Chapter 10

10

Weston

"What the fuck do you have in them, stones?" I’d hauled her bag over the threshold of the house, and into the bedroom.

"Did you pack for a month?" I glower.

"I believe in traveling with everything I need.”

"Clearly," I mutter.

Grabbing a bottle of beer from the kitchen, I return and prop myself on the bed.

"What are you doing?" She drags her second suitcase into the bedroom.

"What does it look like?”

She dumps the bag in the middle of the floor of the room, "Why don’t you drink in the living room?"

"My house."

"It’s not yours," she huffs. “You co-own it with the Seven.”

"Semantics,” I grumble. “It’s more mine than yours, at any rate.”

She opens her mouth.

I shake my head. "What made you decide to become a pastry chef?"

She blinks. "Why do you want to know?"

Good question. Why the hell do I care? Except I am intrigued… Fine, I want to understand what makes this bundle of energy tick.

"I don’t care either way," I take a healthy swig of the beer, "but it’s the kind of conversation you women seem to love."

She opens and shuts her mouth, then straightens, "So this is your idea of being polite?"

"Nope," I finish off the beer, place the bottle on the sideboard, "but this is." I yank my shirt over my head, toss it aside.

"What are you doing?" she squeaks.

"What do you think?" I rise to my feet, drop my pants, along with my boxers.

Her indrawn breath fills the space. I don’t stop the grin that tugs at my lips. Buttercup can deny it all she wants, but the attraction between us is alive and kicking. It’s making this entire exercise a hell of a lot more interesting. It’s definitely the reason I’m allowing her to stay. If nothing else, to see how far I can go before I stop resisting her. I get back into bed, pull the covers up to my waist, then switch off the lamp on my side, leaving the room in darkness.

Silence for a beat, then another.

"How is this polite?" her voice cracks. She clears her throat, "Seriously, can you enlighten me here?"

"I’m sleeping on my side of the bed, aren’t I?"

"Gah." She makes a sound deep in her throat.

A chuckle rumbles up my throat. I swallow it. "You’re welcome."

I hear her moving around, then, "Why is this clock not working?"

I glance up to find her holding the digital timepiece in her hands. She turns it over, fiddles with the little compartment at the back, "Huh, it has no batteries." She turns to me, "Did you do that?" She frowns.

My heartbeat begins to race. "I don’t know what you’re talking about." I sink back into my pillow, close my eyes.

"The clock in the living room, too, had been dismantled."

What the hell does she want to know? Why can’t she leave it alone already?

"Do you have something against clocks or something? Maybe you don’t like the idea of time running out?" She chuckles.

I turn my back on her.

I hear her open the drawers, "Okay I found the batteries. I am going to?—"

"Put it back." I snap.

"What?"

"Put the bloody clock back where you found it."

There’s a pause.

"If you don’t do it, I swear I’ll come there and make you do it."

She huffs. There’s a click as she places the timepiece back on the table.

"I’ve returned the batteries to the drawer," she mutters. "So don’t get your dander up about it."

The breath I’d not been aware of holding rushes out.

Shit, the hell is wrong with me? Why the hell am I getting worked up over this little thing? It is a clock—a functioning clock. Doesn’t mean anything. Why the hell can’t I bear the thought of it counting down the time as I sleep?

The numbers mounting, the hands moving, the tick-tock-tick-tock of the countdown as he’d watched me closely, peered into my face, searched for a reaction, anything to show I was afraid, that I’d give in and break, ask for help. Ask it, do it. My heart thunders in my chest. Close your eyes. Count down the time.

Twelve o'clock.

Eleven o’clock ? —

I hear the sound of something connecting with that massive suitcase. Then a howl, "Bloody hell!"

I switch on the light. "What are you doing?"

She sits on the ground, nursing one booted foot. "Taking out my frustration, you oaf." Her hair flows about her shoulders. Her cheeks are pink. From anger? From embarrassment at seeing me naked? Considering she’s already had her mouth on my dick… Well, isn’t that cute.

"There are better ways of dealing with it." I lower my gaze to her heaving breasts.

"Aargh, stop that." She yanks off one boot, then the other. "Turn away."

"Why?"

"I want to undress, you… you neanderthal."

I laugh, "Running out of insults?"

"Oh, I have plenty where that came from." She pulls off her other boot, then rises to her feet. "Some privacy please?"

"Not happening." I lean back against the headboard, fold an arm behind my neck. Her gaze darts to my biceps; she swallows. I scratch my chest and her breasts heave. A glimmer of sweat gleams over her upper lip. "Is it too hot in here for you?" I grin.

She huffs, then undoes the button of her coat and pushes it off her shoulder. She glances around, then walks to the closet and pulls it open. She surveys the contents, then hangs it up. "You didn’t bring too many clothes, did you?" she grumbles.

"Worried about me?" I smirk.

She throws up her hands, then steps back and slams the closet doors shut, "It’s pointless making any conversation with you."

"You were the one who declined to answer my question."

"Whatever." She pulls off her jeans, giving me a flash of pink underwear. My groin instantly tightens. Fuck. She is more modestly dressed than women wearing skimpy bikinis on the beach… So why does she seem so much more alluring, so attractive…? So fucking gorgeous, as she folds her jeans then places them on the chair near the bed. She lifts a corner of the cover, then slips inside. She stays on the far end… Right at the end. "Any further and you’ll slip off."

"I’ll manage."

"I won’t bite."

"Ha," she snorts, "famous last words."

"Unless you want me to?"

She stills. Tension pours off of her to fill the space between us on the bed. I switch off the light, then fold my arms over my chest. "If you stay that stiff, I’ll have to tickle you."

"Wh…what?" she squeaks.

"Not good for your muscles to be so bunched up. You’ll have a headache when you wake up."

"Like you care?"

"A deal is a deal, Buttercup."

"I wish you wouldn’t call me that."

"I wish you’d relax a little."

If anything, she tenses further. I turn away from her, close my eyes. The stress that rolls off of her slams into my back. My shoulders bunch, My muscles coil, ready to spring… Fuck. I turn back to her, scoot over.

Her gaze widens, "What are you?—?"

"Hush." I pull her to me, so her back is pressed into my chest, then I spoon her.

She makes a noise of alarm.

I tighten my arm around her waist. "Raise your head."

"What?"

"Do it, woman," I snap.

She does as I ask. Fuck, finally. I slip my arm under her neck, throw my leg over hers.

She doesn’t say a word. Nothing. Her entire body goes stiff… As hard as my dick, which instantly lengthens. It nestles against the curve of her hip. Well, someone’s happy, at least. I tuck her head under my chin.

"Weston," she whispers.

I sigh, "Now what?"

"What is it with you and clocks? Do you have a phobia or something?"

Or something. Not that I am going to tell her about it. I’d already given away enough with that half-arsed fit I’d thrown. Shit, do I have my balls about me or what?

"Weston—"

"Goodnight, Princess."

She huffs, but stay’s silent.

Thank fuck.

I close my eyes, count back the time on the hands of a clock. Restart the stopwatch.

Twelve o’ clock.

Eleven o’clock.

Her shoulder muscles relax.

Ten o’clock.

Nine o’clock.

Her breathing grows more uniform.

Eight o’clock.

Seven o’clock.

She wriggles her butt. The blood rushes to my groin.

Six o’clock.

She thrusts her feet in between my legs. The coldness from her toes shivers over my skin. I swear aloud, "Did you dip your feet in ice?"

"Sorry," she mutters.

Five o’clock.

Four o’ clock.

She pushes her body into mine. My cock lengthens, stabs into the valley between her butt cheeks.

Three o’clock.

She rubs her cheek against the pillow. Then digs her toes into my calf. "The hell are you doing?" I grouse.

"Can’t sleep," she mumbles.

I turn her over to face me. Mistake. The moonlight floods in from the open window, highlighting her baby blues. Her hair clings to her forehead; her nose turns up above those gorgeous pink lips. My heart stutters. It fucking stutters. The fuck? "What is it?" I grumble.

"I forgot the chocolate."

"Chocolate?"

"And I need fresh eggs, cinnamon, butter?—"

"You’ve lost me."

"To make breakfast."

I shudder and mime throwing up in my mouth. "Who has chocolate for breakfast?"

She laughs. "Chocolate pancakes, dummy." Then she adds, "What do you like to eat in the morning?"

"Anything but chocolate." I grumble.

"Wh-a-a-t?" Her eyes go all round, "You don't like chocolate?"

"Why settle for chocolate, when," I drag my gaze down her body, "there are other things that make for a tastier breakfast."

She gapes, "Do you only think of sex?"

"Do you only think of desserts?"

"What else is there?" her voice cracks.

I scan her pink-tinged features. "Are you blushing?"

"Of course, not." Her face grows fiery.

"What are you thinking?"

"Nothing."

Oh, it was something all right. "Go on, you can tell me."

She shakes her head.

I glare at her, lower my voice to a hush, "Say it."

She trembles. "I… I was thinking how much I’d like for you to eat me out."

Amelie

What the hell am I doing? Why did I blurt that out? I’d honestly not realized that it was what I had in mind, until he’d commanded me to speak… And hell, when he assumes that voice, that hushed tone which whips through my mind, I can’t stop myself. I have to obey him. But did I have to tell him the truth? Couldn’t I have deflected?

His nostrils flare and his grip on my waist tightens. "Say that again," he rasps.

"I… I…" My throat closes. How can I repeat what had come out in a moment of utter lunacy?

"Complete your sentence," his hot breath sears my lips. My panties instantly dampen. My thighs clench and I can’t stop the small whine that spills from my mouth.

"Ask…and you shall receive." His lips curl. An answering quiver thrums at my center. OMFG! I can’t even… This man… How can I refuse him anything? Why the hell had I agreed to stay…? Is that why I hadn’t wanted to leave? I blink; all thoughts empty from my mind.

"Please," I breathe out. "Eat me."

Even before the words are out of my mouth, he’s flipped me on my back, "With pleasure, Alice." He smirks from above me.

"A…are you my white rabbit?"

"You’ll have to let me know."

I blink, then heat sears my cheeks. Is he alluding to my favorite vibrator? "That’s not what I—" My breath hitches as he slides down my body.

His hard chest presses down on my breasts, my belly, then his head is between my thighs. He shoulders apart my legs, places one of my hands on his ear, then the other on the other side. "Hold on." His eyes glitter.

"What the—"?" I gasp, then tighten my fingers around his ears, for he’s buried his face in my pussy.

He nuzzles my flesh.

I whimper.

He blows on my throbbing core, and hell, but I almost come right then.

"Not yet, Buttercup." I sense his lips curve against my center.

"Don’t…don’t stop," I gasp.

"Hmm," he makes an appreciative sound deep in his throat.

All of my nerve endings seem to explode.

"Which dessert should I sample first, you think?"

"Wait," I gasp.

He peers up at me.

"The arrangement."

"What of it?"

"You said no sex."

"So?"

"Does this count as sex?"

"I thought we already covered this, Buttercup."

"As long as you don’t…uh…you don’t?—"

"Sink my dick into your pussy?"

My cheeks flush, "Yeah, no penetration, in the traditional fashion, equals no sex, right?"

"Sure, if that’s how you want to see it."

"I…"

He drags his fingers up my pussy lips.

I huff.

"So?" He smirks.

"Yes…" I force out the word.

He stares back.

"Yes, that’s the definition, for the…uh, the arrangement." I clarify, "As long as you don’t uh, penetrate my puss—eee" The word comes out on a whine for he’s replaced his finger with his mouth. OMG. OMG. A moan trembles from my lips.

"My, my, Buttercup," he mutters against my core, " is this how greedy you are when you bake?"

What the—? I blink. Why is he still talking? Didn’t his mom teach him not to talk when his mouth is full? Why can’t he ? —?

He raises his head. Cool air envelops the heated, melting triangle between my legs, right before he slaps my pussy. Right on it, across my swollen core, which erupts in a miasma of sparks, that travels out from the contact, up my spine, and explodes behind my eyes. The room tilts. Ohmigod. Sweat beads my brow. The pain fades, leaving behind an ache that swallows me up from the center. "What was that for?" I shudder.

"Answer the question, doll."

"Wh…which one?"

"Should I taste you here?" He dips his head, slips his tongue inside my backhole.

My entire body snaps to attention. All of my pores pop. My chest rises and falls.

"Or here?" He drags his wicked tongue up my slit.

I moan.

"Maybe I should be as greedy as you and not wait?" He fixes that instrument of torture-pleasure, aka his mouth, around my throbbing bud, and I shoot upfrom the bed.

"Wes!" I howl.

He releases my pussy. "You still haven’t answered the question," he rumbles.

"Wh…what?"

"Last chance, babe."

He leans back, and I thrust up with my pelvis, trying to recapture that earlier feeling, honing in on his tongue.

"Well?" he asks. "You need to ask for what you want, darlin’."

Maybe it’s that endearment that makes me crack my eyes open. "All of it," I gasp. "Please lick me, suck on me, thrust your tongue inside my—" I huff, for he’s done just that.

He twists his tongue inside of me and goosebumps flare on my skin. He slides his big arms under my legs, pushes up my knees on either side of my body, then he swipes his tongue in and out of me, and again. He slurps his way down to my backhole and up to my cunt again and again. I cry out, but he doesn’t stop. He slips his tongue in between my pussy lips, samples me like I am the tastiest puff pastry. He bites down on my clit and I scream, dig my fingers into the space behind his ears and yank.

A growl rumbles up his chest and the vibrations swell my core, pour over me like the sound waves from a fucking dinner gong— Wait, why am I thinking with this bizarre metaphor? Except, hell, if I am not ready, I’m going to…

"Come," he growls into my hot, melting core, and I explode.

My climax crashes over me, shoves me up…up…up. Maybe I black out. I force myself to open my eyelids, look down to where he’s still between my legs, my knees splayed out. "Wow," I breathe.

He doesn’t smile back. He stares at me. His gaze unwavering.

"What?" I croak.

"You ready, yet?"

"Huh?"

He drops his mouth, nuzzles my pussy.

I moan, "I can’t."

"I haven’t even started, babe."

"No…no."

He licks my lower lips and pleasure radiates out from my core.

"Oh, my God."

"Hold on," he says.

"What?"

He rises up, grabs my wrists and holds them over my head. He wraps my fingers around the wooden bars of the headboard. "Stay," he commands.

I stare at him. As if I could move.

One side of his lips kicks up; he presses a firm kiss to my lips, then slides down to position his face over my pussy. He grabs my knees, pries them further apart so I am splayed wide for him. I should blush or feel shy, for heaven’s sake. Those are my most intimate parts, served up to him for display; but all I can think is, please… please… please.

"Lick or suck?" he asks.

"Anything, either… Both," I gasp out.

He glares at me.

I shiver… "Anything you want."

"Right answer."

He drops his head and thrust his tongue back inside my melting channel.

"Oh, my God," I whine. "More, please, don’t stop…don’t…" I push myself up and into his face, not caring what he thinks of me. Any restraint holding me back is gone. Poof. All he has to do is touch me and I’ll do anything for him. Damn it, I should have known that… But I’m not sleeping with him.. Yet. I mean, technically this doesn’t count. Like the blowjob… Anything other than full penetration... Yep, that’s it; anything else is fine. It is. "Fuck me with your mouth, please," I plead.

He laughs, "One fuck-me-with-your-mouth, coming up." He releases my knees, only to grip my arsecheeks. He squeezes down and I whine. He pries them apart. What the—? He hauls me up, slips his tongue down and inside my arsehole. Oh, my f’ing god. It’s like nothing I have experienced before. No one…has touched me there, and this man? He slides his tongue into that forbidden part of me… As if, as if… We are lovers. No, fuckbuddies… Not… Anything-but-fucking-buddies, that’s what we are. A giggle wells up, turns into a scream, when he begins to fuck my backhole with his tongue. He thrusts in and out, in and out, brings his hand up to grind his heel against my clit, and that tightness inside of me snaps out, expands… "Wes…" I moan. "Weston…"

He doesn’t answer. He can’t, because his mouth is full of me.

"Wes. Wes. Wes," I chant. Aloud, or in my mind? No matter, if food is a religious experience for me, then his tongue-fucking me has to count as a close second. The orgasm screeches up my legs, up my spine.

He slides his tongue out, replaces it with his finger, another, then shoves his tongue inside my pussy.

"Weston," I scream.

He releases my other knee and grabs my breast, squeezes my nipple so hard, stars burst behind my eyes.

"Oh, my God, I am going to…going to…"

He slips his thumb inside my mouth, at the same time that he crooks his fingers inside my backhole, then tears his mouth from my pussy and growls, "Come."