“You like that?” he asks, his lips moving against the sensitive flesh. He licks through my middle again.
“Yes,” I moan, throwing my head back into the pillow.
He fills me with one, then two, fingers and moves them in, out, front to back. His tongue explores my sex, not missing a spot, marking my body as his with a flick of his mouth. Finally, just as my muscles begin to quiver, he removes his fingers in one deft movement.
He’s grinning when my eyes open to see him watching me. “You were almost there, huh?”
“I hate you,” I grimace, letting my bottom lip pout out.
He kisses his way from my inner thigh, up my stomach, over each breast—spending a few seconds on each beaded nipple—up my throat, over my jaw. His tongue dips into my mouth, lapping against my own.
Positioning himself between my legs, I feel him hard against my opening. My ankles lock at the small of his back and I push not-so-gently.
He grins against my mouth. “You want my cock?”
“You want my pussy?”
“Oh, dirty girl,” he teases, rocking his hips against me. I moan at the contact, which only widens his smile. “You know I want you. I always want you.”
“And I always want you. You just wanted me to say it.”
“So?”
I reach up to meet his mouth, capturing it with mine. His cock pushes into me, filling me with one long thrust.
“Ah,” I moan into his mouth before losing all train of thought that doesn’t have to do with me, Dom, and this bed.
Camilla
IT’S NOT QUITE MIDNIGHT BUT it feels both much later and much earlier. I sit in the middle of Dom’s bed, dressed only in one of his t-shirts, and watch the small television that hangs on the opposing wall. The screen is a little off color-wise and it drives me crazy, but I don’t dare say anything. And I dare even less to buy him a new one. I’ll just wait for his birthday.
He comes in the room, wearing nothing but a pair of briefs. In each hand is a plate and on each plate is a sandwich. “Dinner is served.”
“You look pretty proud of that . . .” I take the plate. “Peanut butter and jelly.”
“It’s all we have. Ryder loves this shit.” He takes a big bite, a glob of grape jelly falling to the plate. “Not bad. The key to a great pb&j is the ratio of peanut butter to jelly. You gotta get it just right.”
“Is that so?” I giggle, biting into it. It’s so thick it sticks to the top of my mouth. “I think you’re a little heavy on the peanut butter.”
The words are practically indecipherable around the food in my mouth and we burst out laughing at the same time. He hands me a drink, flinching as he moves.
With a furrowed brow, I get the sandwich to go down and take a drink. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“You’re wincing again.”
“Just my ribs. Still sore as shit.”
“Come here.” I put my plate to the side and pat the blankets. He sits and I lift his shirt to see a purplish bruise marring his skin. “Dom, baby, that doesn’t look good.”
“It doesn’t feel good either,” he says, pressing on it with his hand. “It relieves some of the pressure when I do that.”
“You need a wrap. Do you have one?”
“Somewhere probably.”
“What kind of an answer is that?”
“An honest one?” He looks at me over his shoulder. “You’re really cute when you’re worried about me.”
“Then I must be cute all the damn time,” I say, getting off the bed. “Follow me.”
He does what I ask, his hand still on his side. “Where are we going?”
“To the bath.”
I expect an objection, but don’t get one and that pleasantly surprises me. I was ready for a fight.
We enter his bathroom and I try not to be heartbroken by the sorry state of the amenities. The flooring is a mess of ripped linoleum and shittier linoleum from God knows when. The sink sits on a wobbly cabinet with pressed-board doors and chrome-plated hinges. I lean into the tub, a shallow box that would never fit Dom’s body, and put the stopper in the hole. The water comes on, the pipes squealing in distress behind the paneling.
“Do you have bubble bath?” I ask.
He makes a face and disappears in the hall. He comes back with a bright pink bottle with a cartoon character on it. “This is Ryder’s. It’s all we’ve got.”
“Good enough,” I say, taking the bottle and lumping in a lot of the bubble-gum looking liquid. Immediately, I’m taken back to childhood and the garden tub in Mom’s bathroom that Sienna and I used to love to take baths in.
Testing the water, it’s perfect.
“You. In,” I say, nodding to the tub.
“I just got a shower.”
“And now you’re getting a bath.”
He nods, trying to act serious, but fails when the corners of his lips upturn. He drops his briefs and steps out of them and into the water. As he sits in the tub, his legs bent in a manner that can’t be comfortable, my heart hurts. Shaking it off, I squeeze myself in between the toilet and the tub.
Pooling water in my hands, I let it fall over his shoulders and down his back. Bits of the bubbles cling to his skin. Another splash ripples down his body, caressing the ridges of his muscles.
“Is that too hot?” I ask.
“No,” he breathes. “It feels really good.”
Gripping each shoulder with one of my hands, I knead them back and forth. He hisses as I work out the tension that’s caused his body to be so rigid. Eventually, I move both hands to one side and massage until it’s more pliable. Then I move to the other.
“That feels really good,” he says, halfway grimacing as I work a knot lodged near his neck. “That spot right there has hurt forever.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He doesn’t answer, just bares more of his neck for my access.
“I want you to tell me things, Dom.”
“I’m not going to burden you with my shit.”
“It’s not a burden,” I sigh. “It’s a burden that you don’t tell me. It makes me feel . . .”
“What?”
I shrug, moving my hands down his spine. “It makes me feel like we’re never going to get there, you know?”
“I’m trying.”
“I know you are.” I press a kiss to the center of his back, resting my cheek against the warmth of his skin. “I’m trying too.”
We sit like that, the only sound coming from the droplets of water from the leaky faucet splashing into the tub. His heartbeat strums steadily, and I close my eyes and just feel the two of us.
“It should always feel like this,” I whisper. Pressing another kiss to the same spot, I pull back. “I like taking care of you. I want to take care of you.”
“I’m not a baby.”
“No, you’re not. You’re most definitely a man,” I tease, poking him in the side. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t need babied a little, and I can’t do that when you won’t let me. It makes me feel like I’m not a part of your whole life. Like there are pieces of you I can’t know. Does that sound dumb?”
“No.” He looks at me, his eyes wide. “I know what you mean. I feel like that with you.”
“But I tell you everything you ask. I let you see all the parts of me. The silly me, the smart me, the sassy me.”