alone until Ollie or Cannon wake up. Then, I'll climb on one of their laps because they'd never push me away."

The reality of her statement should feel like a slap to my face. Having felt gutted for weeks with their open PDA, I should be ecstatic that she is choosing to be so openly affectionate with me right now, and I am. Trust me, I am. There's still just a small part of me that wants all of Sophia. After her little performance, I can't imagine her offering the same type of treatment to anyone else. I want all of her. Just like I had her ten years ago, if even just for one night.

The reality of her statement is another reminder that if I want her at all, I must play nice, conform to this little foursome situationship we're charting in. There's no other option because the alternative of not having her at all isn't on the table. I know I won't survive losing her a second time. Especially not with her under the same roof—and under my best friends. That'd be a torture worse than death for a man like me.

"I'm not pushing you away, Rosella. Not anymore." I lean forward, nuzzling my nose into her hair that hangs over her shoulder. "I'm not an affectionate person. This"—I motion to her encompassing embrace—"is new to me. No one's ever cared about cuddling after sex. I'll need time to be what you need me to be if this is what you want or expect."

Raw vulnerability. The truth is out there now.

"I don't have any expectations, Mazen. I want whatever pieces of you you're willing to give me. We have a lot of time to make up for. Last night, we bared it all, but if you're not ready to let me in fully, I get it. I'll wait until you are."

I'm about to kiss her senseless when the sound of a headboard thrashing against the wall echoes down the hallway. It's followed by an obscene number of unholy grunts that give the phrase morning wood a new meaning.

"Sounds like those two are occupied."

Sophia stifles a laugh, wraps her dainty hands around my neck, and pulls our faces together. "If the kitchen is still closed, I have something else you can eat for breakfast. What'd you call it before?" She pauses, seemingly deep in thought. "Oh, that's right. Breakfast of champions."

The dig of her words cuts me deep. I was such a tool, pulling that stunt. Her dig tells me that she's not as over it as I'd hope she'd be weeks later.

"If I could only eat you for every meal for the rest of my life, I'd be sustained. Trust me. I'm sorry for all the stupid shit I did or said."

"Better late than never," she says as her teeth sink into the lobe of my ear. Pulling back, she looks into my eyes, her glare reaching the very depths of my soul. "I know why you did it though. All we can do now is move on, move forward."

A loud thud booms, rumbling down the hallway, causing another laugh to slip through her lips.

"You're really okay with them being in there … together … without you?"

I don't miss the slight upward motion of her hips when she replies a little more breathlessly than before, "Why wouldn't I be? Them being together is the sexiest thing I've ever watched in my life. Just knowing that they're in there, doing what they're doing"—she clears her throat—"turns me on more than anything."

Defuse the situation.

Come on, brain. Think of something not sexy to respond with.

Otherwise, I'm going to take her on this damn couch, where her sister slept last night. I don't want the first time we're together like that again to be so … meaningless. Even though I just fucked her face with no remorse, as if it were a pocket pussy. A man only has so much willpower.

"I think I knew Cannon was bisexual before he did." Solid execution , I think to myself as I steer the conversation in another direction.

"This story sounds promising."

I don't mean to throw Cannon under the bus. "He left his computer on one day when I was in his room. We were getting together for practice, and I had to take a shit, so I went up to his room to use his bathroom in peace. I saw his computer screen. He had taken a quiz and left the browser open. It said, How do you know if you like the same sex? "

"Did you ever tell him you saw that?"

"I didn't have to. A couple of weeks later, after an hour-long practice session, I realized I'd left my phone in his garage. I rode my bike back to his house, and when I opened the side door, Ollie was giving him a hand job."

"Holy crap. That must've been mortifying for them." Her quiet smile speaks volumes.

"It was mortifying for me." I match her genuine smile. "We were teenagers with raging hormones. Hell, seeing them … together … made me question my own sexuality. I remember rushing home and pulling out my dad's titty magazines, praying to God that I got a hard-on from seeing a woman's naked body. "

"Well, did you?"

There she goes, rubbing her core against mine again. Except this time, my cock isn't just hard, it's steel.

"You tell me."

"So, Oliver was the one stroking Cannon?"

Leave it to Sophia for her mind to circle back to that discovery.

"Sure was. They danced the line of lust and friendship until—"

"Cannon told him he loved him, and Oliver pushed him away."

"He had a tough upbringing. Cannon took him under his wing. Not that Murphy and I didn't, but Murphy's parents were really strict when we were younger, and I … well, I was the same asshole I am today. In hindsight, I think Cannon was there for Ollie in ways that we weren't. When you've never known love or experienced it and you get sprinkled with the attention that Cannon gave him, it did something to him. The rest is history."