“Hi, hon,” I said, looking over my shoulder as he turned the corner into the kitchen, only to watch him turn back around and disappear. What the hell?
His footsteps echoed down the hallway, followed by the rattling sound of his keys being hung on the hook by the door. Knowing he’d remembered to hang them stretched my face into a massive smile. In hindsight, having his keys live on the benchtop wasn’t the end of the world. I knew that. I also knew that my reaction to them living there was way over the top and the result of channelled anger born elsewhere. But the fact that he was making an effort to do something so small, something he knew would make me happier, was a really nice feeling. And as stupid as it sounded, it made me feel just that much more appreciated.
His footsteps, again, grew louder, so I peeked over my shoulder and met his smile as he entered the kitchen and stalked toward me. “H … hi,” I stuttered, noticing his smile transform into a fervent leer.
Dean’s lips magnetised to my neck, his hands to my hips. The force of his body against mine pushed me into the cupboards, my hands splaying on the benchtop for balance.
“I’ve missed you, love,” he whispered into my hair, sucking in a breath and taking in my scent. “I’ve missed how you smell, how you feel … ” He ran his tongue up the back of my neck, and I shivered with excitement. “How you taste.”
“I missed you too,” I sighed.
His hand snaked to my front, and his foot kicked my feet apart. I shrieked with surprise but did everything he commanded, my body temperature rapidly climbing while my underwear dampened.
Grinding his hips into mine, he lifted my skirt and wrenched my underwear aside before sliding his finger up and down the seam of my pussy then circling my clit.
“Oh, fucking donuts,” I moaned, closing my eyes.
“You like me ringing your cunt like a donut?” Whaaaa? My eyes sprung open, as did my mouth. Did he seriously just say that to me?
Shocked by his choice of words, and the fact they had just come of out nowhere, I blinked and answered, "Uh … yes."
He pushed his finger inside me unapologetically. “’Uh … yes’, or ‘fuck yes’, love?”
“Oh, fuck! Yes!” I cried out, meeting the thrusts of his finger with the thrusts of my hips.
“Good girl.”
He slid out of me, and I instantly heard the sound of his belt jingling and his pants unzipping. It sent a shot of excitement right through my body, which amplified when the head of his cock teased my entrance.
I arched, lifting on my tippy-toes to allow him better access, but he pressed his hand to my back and gently, but with enough dominant force, pushed me forward bending me over the bench.
My arms buckled and I dropped to rest upon my elbows.
“Tell me you want my cock in your sweet little cunt?” he hissed.
My eyes widened with surprise yet again, but as he pressed himself inside me, I was at a loss for words … until he stopped midway.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Wh … what?” I mumbled, my tongue, body and head a concoction of confusion.
“I want to hear you say you want my cock in your sweet little cunt.” Oh my God, I cunt … I mean can’t … I mean why? Why does he want me to say that?
“I … I want your cock in my sweet little unt,” I mumbled, pressing back against him.
“In your sweet little what?”
“Unt,” I mumble-repeated.
“Unt?”
“Argh! Yes, unt!” I turned my head and glared at him, and his eyes widened … with shock or desire, I wasn’t quite sure.
Before I had a chance to figure it out, his hand found my ponytail and he tugged on it. Hard. Ow! What the fuck?
“You’re a naughty girl, Tash,” he murmured, nipping my earlobe and pushing his cock all the way into my unt.
I grunted.
“What was that? Do you like it rough?” Um ... shit! I don’t know. Maybe. I also like my hair attached at the root.
His hand tightened on my ponytail, and I was given an instant facelift.
“Um … yes, I …uh …do, but—”
Dean reached forward with his other hand and clenched my breast, his thrusts quicker, deeper and harder. My body jerked against his movement, my scalp stinging, tears falling from the slits that were my eyelids. I was in a world of pain and pleasure, and it was in the moment that I realised what Alexis had been trying to say.
“Yes,” I cried out, arching my head back as far as it would go to try and gain some slack for my hair cuticles.
Dean let go of my breast, and the next thing I felt as my orgasm hit me vehemently was the sharp sting of his hand coming into contact with my arse followed by a harsh burning sensation.
“Jesus, Dean. Fuck!” I yelled.
“Shit! Was that too hard? I’m sorry, love.” He pulled out of me and stepped back.
Twisting my body, I glanced over my shoulder, spotting Dean standing there, his eyes wide open, his cock at full mast but changing by the second. One hand was combed in his hair, the other covering his mouth.
“Ouch. That hurt. What the fuck did you do that for?”
“I … I … shit! You’re gonna need ice.”
“Ice? What have you done?”
He wrenched open the freezer door. “Where the fuck is the ice tra— don’t worry, I found it.”
I watched as he yanked it free, freezer blocks, schnitzels and a meat pie coming along with it and falling to the floor.
“Watch out!” I exclaimed, my cry useless when the meat pie landed beautifully on his big toe, eliciting a roar similar to mine of only seconds ago.
“Fuuuuuck!” Pain crumpled his face as he hopped to the bench, pants around his ankle, an empty ice cube tray in his hand. “What the fuck?” he asked, holding it upside down and looking up into it. “Where is all the ice? It can’t just disappear.”
My arse was beyond the point of searing, excruciating yet somehow desensitized, but seeing him hop around the kitchen — his limp cock, hopping around with him — his face morphed with pain, and him questioning the science of sublimation, I couldn’t help but burst into laughter.
“Of course it can disappear you, idiot. If you’d helped William with his States of Matter project last term, you’d know that.”
“Well, a fat lot of good that is then,” he said, tossing the tray aside. “What doesn’t disappear?”
My eyes shot to the meat pie.
His eyes followed.
And the next thing I knew there were lips pressed to mine, a tongue was down my throat, and frozen pastry dinner was planted on my very sore butt cheek.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dean
Dean, you stupid, fucking, half-brained, dickwad, moron, idiot.
What had been going through my head when I whacked the fuck out of Tash’s arse was anyone’s guess but mine, because at the time it seemed a stellar idea. I mean, you see a ripe and perfectly positioned peach, you smack that shit.
Clearly, not the case.
Her skin had purpled instantly, not to mention there was a real good chance I’d fractured all twenty-seven bones in my hand, because it hurt like hell. What also hurt like a motherfucker — and probably the twenty-eighth broken bone in my body — was my big toe.
“What the hell were you thinking?” I mumbled to myself after hearing Tash turn the shower faucet on.
Our sex life had been top notch these past few weeks, and I’d just gone and ruined it all. I’d taken my alpha-male porno bullshit too far and hurt her, and I felt awful. She’d played it down to spare my feelings, but I could tell I was the massive pain in her arse, literally.
Reaching out to stretch my hand and hopefully promote some feeling within it, I accidentally knocked Tash’s book off her bedside table. It fell to the floor and I prayed to whatever gods were around — and who might just happen to feel sorry for my pathetic arse — that I hadn’t lost the page she’d been reading. Damn it!
I picked it up and
turned it over, thankful that the gods had ears, because the bookmark was still partially wedged between the pages. I folded the corner of the page for her, like how I’d been shown by Mum when I was younger. That way, if she accidentally knocked it and the bookmark fell out, she wouldn’t lose her spot like I’d nearly done.
I was good like that.
About to place the book back down again, my conversation with Rob sprung to mind and my curiosity over what she was reading took over. This book was different to the one she’d been reading a few weeks ago. The cover was different. Instead of a lady in water, this one had a puzzle piece. Still doesn’t look like a sex book, though. I flipped it over and read the title. Hmm … maybe it’s a parenting book?
Opening it and flicking to a random page, I started reading about a woman who lived in a mansion. There was nothing sexy about it. She worked out, ate, and slept. She seemed bored. I skipped a few more pages, until a line about a man and a woman in the shower caught my eye.
Under the warm spray of the shower he wet her hair, added shampoo, and gently massaged. Wrapping his arms around her, he lathered her breasts and stomach.
It definitely wasn’t a parenting book.
His tender touch caused an ache deep inside of her.
Turning her around he lifted her body as she wrapped her legs around him and his mouth excitedly nibbled her breasts.
I stopped reading and looked down at my half-mongrel pressed against my trousers. Holy shit! She does read sex books and they’re … sexy! I wondered if showering with Tash and washing her hair was something she’d want me to do — it was in her book, after all. Fuck it! I’m gonna do it.
A sudden fascination to wash her hair, coupled with a growing erection had me making my way into the bathroom. I also thought it would be nice to help her — my own pain be damned — after what I’d done to her in the kitchen.
Steam clouded the glass panes surrounding the shower, and I could see the outline of Tash’s beautiful curves. Her back was to me as she pushed water away from her face and down her hair. Quickly and quietly, I stripped down, slid the door open and stepped in. A very red, five-fingered handprint tattooed her pink skin and, once again, guilt washed over me. Fuck! I smacked her way too hard.
Reaching out, I touched her shoulder, startling her. She stepped back and onto my toe, and every expletive stored in my swear bank wanted to burst from my mouth.
“What are you doing?” she asked, spraying me with water that bounced from her lips.
I wiped my eyes and leaned back. “I wanted to help you. I’m sorry. Here,” I said, gesturing to the shampoo bottle in her hand. “Let me.”
“Um … okay. I guess.” Her eyes practically bounced around in her head like a Jim Hensen Muppet, but she reluctantly handed me the bottle and faced the other way again.
Reaching up, I adjusted the nozzle of the showerhead away from our bodies, squirting myself in the face in the process. Shards of water hit my eyeballs, and I flinched and elbowed the tiles, pain now shooting up my humerus, which was far from fucking humorous. Fuck the ever-living fucking fuck.
“You alright?” Tash asked, glancing over her shoulder again, her brows pinched.
“Yeah. All good. Why?”
“I thought I heard you yelp like a Chihuahua.”
“I’m no Chihuahua, love.”
She laughed. “Sorry. Great Dane. Is that better?”
“Much.”
I squeezed some shampoo into my hand, then I squeezed some more, unsure of how much she used. I rubbed it onto her hair, kneading my fingers into her scalp while putting the bottle back on the shelf. Bubbles formed instantly, lots of bubbles, my hands soon covered in white foamy gloves while Tash looked as if she were wearing a white bubble-turban. Shit! I think I used too much.
She half-sighed half-giggled. “This is kinda weird.”
“Weird?” I agreed but didn’t want to give up just yet so lowered one of my foam mitts to her hips and glided it along her stomach, climbing to her breasts. She shivered and I smiled, a little relieved, remembering that the dude in the book had a tender touch just like the one I was using, and that his tender touch gave the woman a deep ache inside … just like the deep ache that made Tash shiver. Here we go.
Pressing my hard cock into the crevice of her arse, I rubbed it up and down her crack and lowered my other hand from her head to her breast, both hands now foaming her tits as I ground myself against her.
She shivered again, and it was all I needed to buck into her body.
“Um, Dean?”
“Yeah, baby?” I squeezed her perfect tits.
“I’m a little cold. Can I have the water back on me?”
I paused. “Oh … sure.”
Reaching up again, I twisted the showerhead in our direction but the stupid thing slipped within my soapy hand, and I accidently adjusted the nozzle from mist to blast-the-hell-out-of-you mode. The water power-sprayed Tash’s head, demolishing her shampoo-turban and catapulting it onto my face.
“Fuck!”
“My eyes!” Tash wailed. “I’ve got soap in my eyes!”
Soap blanketed my eyes, stinging me like a bitch. I stumbled back, slamming into the glass pane behind me. “I can’t see a thing. I need water.”
Something hard slammed against my temple followed by a heightened wail from Tash. “Owww. Dean, get out of my way.”
“There is no fucking way, love.”
“That’s’ because this is a single shower.”
“No shit!”
“Then get out!”
“I would if I could find the door.”
“Oh my god, it hurts.”
“I know!”
“How much shampoo did you bloody use … half the bottle?”
“No!”
Our heads collided, our bodies bouncing off one another.
“Fuck!”
“Fuck!”
“Dean, GET OUT!”
“I’M TRYING!”
“Try harder.”
Feeling for the handle on the shower door, my hand crept across cold glass until it clasped onto a plastic knob. I pulled, sliding the door open, a blast of cold air hitting me and almost convincing me to stay in the shower.
“Hurry up. It’s cold.” She gave me a little shove.
“Steady on. I still can’t see.”
“Neither can I.”
My foot found the bathmat, followed by my other foot, and I’d barely cleared the shower when Tash slid the door shut behind me.
“Ow. It burns. I’m so over burning bits of my body.”
I patted the air before me, seeking my towel and grabbing hold of it. I wiped my eyes and then pried my eyelids apart, a blur of light and colour all I could make out. “What else have you burned?” I asked, unable to recall her burning herself.
“Oh, nothing. Don’t worry about it. Can you see yet?”
“Yeah, barely. You?”
“Only just,” she said with a mild laugh. “Seriously. What were you thinking?”
Shaking my head, I honestly didn’t know. Book shower-sex wasn’t at all what it was cracked up to be.
* * *
The shower was a fail. The spanking was a fail. And I’d attempted Bryce’s non-kiss-to-stop-a-fight thing he’d told me about and, that too, had been a fail. Apparently, for the non-kiss to work, I’d have to tease and taunt her enough to want my kiss but then refrain from giving it her. The problem with this form of punishment and/or distraction of Bryce’s was that I wanted the kiss and couldn’t stop myself from giving it to her. So that was what I’d been doing instead … kissing her to distract or diffuse whatever situation I had no control of.
Because pants wearer.
Lying in bed, waiting for her to finish up in the bathroom, I noticed that the other book she’d been reading was on her vanity desk, and curious as to whether it was a sex book as well, I got out of bed and opened it.
At first, I read about a young boy in Mexico who worked as a drug mule to raise money
to help get his mother out of jail. It was sad but interesting. I might read this book for real. I flicked pages until I reached a spot near the end, stopping when the words “Straddle my face” jumped out at me. Fuck me. I’m definitely reading this book.
I expected him to go down on me, but he rolled us over so I was on top.
“Straddle my face, Skye. That’s it. God, yes.”
I kept reading, wanting to know all about this Skye and her straddling.
“Let me look at you.” He tugged my panties down and I shimmied out of them.
One long finger slid inside. “So fucking wet.”
I threw my head back as his thumb circled my clit.
The bathroom light switched off and I quickly threw the book where I’d found it and jumped back into bed like a kid getting busted for not sleeping, my heart pounding for want of not getting caught.
Tash entered the room, and I smiled warily at her, a little embarrassed over every thing that had transpired on our date night, but also because I now wondered if she’d like to straddle my face some time, and if she’d get off if I told her how wet she was. Bryce seemed to think women loved hearing how wet they were, and up until now, I hadn’t been convinced. Wouldn’t they know how wet they were? Wouldn’t they feel it themselves? And how would my pointing it out turn them on? Clearly, Bryce and the author of the book I’d just been reading were on the same page, because ‘wet talk’ seemed to work for them.
Tash’s movements were cautious, slow and controlled as she approached the bed, and my guilt amplified ten-fold.
“I’m sorry, love,” I said, pulling back the covers for her. “I hit you too hard. Fuck. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, you did.” She eased herself into bed, her avoidance of lying on her arse obvious with how quickly she rotated to her side.
“I promise I wont ever do it again.”
Commitment Page 22