Filth

by Dakota Gray

  The first to catch my eye has a scarless Nate in camo. I can't put my finger on it, but he looks different—maybe focused is the word. No, hard. Like nothing could touch him, not if it wanted to live. I've caught flashes of that man whenever I've pissed him off.

  If things were different between us I'd ask if the scar had anything to do with why he was carefree now. Or find out if that's the guy he needed to be while at war.

  I move to the next picture and laugh. The photo has to be his mother. The woman is blond and old Hollywood beautiful. She also has a figure that won't quit, but in the picture she's dressed like Scarlett O'Hara. Teen Nate has his hair slicked back. He wore the period authentic costume as well as he wore the disgruntled expression.

  I could go from photo to photo all day, but that's not why I'm here in his house. Dick is on the menu. There's no inner argument about that. I'm also here to see if he can best me. My blood sizzles at the thought he can. I legit get dizzy at the ways I'll get even if he does. I want to own him with a smile because he knows all the things I can do with my mouth.

  Antici...pation allows me to make another round to the kitchen to get another croissant before I head to Nate's office. I lean against the doorjamb and watch him as he inspects me. I would swear irritation flashes in his eyes when he gets to my dress.

  “Is that mine?” I curl my toes into the carpet and smile at him. He made me wait last night, and now he has to.

  “After you pay for it,” he replies in a flat tone.

  I'm not sure if he means it or if he's joking. Given it's Nate... “Because your mama taught you to pinch your pennies?”

  “Yup.” His gaze heats as he checks me out again.

  “Why Hermes?”

  My heart freezes at the question. “What?”

  “Your tat.”

  A simple question. One that's hard to answer. When the wave of grief had stopped pounding into me every minute of almost every day, I went to get my first and only tattoo. I couldn't get RIP. That was...too final, but Loraine had loved Greek mythology. I'd often joked she was Hermes—a troublemaker. When I had looked further, I'd found a deeper meaning for the god. One that I would never regret getting inked into my skin.

  I push out a breath, suck in another before I can say, “He's seen as a guardian in some myths.”

  He glances away. Can he see the pain? Can he hear it in my voice? Or is he bored because I'm not naked? That's what we are, I forcibly remind myself.

  Nate pulls off the bracelet around his wrist and pushes out of the chair. “Don't come in here with food. And hurry up and finish eating.”

  I blink and glance down. I'd forgotten I even had food. My stomach reminds me a second later. Little things, Robyn. Eat. Then have sex. Don't think about anything else.

  “How long have you been waiting for me to wake up?”

  “Four hours.” He pushes me backward.

  “But you didn't wake me.”

  “I wanted you rested.”

  That's...interesting. I twirl around, knowing my skirt will lift with the motion. And then I walk just a tad slower. He puts his hand to the small of my back and pushes me.

  “Are you going to at least try foreplay first?” I finish the croissant before we clear his bedroom door.

  Then my dress is up and over my head. I face him and laugh. “No small talk?”

  “On the bed?” he asks then presses his fingers to my chest to give me a push.

  His gaze gets a little hazy when I bounce on the bed. This is the Nate I had wanted to take home. The one I had needed to wake up to. I crawl up the mattress, happy to see the fetishist finally make an appearance. He starts to tear off his clothes. His shirt is first and I can't find my breath. A web of scars span his left shoulder. Skin has healed over skin. There are deep grooves too.

  I may have cradled death in my arms, but he's kissed it. The truth of that is etched into his flesh. I scour the rest of him as each article of clothing hits the floor, but the scar on his shoulder is it.

  This is why he didn't answer me at the club. This is why I'm not about to ask now.

  So when he's down to his boxers, I lean back on my elbows, my legs slightly open and say, “I was hoping for a strip tease.”

  He's on me before I can even finish being a smartass. His mouth, hungry and possessive, becomes the center of my universe. I love the simple intensity, and I egg him on to take me deeper by touching everything of him I can. Nate's body deserves to be caressed, gripped, licked, but since he refuses to let my mouth free I can only worship his body with my fingertips and palms.

  His mouth, his hands—him. I'm drowning in him and I don't want to be rescued.

  Fuck.

  How can he do this to me?

  The weight of his hand closes around my throat. I open my eyes to meet his stare. There's nothing carefree in the way his gaze eats me up. Nothing soft in the way he uses his teeth to tug on my bottom lip. I want to die from the promise of pain. His tongue follows my moan. I can't remember why I wanted pain. I should have requested being slowly devoured.

  It's too much, and we haven't even started.

  I want him inside me. My hips gets the message, and I'm thoughtlessly rocking against him, temping him to lose his control. He breaks the kiss to nip my chin. I don't need to hear him say I'm going to get what he gives me, and I'll like it. I do, as his tongue finds the sensitive spot on my neck. I'm blissed out by the time he moves to my breasts.

  He groans as he captures a bud between his lips. A kiss, a tug, a lash of his tongue and he's gripping my breasts, pushing them together to do the same all over again. I'm close to begging.

  For what?

  I don't know.

  That's until his teeth close hard enough to sting on the side of my left breast. I gasp at how good it feels. He glances at me with a smirk. I want to tell him to not be cocky, but that's a wasted breath. Then I don't have one as he decorates both breasts with small hickies. I didn't tell him how much I liked pain, but he found out, and I'm slippery between my thighs.

  He has to feel it, since my hips refuse to be still. Yet he makes no move to touch me below the waist. I give in to the pleasure he rains down on me in deliberate measure. He stops every few minutes to kiss me like he wants to climb into my soul through my mouth. All the while pressing his cock against my pussy and grinding. The pleasure is endless, torturous.

  “Nate.” We both know I'm pleading with him to make me come.

  “Not done yet,” he murmurs along my chin. “There's still some skin I haven't licked.”

  Oh, God. I'm not going to survive, but... “Don't stop, Nate.”

  He edges back, tucking my knees up to his chest. The cocky smile is back as he closes his hands around my waist. “Put your hands above your head.”

  I do, but confusion sets in and my world whirls. I'm on my stomach. Nate's at my back. His fingers spear into my hair and he makes a fist. The violence of the hold is tempered by the soft kiss he places at my nape.

  Nate's mouth is a weapon. He batters me with it. From neck to elbow. What he does with his lips is as effective as any open palm or flogger. I will submit. I will not question him in bed. Since he's deprived me of coming, I learn it. Remember it.

  My limbs feel weighted when he finally flips me back over. He draws me into a kiss, likely to decimate any complaints about him once again manhandling me. I whimper. He smiles, the asshole.

  “Are you over foreplay?” Nate asks, his tone so reasonable. “Can I fuck you now?”

  I push out, “I hate you.”

  He kisses the corner of my mouth and then laughs.

  “I hate your smug face.”

  He sinks his teeth into my bottom lip. My pussy clenches. My mouth is sensitive, and the bastard has to know it.

  He lets go of my lip, stays close enough that every word literally brushes along my kiss-swollen mouth. “Answer the question, Robyn.”

  I could be a smartass and face the consequences or I could give. Just this once. “No. N
o more foreplay.”

  Nate is a benevolent asshole because he rolls onto his back away from me so no parts of us touch. He's letting me come down from sensory overload. We're toeing the line of light D/s games and I'm surprised at how much I want to go another round to see if he can break me. I haven't felt that way since college.

  I glance at him. He's pressing his palms into his eye sockets, his breath choppy, but he's still not turning to touch me yet. Any other man would have gone straight into fucking after the foreplay.

  He's nowhere near a eunuch. The proof of that is the way his dick peeks out of his boxers. The skin is tight and a deep shade of red. The material surrounding it is wet. From me or him? Or both? Point is he's very aroused. He's either being incredibly patient or masochistic. Not to forget our foreplay had one important act missing.

  I know he needs it. I give myself a few more seconds to come down, and then I gather my strength to straddle him. Our gazes connect. His jaw flexes. He's vibrating with tension between my thighs. His stare is like a touch as he takes in my breasts, my pussy.

  He shakes his head. “Higher.”

  I shiver at the hunger in the single word. He's a starving man, and I have what will sate his appetite. “I thought foreplay was over.”

  He shakes his head again. “It's never foreplay. It's endgame.”

  Testing just how tightly wound he is, I trace a circle around his nipple. He grabs my wrist imprisoning my hand. This is the Nate I glimpsed in the army picture. He's not to be trifled with. Not now. He's close to the edge. My stomach jolts at the rawness of him. His blond hair is messy, his scars are a violent reminder he's not soft. He can fuck up my world and I'll beg for it.

  If I wasn't already wet I would be now. “Is that what you call fucking?”

  He let's go of my hand. “The way I do it, yes? But don't worry, I'm giving you my cock too.”

  Cock-sure. Since I'm straddling his lap, I can say he has every right to be. “So what do you need, Nathan?”

  He shifts to cup my ass, squeezes both cheeks and I'm up from his lap, over his torso and in the perfect position for what he needs.

  “Hands on the headboard.”

  I like to think I'm a smart woman. I can hold my own in and out of bed. I definitely can at work. But a man who could lift me—without any help—in the most masculine, beat-your-chest kind of way, reduces me to girlish giggles.

  This man is so fucking dangerous.

  I'm dizzy from the move but I grab the headboard. His breath tickles my inner thighs. Then there's tongue trailing along the sensitive flesh. Any leftover laughter dies in my throat.

  Have you ever been so hungry that by the time you get food, you just groan at the first bite? That's the sound Nate makes. Over and over. The guttural growl vibrates up my spine.

  I'm going to come, and he hasn't even touched my pussy yet.

  He sucks one lip, long and slow, and my mind shuts down of all else.

  “Nate.”

  I arch my hips in time to his sucks for optimal pleasure. He licks everything, everything, but my clit. It's maddening. I know it's part of his game, but the rough, wet softness of his tongue lapping at me...I need him to. I reach down between my legs, take a fistful of his hair and try to direct him just a little more to the left.

  He refuses to give, and even without the direct contact it feels so damn good to have the warmth of his cheeks pressed against my thighs, the slippery glide of his tongue flicking at my entrance, my folds, almost every fucking bit of me.

  The urge to come is like a knot in my chest, in my stomach. He knows how to give pleasure, in spades. He's denying me. I've lost patience for lessons. I'm shaking too much. Moaning much too loud.

  I growl at him and rub my clit against his mouth. He stiffens his tongue the moment I make contact. Oh. My body isn't my own, not anymore. I rock my hips into it. My head falls back as ecstasy washes over me. He lands a hard blow on my ass and groans. This is what he needed, for me to lose control. He wanted me to use his tongue like a toy.

  “Fuck,” I throw the word at him.

  He's in control. Has been since we started, but I'm too close to an orgasm to defy him. My hips are working against me.

  “Nate. Nate. Nate.”

  I use him, his tongue and his mouth. I lose any shame or shyness that I could have had left. I fuck him, hell, I fuck myself until I'm blind from how good it feels. A scream crawls out of my throat. His hands cup my ass so hard his nails bite into me. I don't care. My orgasm doesn't have an end.

  He trails his tongue to my entrance and slides inside. It only takes a minute of him tonguing me deep and letting me fuck his face for another orgasm to slam into me, leaving me shuddering above him. His mouth turns into the most wonderful suction as he slurps up my come.

  That's when I simply cannot take anymore. It's...he's...oh, my God. I come again within seconds and I have to flop like a ragdoll on the bed just to get away from his mouth.

  At this point I could curl into the fetal position and slip into a coma-like sleep, but Nate is up and off the bed. His stomach is wet with a translucent fluid and it's not mine. That image burns into my mind. I wasn't the only one coming as he licked me into oblivion. I knew he had a fetish. I've understood the obsession in theory, but I finally get how it is for Nate. He could probably survive without penetration, without kissing, touching beforehand. He needs to taste me. He loves it. He can come from that alone.

  So when I let him have a taste of me in Fade and walked away, I upended his world. Me, slightly unhinged and grief-stricken Robyn sent Nate the Pussy God into a tailspin simply with the taste of me. I put a hand over my mound and smile.

  He slips on a condom and looks at me. My brows go up at the silent question. Are you ready for dick now?

  This isn't just going to be the best sex of my life. Being in Nate's bed is going to change me, and not little by little. I won't be able to pinpoint it at a touch or an orgasm. He's going to slip inside me, and a part of him will never leave.

  Has it happened already?

  Will I damn him on my deathbed?

  Even with that mental warning to save myself while—if—I can, I open my legs for him to finish making me his.

  In the next breath, he's back on the bed, between my thighs and rubbing the tip of his cock into my wetness. We both moan at his first thrust. Again at the second. He bites down on my lip and groans. I dig my nails into his back because I'm past the point of breaking now. I can only whimper as he presses deeper. He pulls out, biting my lip harder. I swear he's going to draw blood by the fifth stroke, but I'm fucking him back anyway. If he's going to take a part of me and make it his, I'm going to do the same.

  That's how we fuck—slow and punishing. And so damn good. I don't know if I'm breathing anymore or if he's giving me oxygen. It's a blur of pain, pleasure and moans. A tangle of tongue and limbs. I don't know how many times he makes me come with his cock. I just know I can only say one word.

  “Nate...”

  He pins my hips to the bed and slams into me until I bend into him. He crooks his face into my hair, but I can still hear his soft moan.

  “Nate.”

  As my body wracks with yet another orgasm, I can't help but wonder if that's what he does—hollows you out and leaves nothing but him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  NATE

  A smile spreads when I hear the shower door slide open. “I thought you were asleep?”

  “I figured I could catnap while you showered, but you were taking too long.” She slips behind me.

  I close my eyes when her breasts brush along my back. By rights, my dick should be dead. It should let out a mewling noise just at the thought of getting hard so soon. Yet she still smells like...us. More so with the steamy mist of the water and small space to amplify the way I’ve seeped into her skin. I want her again and we're both naked...

  Jesus, Nate. This woman has you twisted.

  I grapple for the control I usually have, and breathe until I actuall
y have it. I even sound like it when I say, “You can just admit you wanted to see me soapy and naked.”

  “You're so full of yourself.”

  I tilt my head to see her. She's fighting her smile. I pick up the soap to hand it to her. “Ask nicely and I'll let you lather me up.”

  She edges in front of me, adjusts the spray, and steals all the water. I laugh before leaning back against the shower wall to enjoy the view. I'm not stupid. I know the tit-for-tat we're playing. I'm not a Dom by mainstream standards—probably not even to people in the lifestyle. I just like seeing how far I can push a woman sexually. Partly because when a woman unravels in bed, she becomes who she is underneath all the expectations put on her by the world. I don't know if that's selfish. I only know there are responsibilities one should take on when doing that.

  But Robyn and I, our tit-for-tat involves who is on top? Who should be? This is what we're doing. I've done this dance before, and this is the first time I don't know who will win in the end. It's unsettling. It's—my blood sings with the thrill. I sometimes can't think past wanting to be on top. If there was a moment to breathe, I might daydream what it would be like to lose. I have no doubt Robyn would reward me for bowing to her superiority if she managed to top me. I almost want to experience it. She makes me wonder if I'm a switch underneath everything.

  I rest my shoulders against the wet tile. I'm not going to lose though. She's about to be soapy and naked. I'm tempted to ask nicely to wash her, and that encapsulates the damn problem.

  “And after your shower what are you doing?” I ask.

  “My shower?”

  Her eyes are bright and there's something like triumph in them. Robyn like this is beautiful. When she's not sparring with me, when she thinks I'm not paying attention, she curls into herself. I don't know why. It doesn't make any goddamn sense.

  It's not your problem, Nate.

  I shift my focus back to the game. “I'm suffering shrinkage back here in the cold. It's your shower.”