It was only logical that I’d fallen asleep during my little fantasy while I wanked, and my subconscious was torturing me for letting her in. It was exquisite torture, but torture nonetheless. Later on, I would wake up and have to face Alyssa and try to drive the thoughts of the dream out of my mind.
Despite knowing I was going to pay for the dream in the morning, I was sick enough to run with the fantasy. My hands found her hips and she moaned at my touch.
Her hands clutched at my hair and she pulled me against her. Her lips wrapped around my bottom lip and she sucked on it in a way that drew a sound from me that was new and utterly unique to her. With her body wrapped around mine, her breasts pressed against my chest and I could feel her erect nipples brushing against me.
“Lys, oh, fuck, Lys,” I muttered around kisses. I’d thought I was hard and desperate before, but it’d been nothing by comparison. After the way her kiss blazed through me, my dick was probably harder than the stainless steel bench she’d backed me against.
I pushed my hand against the waistband of her pants and slipped inside with no resistance. My fingers brushed across the smooth, naked span of her arse.
Fuck.
My erection strained and ached, the exquisite pain being the physical evidence that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t a dream after all.
I broke the kiss off, but my lips didn’t move from her skin. I traced a path over her chin, onto her neck, and then down along her breastbone until I reached the material of her tank top. My mouth sought her nipples through the material. A fresh sound of needful pleasure ripped from me as I caressed her perfect peaks with my mouth. Teeth and tongue worked in unison, dragging the cotton around her tight buds. Even though bending over strained my already sore ribs, I honestly didn’t give a shit. I could have had two broken legs and I still would have found a way to stand there and worship her body.
“Oh, fucking hell, Dec!” Alyssa cried. Her voice dripped with pleasure and need.
I spun us around, picked her up—swallowing down the whimper of pain that threatened to escape—and placed her onto the kitchen island. She yelped a little as her arse hit the cold steel, but I stood between her legs and she quietened. Dream or reality didn’t matter any longer. I was going to take everything offered and I wasn’t going to let either of us leave the kitchen without being thoroughly fucked first.
Grabbing my glass, I took a small mouthful of the amber liquid and then I met her mouth again. Our tongues twisted around each other, swapping the liquid back and forth until it was finally warm. Little by little, it trickled down the back of my throat, but it wasn’t enough. With my eyes open and my gaze firmly meeting hers, I swallowed what was left in my mouth. Fuck, it tasted like Alyssa. A moan of delight left me before I claimed her lips again and my fingers rubbed the wet circles on the front of her shirt.
She shifted against me, leaning into my touch.
After a beat, where I thought I might just burst from the perfection of the moment, I pulled back.
“Do you really want this?” I asked.
“Please, Dec.” She reached for my cheek and traced her fingers over the corner of my mouth. I sucked her finger between my lips and stroked the tip with my tongue. Her eyes rolled back as the pleasure of the sensation rolled through her body.
I pulled her hand away from my mouth and grinned.
“In that case, I have plans for you,” I murmured before grabbing an ice cube from the glass with my fingers.
Holding it between my teeth, I rubbed the ice across the front of her tank top, tracing the cube across her already tight nipples. A hiss of pleasure escaped her and she squirmed in my hold. I used the fingers I’d grabbed the ice with, cold and dripping with whiskey, to trace patterns along her inner thigh. She mewed with pleasure as her body bucked away from the cold even as she leaned into my touch.
Her hands tugged at my shirt, unbuttoning it as quickly as she could. Once it was loose, I shook it off to give her free access. Her fingertips moved to gently caress the swollen bruise around my ribs. Ever so gently, she pressed her lips against each rib. The alcohol haze I’d been suffering from was clearing more and more by the minute, only to be replaced by an Alyssa-induced one. All I could see, hear, smell, and taste was her. I was completely and utterly lost in her.
In us.
How in the hell had I ever let her out of my life?
I’d forgotten just how fucking good she was at getting my body to react. How fucking tasty she was. How the sound of a moan or my name on her lips was almost enough to do me in without any kind of touching.
Her hands ran up and down the length of my back excruciatingly slowly, until finally she circled them around to my front. Fingertips traced my muscles, and I wanted to let her take control and fuck me the way I knew only she could, but I had things I wanted to do to her first.
I alternated between using my tongue and the ice cube on her nipples, drinking down the water as the ice melted. The cold cotton was the only barrier between me and perfection. When I went to lift my head to free her from the material, her fingers found my hair and she directed me back to her breasts. Using my fingertips at the hem of her tank top as an indicator of what I was going to do, I went to pull away again. I leaned back and pulled her tank top off in one swift movement. She relinquished her grip on my head only at the last second but then reclaimed her purchase to guide me straight back to her breasts the instant her shirt was off. I used my mouth on one breast while I worked the other with my hand, pinching and rubbing and caressing. God it felt good to have her in my hands again. It was something I had barely known I was missing, but despite the countless times I’d tried to replicate the feeling, there was no one else in the world who made me feel the way she did.
Looping her legs around my waist, she bucked her hips against mine. Her arse slipped off the bench when she did, but I had her. She was pinned between my hips and the bench. Even though she wasn’t particularly heavy, her weight was enough to cause the constant niggle in my side to blossom into an ache. Her body, and her touch, were enough to soothe it down again.
More than anything, I wanted to rip her pyjama bottoms off, bend her over the bench and fuck her silly, but it was Alyssa. I owed her far more than that. I reached down and slid her pants off before pressing my palm against her mound.
Her hands were at my waistband, tugging on the button and zipper on my jeans. I pushed her back up and onto the counter, pressing her backward until she was lying on it. She squirmed a little at the cold but it warmed quickly on contact. My jeans dropped away as soon as her weight was off my hips.
Taking a moment, I gazed up her body, absorbing every inch—like a man granted just a glimpse of heaven. Who knew how long I’d have with her, whether she’d call a stop to everything and I’d have nothing but the memory to satisfy me. The first thing that drew my eyes was the tattoo under her left breast. I could see now that it was a constellation or something, but fucked if I could tell which one. I longed to trace it with my fingers—or my tongue.
I noticed a new mark running across her stomach, near her pelvic bone. I’d memorised all of the scars on her body one time, and knew where each one had come from. I wondered what sort of accident she’d had to get the new one.
“Declan,” she moaned desperately, drawing my focus back to the moment and letting the question give way to far more important matters.
Lifting the glass of whiskey to my lips, I drew a small mouthful of the amber liquid and another ice cube into my mouth. Hooking my arms around her legs, I lifted her hips up to meet my mouth. I kissed her inner thigh, rolling my tongue through the alcohol to taste her. I twisted my head to the other side and repeated the process. Catching the ice between my teeth, I swallowed down the whiskey.
I rubbed the ice against her clit, fighting the urge to smile as her hips writhed in my hold. In an agonisingly slow circuit, I traced the ice cube from the top of her pussy, down over her lips before brushing it against her entrance. I repeated this a few times
until she was screaming and panting for more. Then I swallowed everything that was in my mouth, moaning at the combined flavour, before burying my tongue inside her.
“Holy fuck!” she cried out. Her hands twisted into my hair and she guided me to the position she wanted. I pressed my tongue up against her and she bucked. I ran my nose along her clit and she yanked on my hair again. I traced a small circle around the area and then rubbed at her clit with the tip of my tongue over and over until she was quivering against me. Placing her arse back on the counter, I added two fingers and continued my assault with my tongue until she came hard, screaming out my name and clutching tightly to my shoulders, my hair, anywhere she could get purchase to hold me firmly against her.
Once I felt her orgasm slowing, I pulled back to look at her. With her head tilted upward in pleasure and her body shaking from the way I’d made her come, she was a fucking goddess. More than ever before.
In high school, she’d still been a little clumsy and awkward, still growing into her body. Now, she’d flourished into a woman, and knew exactly what to do with her curves.
After a moment, she’d gathered her breath and sat up. Her arms wrapped lazily around my neck and she pressed her face into my shoulder, licking and sucking at the crook of my neck. I downed the rest of my glass of whiskey. There was no point in letting it go to waste after all.
When I set the glass down, I picked Alyssa up to head to the stairs. She was coming to bed with me and I wouldn’t accept any arguments. I’d barely taken two steps before the pain in my chest was too much. Placing her on the ground, I took a handful of deep breaths to shake the agony. I needed something stronger than the alcohol to dull the sensation.
“Are you okay?” she asked, tracing her fingers over my back.
Bent over and trying to breathe, I shook my head. “Just need a minute.”
“Dec, are you sure . . .” She trailed off, but the way her eyes glanced over my body before settling on my hard-on suggested that she was asking whether I wanted to continue.
Straightening, I nodded. “I’m fucking positive about this.” I needed her more than I needed the oxygen in my lungs. When I met her eyes, the emotions hidden within nearly fucking slayed me. There was so much hurt, so much . . . doubt. “Are you?”
She nodded, but ended it with a shake of her head. “I just . . . I need a minute.”
I frowned as I felt her pulling away. She stepped closer to me, placed her hand over my heart and kissed me like she meant it.
“Just one minute. Please?”
With a nod, I granted her the time she needed. I wanted her to come to me willing and ready. When she did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to let her go again. Not easily.
“Thanks.” She kissed my mouth, dragging her tongue across my bottom lip. “You go ahead. I’ll be up shortly.”
I walked up the rest of the stairs, my head full of promises of better fucking tomorrows.
Alyssa was back in my life.
My head finally acknowledged what my heart and body always knew: she was the one thing I wanted. The one thing that I needed to make my dreams complete. All the denials were just ways to convince myself that I didn’t need her. How could it get any better than what we had?
CHAPTER TWELVE: NO STRINGS
FOR FIVE MINUTES, I waited on the king-sized bed upstairs, wondering what kept Alyssa. I’d expected her to be in the room almost instantly—or maybe hoped was the better word—but she wasn’t. With each second that passed without her coming to finish what we’d started downstairs, I grew more and more impatient. Just as I was climbing from the bed to check on Alyssa, she came into the bedroom wearing only a smile. In each hand, she held a fresh glass of whiskey.
“You are so fucking beautiful, Lys,” I said, holding my arms out for her.
She put the glasses on the bedside table and climbed onto my lap. With the look of the devil in her eyes, she opened her mouth and showed me the cube of ice that was already sitting between her teeth. Before I could even begin to fantasise what she planned with it, she pushed me onto the bed and helped free me of my boxers. Even though it was tempting to just lie back with my eyes closed and take whatever pleasure she dished out—like I would have if it had been anyone else in my bed—it wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to watch her, to study her every movement, so I propped myself up so I was resting on my elbows. Even though the position renewed the ache in my chest, it was worth it for the view.
My breathing sped as she fell to her knees at the side of the bed. With her gaze locked on mine, she wrapped her mouth around my erection, rubbing the ice from the base to the tip with her tongue, repaying my actions in the kitchen with her own version of the sweet torture. The contrast between the ice and the warm cavern of her mouth was fucking unbelievable. It was a hundred times better than my little fantasy earlier. A thousand.
In long movements, clearly designed for pleasure but not release, she traced her mouth, tongue, and that blasted, blessed ice cube over my cock. She fucking knew what she was doing and I grew harder than I’d ever thought possible. I longed for her to move faster, suck harder, but I also wanted her to keep going at the same steady pace so that I could enjoy the sensation for as long as possible.
When I tangled my fingers in her hair, desperate to speed her motion, she pulled away completely. An audible protest escaped me. I didn’t want her to stop—I never wanted her to stop. Before I could argue too much though, she climbed up my body, dragging her lips, tongue, and the ice cube over the skin of my hips, stomach, and chest. Bucking my hips, desperate for contact, I grabbed at any part of her I could reach. Hair. Waist. Back. Side. Breast. My hands were in constant motion over her warm body.
With soft movements, she touched the bruise on my side, kissing each of my injured ribs with tender affection. Gentle fingers rubbed another ice cube over the area. I fell back against the bed as a moan fell from my lips.
She straddled my hips and her lips pressed to mine. She pushed the ice cube in her mouth against my tongue and I brushed it back against hers. The heat and the cold fused with her taste and I was in heaven. When I grew overwhelmed by the sight of her lust-filled eyes staring straight into me—no doubt providing a new image to be burned into my mind as I raced around the track—my eyelids sank closed. Her hand found my cock, trailing from base to tip before she rubbed the head against her slick skin.
“Jesus Christ,” I groaned at the sensation.
With her hand and a twist of her hips, she guided me into her warm, wet centre.
“Holy fuck, Alyssa!” I cried out, as my eyes flew open, startled but oh-so-aroused.
I could barely breathe as the feeling of being bareback inside her took over my every function. It was just as enjoyable as it had been the last time. Her flesh was soft and tender and warm. Utterly unlike the clinical feel of a condom and utterly fucking enjoyable. I didn’t want a kid though, or an STD, so I tried to pull out and away. It wasn’t that I thought she’d be unprotected or have an infection, but I couldn’t know for sure—we hadn’t exactly had the “are you safe and clean” talk. “Shouldn’t you wait until I get some protection on?”
With a breathless moan, she lifted her hips before shifting down tight against me again. My fingers found her hips and I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from crying out from the pure, unadulterated pleasure
“You usually wear one don’t you?” It was a question but held an edge which indicated she already knew the answer.
Clutching her hips, I nodded. “Always.”
“Then it doesn’t matter. I’m clean and I’ve got a Mirena.”
“A what?”
“Do you want all the gory details or do you want to keep going?” she asked, a look halfway between indignation and amusement on her face. Without waiting for an answer, she rocked her hips over me again.
“I just . . .”
She raised herself off me before sliding back down again.
“. . . oh fuck . . .”
With a moan escap
ing her, she bucked her hips.
“. . . don’t . . .”
Twisting her body slightly, she shifted the angle and allowed me deeper inside of her.
“. . . oh shit . . .”
She placed her hands on my chest, before leaning forward to kiss my skin. My hands found her hair and she looked down at me with a devilish grin.
What the fuck was I saying?
It took me a moment to recover my equilibrium while she fucked me and nipped at my skin with that sexy-arse smirk on her lips.
“. . . want kids,” I finished my thought finally.
She stopped moving, and her smile fell. I wondered why she paused, but could only think it was the reminder of our one other night together—the night after the formal. Knowing I needed to bring her back to the moment, I pulled myself up into a seated position and wrapped my arms around her waist. Her face was impassive, and I was certain she was seconds from walking away from me—which would just leave me with my hand and a headful of her to keep me company. Desperate to avoid that situation, I kissed her neck and shoulders, trying to draw her attention back to me. I clutched at her hips and used the hold to move them over mine.
Alyssa wrapped her arms around my neck and leaned her weight away from me, giving me full control. Her back was arched and her neck extended as she leaned back, tipping her head, allowing her erect nipples to point to the ceiling.
Despite the fact that I was buried so deep inside her, I wanted more. Holding her tightly, I rolled us both over so that her back was on the bed. One at a time, I lifted her legs and rested them on my shoulders, tilting her hips off the bed. I leaned over her, pinning her beneath me. In long slow strokes, I took her over and over, rubbing my pelvic bone deliberately along hers. She moaned in ecstasy underneath me. Grabbing her hips, I set a perfect, relentless pace, burying every inch of myself inside of her. I pulled almost all of the way out before thrusting hard into her again. Caressing her body, I kissed her greedily, wanting to get my fill but knowing it would never, ever be enough.
Decline (Declan Reede: The Untold Story #1) Page 12