Gradation: an enemies to lovers, steamy romance

by KC Decker

  “Tell me about it,” I say. It sounds shy, but I’m about ready to ask him to show me—and that’s as far away from shy as I get.

  “What do you want to know about it? Hmm? Do you want to know how the balls would feel rubbing against your clit? Maybe you’re wondering if the metal would feel cool pressed to your bare, sensitive skin? Or if the balls would be warm and wet?” I give a needy sigh in response to his words that makes me want to hold my head under the water and drown myself.

  “You’ve never been with someone who has piercings have you?” he asks, though he knows good and well what my answer is. He’s got that look on his face again, and his gaze is burning through his dark lashes. I don’t answer him, so he keeps talking.

  “So, you’ve never felt the metal ball of a tongue piercing glide up the crease of your pussy?” he asks, unflinching and as intent as ever. I hold his gaze, but don’t say anything. There is not a whole lot to say.

  “Never felt the warm barbell caress your silky lips apart, spreading you open for someone’s wet and eager tongue?” He leans forward, but only to further emphasize his taunting. I still don’t look away, but his words are having a serious effect on my shaky composure.

  “You’ve never felt the steady flutter of slick metal against your sensitive clit?” He pauses and looks deeper into my soul, his eyes beseeching, “Or felt the erotic pressure of it when someone licks and then gently sucks your little pearl into their mouth?” his voice is low, but the rasp of it carries across the surface of the water. All of his words are carefully spaced out and enunciated with a tormenting rumble. Jesus, he’s a predator toying with his prey.

  “No,” I whisper, still not taking my eyes off of him. He’s under my skin. He knows it, and I know it—and he didn’t even get close enough to touch me.

  “Yeah, well, that’s a shame,” his voice is clear and strong now, as he wipes his hands on his denim covered thighs and starts to get up. “We better head in before we get locked out here for the night.” His demeanor has done a complete one-eighty.

  Holy shit.

  He was fucking with me.

  ***

  Back in the room, he polishes off a bottle of water before grabbing the back of his collar and tugging the shirt over his head. In the elevator, he had rambled on about everything he wanted to do before our flight out tomorrow night and gave no indication of interest in me whatsoever. Not a single acknowledgment of the state of my panties.

  He might still be punishing me, but he is going to suffer too. I know he’s interested; he’s just playing with his food first. That hot tub stunt was on another level, but as always, I will rise to the occasion.

  I know his ego is having a hard time with the fact that I told him he wasn’t my type. I’m not sure if he wants to hear me voice my changed feelings, and admit how wrong I was, or if he will eventually let it go—after I’ve suffered an adequate amount—of course.

  Chapter 19

  When I come out of the bathroom, Gavin is wearing navy athletic pants and nothing else. He is also lying on top of the covers watching CNN. His eyes follow me, but the rest of his body holds its position—now, rigid as a statue and leaning back against a stack of pillows.

  There is something smoky in his gaze too. Something lust-filled, and insatiable. He is interested—of this, I am certain. I’d counted on his buy-in when I put on this outfit. My skimpy panties are really just a tiny scrap of satin and a bunch of fragile looking crisscrossing straps. I’m also wearing the deep purple, see-through, mesh top. I say top because the damn thing is so short, but I think it had aspirations of being a teddy at one time.

  I walk over to the ice bucket and scoop some into a glass. The one hundred percent calculated act puts me with my back to Gavin, and standing right next to the TV. He couldn’t avoid seeing my skimpy pantied ass if he tried to.

  Then, of course, I bend over to get a bottle of water from the mini-fridge before turning around and propping my ass against the wooden console. I watch him stare at me for a long minute before I pour the water into the glass.

  I’m not completely comfortable with my body, but for the moment, he’s looking at my tits. They seem to be doing their job of distracting him from any of my naked insecurities, so I pause here and sip my water.

  “Pretty amazing, right?” I ask, before setting my drink down. He doesn’t respond, but his eyes slowly drag up my body until they meet my gaze.

  “The tattoo convention. It was pretty amazing, right?” I ask with the twitch of a smile to my lips. No matter how the convention played out, the fact that he’s gone from calling me a cunt, to wanting to split me open with his cock is amazing in itself. As far as I’m concerned, the rest of the convention is pretty insignificant.

  “It was ok,” he says, as he maneuvers himself under the blankets. “Can you hit the lights when you’re done? I’m beat.” Then, that fucker rolls to his side like he’s going to sleep. For shit sake! How much longer is this stupid game going to go on? Never mind.

  I will break him.

  “You got it. Sweet dreams, Gavin,” I say pleasantly as I stand here and fume. He wants to prove his moral supremacy by breaking me. He is waiting for me to cave in or surrender. I will too. If this ridiculousness goes on much longer, I will raise the white flag. He’ll never let me forget it, but still, we’d be done with this nonsense.

  I still have one more trick up my sleeve, though, and I’m going to have some fun with my last-ditch effort. The fact is, I’m not going to let him ignore me right now.

  I slide into bed and scoot as close to his back as I can. I also shimmy my arm under his, so it’s draped over his side. He tenses up, but only for a second. Kind of like he’s trying to work out my angle, but senses an ambush just the same.

  It’s dark in the room, so my sense of touch and smell are acutely aware of his closeness. If I turned my head a tiny fraction, I could easily kiss his back—right between his shoulders. Where his skin is untouched by ink, but seductively close to it. The ache to brush my lips against his skin is strong, but I can’t.

  Kissing is too intimate, and I don’t want to use intimacy as a weapon, not now—not ever. When we finally kiss, it will be when all the games are behind us, and we both submit to the other. When the hurt feelings and harsh words have morphed into something sweet. Right now, we both have a leery respect for the other, but the walls he’s built have been fortified over weeks of time, and heaps of hurt and anger.

  He and I have made some definite strides over the last few days, and although we didn’t come together under normal circumstances, I still think we are building toward something that could be pretty special.

  Obviously, his interpretation of not being my type is that he’s undesirable to me. Although he is taking this way too far, and having too much fun proving that he is desirable, I can understand why he’s doing it.

  Instead of playing into his game, what I should have done is let my guard down and let him see my attraction to him. Instead of hiding my growing feelings behind a mask of indifference, I should have been vulnerable. I should have gushed over how amazing his work is, I should have laughed at his wit instead of rolling my eyes, I should have let him know how fucking sexy he is instead of just melting on the inside.

  If I had allowed myself to be vulnerable, we wouldn’t be playing this cat and mouse game. He would be facing me, and we would be sharing our first kiss right now.

  He’s not sleeping, but he’s also not making any attempt to turn around or talk to me. As I anticipate my next move, the blood starts to churn through my body and my breaths speed up. I’m nervous about pushing things to the next level—but I’m going to nonetheless. I can’t hesitate much longer, but the anxious rattling in my stomach will not relent.

  My forearm is already draped over his waist, but I’m about to touch his abdomen with my hand. It will definitely be a sexual advance, and depending on his reaction, I may even push a little more. I just need him to crack—maybe not completely, but at least ope
n himself up to me a little bit. I need him to drop the façade.

  Sex is not the endgame. Not tonight anyway because I want to be more than a cum receptacle for him. If we fuck tonight, it will be because I seduced his cock with my body. I want his mind. I want his heart. I need both of those before I give him my body.

  My pulse is strumming aggressively through my veins, but it’s like blood is only being pumped to my vital organs, leaving my extremities hollow, and unnourished. I have to make up my mind soon, and then I actually have to act on it. It’s time.

  When I begin to feather my fingertips over his abs, I hear his breath catch in his throat, like he is perched on the edge of something. I don’t want him to stop me—I need to open this door, but his hesitation loiters in the corners of my mind and doubt is starting to seep in. It warns me to be careful—to guard my heart above all else.

  He doesn’t turn or speak, so, with a little trepidation, I drift lower. His skin is soft against the firm muscles as my hand explores and learns the terrain of his body. It might be my imagination, but now more than before, I can smell the warmth on his skin. It’s working in tandem with my bold advance to fuse us together.

  I delve even lower, sliding my fingers under his waistband and finding the forbidden, neatly trimmed area. I want to pause for a second to collect myself, but I’m afraid my own hesitation would come off as timid, so I continue down to the silver balls.

  I toy with them for a bit before I hear his long exhale. It’s like he’d been holding his breath, and only now is breathing again. Beneath his skin, I can feel the bar that links the balls, and I know I’m caressing him right above his shaft. The awareness of that fact is strong enough to be its own personality in the room with us.

  Touching his piercing like this makes me imagine how the balls would feel against my clit. The image of him grinding his pelvis against my body while fucking me is almost enough for me to acknowledge the hard penis resting against the back of my hand. In this instance, there is nothing but the pure strength of will separating the two of us.

  Gavin still hasn’t said anything, and besides the creeping up of his erection, he hasn’t moved a muscle. I speak before taking time to analyze the repercussions of what I’m about to say.

  “I want to taste it, Gavin,” I whisper, and even I am not sure if I’m referring to his piercing or his prominent dick. I feel like I’m panting, yet taking in no air. In fact, I’m not sure there is any air left in the room.

  He still doesn’t respond so I press against his hip as I ease down his body. Now he rolls over, but not completely of his own volition, so I still feel like he might be trying to avoid this. I maneuver my body over his thigh as he lies back fully with his wrists crossed and covering his face.

  It’s a compromising position for us, but I have no intention of giving him head tonight. He needs to let me know he wants me first, and not just for sex or a blowjob. His erection is straining against his athletic pants, so I shift it aside with my chin and lower his waistband enough to dust his piercing with the lightest of kisses. I feel him groan—it’s not at all audible, but I feel it as though he shouted it across the room.

  I get braver after the groan and start to flick my tongue over the two balls. The intense awareness I have about his steel-hard penis resting against my neck and jaw is making it feel hot up against my skin—even though it remains beneath the fabric. It’s rigid and insistent—fuck. The heat of it.

  I tickle and scratch my fingernails down the tautness of his torso, stopping my hands on his hips where I hold him in place. His body has started to writhe, but only on the inside, and I can taste the torment as it radiates off of him.

  I’m paying special attention to his piercing as I flick my tongue against it and then lightly tug one of the balls with my teeth. I’m also kissing and nibbling the area above it, moving towards his belly button and peppering his pronounced V-line with doting attention as well.

  At this point, he has relinquished all control. He’s not fighting what I’m doing—but he’s also not participating, and this is as far as I’m willing to go without his buy-in.

  With a final brush of my lips against his lower abdomen, I maneuver myself up his body to whisper in his ear, “Now I know all about your pelvic piercing. Sleep well, Gavin.”

  There is a moment where it seems like time stands still. Gavin hasn’t moved, and his arms remain over his face. I wish I knew what he was thinking because that would make everything so much easier. When he remains quiet, I roll to my side and squeeze my eyes shut. It feels like everything is on pause while I lie here in limbo. Purgatory, really.

  After what feels like an eternity, he lightly drags one finger down my arm—shoulder to wrist. Then he rolls me to my back as my body explodes with goosebumps from his searing touch. He is braced on his elbow as he swipes the hair away from my cheek with his thumb. His shadowed face is only inches from mine when he speaks in a low voice.

  “What about all the things I want to know? Huh, Alabama?” My skin feels like it can no longer contain the riot bubbling just beneath the surface, and I can scarcely find words to respond to him.

  “What is it you want to know?” my voice is a whisper of air, not words at all, and I find that it’s me who is trembling on the inside this time. It seems he has found his stance, and it’s a commanding one.

  “There are all sorts of things I want to know,” he pauses while his fingers find the lace hem at the bottom of my plum teddy. He eases his hand underneath and speaks with a quiet rumble.

  “For example, I want to know how sensitive your nipples are—I need to know if I should be gentle with them…or rough.” His palm, ever so gently, grazes across the tips of both bare nipples. His touch is so light, it’s almost imperceptible.

  “I want to know if you’ll be shy when I spread your thighs apart and stare at your naked, unobstructed body while it’s so blatantly revealed to me. I want to know if you’ll squeeze your eyes shut when I bury my face in the warmth between your legs.” His voice is soft, and his continued caress is maddening with its near absence of touch.

  Right now, I’m only breathing through a series of gasps as his palm skims my body, leaving nothing but need and the residual tickle from his feather touch in its wake.

  “I want to know how you taste when I spread your pussy apart with my tongue. I want to know if your thighs will tremble from the intensity of your orgasms. I want to know how you sound when you come. Do you stifle a throaty groan?”

  I’m barely breathing as he brushes his palm lightly over my stomach and breasts. Again, his touch is nothing more than the tiniest of whispers—hardly making contact at all.

  “…Or do you wrench your head back and cry out?”

  “Gavin,” I whisper as I arch my back, encouraging more contact with his hand, but gaining none.

  “Shhhh. I want to know what your tiny gasp sounds like against my ear when I enter you for the first time.” He continues to caress my bare skin, light as a feather, but completely owning my body just the same.

  “I want to know what it feels like to have your tight little pussy spasm around my engorged cock. And, Alabama? I want to know if you’ll scream my name, or call out to God.”

  “Gavin,” again in a pained whisper, but nothing follows. I’m not even sure what I want to say at this point. My body is lit up like never before, and I can’t concentrate to save my life.

  “Open your legs, Alabama,” his voice is commanding, and it overwhelms all my systems at the same time. Each nerve fiber in my body misfires and short circuits all at once.

  Open your legs, Alabama.

  Fuck, I’m done for.

  He slides his hand down my body, further encouraging me to spread my thighs. The skimpy panties are hardly a barrier as his fingers slip underneath them and between my legs. His touch is like a warm, melty jolt of static electricity straight to my clit.

  His composure slips a little when he drops his chin to his chest and groans, “Fucking hell, Alabama
. Jesus, you’re so wet.” And then his fingers start to move against me.

  His ministrations are confident, yet darkly poetic as the buildup over the last few days comes raining down on me all at once. The moan starts way in the back of my throat, with little awareness of anything except the kaleidoscope of sensations he is providing.

  At first, he focused almost solely on rubbing my clit, but when I started to squirm against the oblivion he offered, he slowed his movements and began to learn the other intricacies of my body.

  I know he’s watching my face, and under his scrutiny, all I can do is close my eyes and bite down on my lip. I can’t look at him right now, it’s too intense. He’s so attentive, he’d see directly into my soul.

  I’m climbing higher and faster, and when I let go of my lip to release a restrained exultation, his mouth is on mine. An instant is all it takes for me to become his. Just his kiss. It’s that simple.

  For a moment, his kiss is tender—maybe even slightly restrained. But almost as soon as his lips meet mine, my orgasm takes hold, and I grind a whiny, shuddering moan directly into his kiss. He takes it all and then gives it back to me laced in something sweet—something that feels a little like adoration.

  To claim my mouth at the moment of climax like that was intensely powerful. It elevated our first kiss to a place that’s hard for me to express. It was almost like he was giving me something special, but he was also taking something special in return.

  I’ve never been moved to tears by an orgasm before, but my eyes moisten, and my breath catches in my throat. To be fair, I don’t think my emotional state is due to my release, I think it’s because I needed him to crack, and he did. We did. With his kiss, we cracked together, and it’s beautiful.

  Had he not kissed me, I would think this was purely physical. But his kiss—this kiss is so much more. It’s unhurried and passionate. It’s full of raw emotion and words left unspoken.

  When he brings his hand up to cup my jaw, the tenderness of the act is only dulled by the raunchy fact that I can feel my own wetness on his fingers. The gesture is dirty and erotic and hot as fuck.