Unlocking the door, I hesitate before opening it. Instead I push Celia in front of me, facing my way, before pressing my body against hers. Lowering my head I brush my lips against hers, savoring the hitch of her breath and the feel of her skin. “Hi,” I tell her with a grin, not moving from my spot.
“Hi, back,” she whispers, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips. It touches mine with the lightest of brushes and I groan.
“I want you, Cecelia.” I know she can feel me hard pressed against her belly. “I need you, Cecelia,” I amend because wanting and needing are two different things. And I need Celia to know both are important to me when it comes to her.
“Take me, then.”
Pushing open my apartment door, I lift Celia into my arms, caring her to my mattress. As I lay her down on it, I make a resolution: I’m getting out of this shithole, I'm buying a real fucking bed, and I'm never not going to treat my girl like the Queen she is.
TEN
Moans reverberate throughout my apartment. Celia is perched above me, her body rocking slowly. We've been going at it for an hour now. We started with us on our sides, me slipping into her warmth as I lifted her leg over mine. Then we moved to me above her, her legs so wide open for me. With her breasts slipping deliciously against my chest, and my hands groping her hips to keep us grinding together, she's now riding me and I'm so close to coming I feel my toes tingle.
“Fuck, I love you.” I'd always thought it was cheesy confessing love during sex, almost cheating in a way, but the way Cecelia reacts every time I say it makes me want to tell her all the time. I release one hip to grip her mouth to kiss her hard. I'm grunting into her mouth, pushing, pulling, giving, taking. I'm so fucking close, but I need to feel her first. “God, you feel so fucking good riding my cock.”
“Mmm, I love the way you feel so deep inside me,” she retorts with a swirl of her hips. It makes my breath catch and also makes me realize I can’t last much longer. “Make me come, Chace. Make me come for you.”
Wrapping my arms around her body, I roll us over so that I'm back on top. I press in long and deep, dragging my cock along her inner walls to feel everything within her. “You feel so good, baby. Your pussy is so wet, so tight, so warm. I love the way your pussy feels wrapped around my cock.” Celia likes dirty talk, and I love giving it to her. As her cries continue to fill my small living space, I push her left leg out to open her more for me. It allows me deeper still. “I’m gonna come so hard for you. So hard and deep inside you. Fuck, you make me so hard. You make my cock so hard.”
She starts trembling, her breath coming out in shallow pants as her nails scratch against my back. It's like fire and pain and pleasure and lust from her hands marking me as hers completely. “Oh God, Chace, I’m gonna come. Please come with me. Please come, oh God, yes!” Her words turn to incoherent cries as her body begins to shudder beneath me. As goosebumps spread across her arms and torso, tightening her nipples more, I know I can go deeper.
I let her ride out this orgasm, feeling the way her inner walls flutter so nicely against my cock. And then, just as she’s coming down, I pull out. She starts to protest, knows I haven’t finished yet, but quiets when I flip her onto her belly. This is one of our favorite positions. The depths I can reach, the way her whole body quivers as I hit that special spot just right every time, especially with my piercing…yeah, I want it this way.
Gripping my cock, I line myself back up and slip easily into her. She’s still shuddering from her climax and it feels so good. Pressing us to the bed, I dig my whole body into Celia. One hand gripping her hip, the other I reach out, taking her hand to hold myself to reality as I feel my orgasm building harder.
“You feel so good like this. And the sounds you make when I hit that spot, fuck, Celia!” My breath is ragged, I’m almost there. I just want one more from her. “Come again for me. I wanna feel you squeeze my dick one more time.” I swirl my hips as I grind harder, deeper. My piercing drags along her inner walls, as my breath presses between her shoulder blades. I press hot, open-mouth kisses against her skin, lapping up the salt from her sweat with my tongue. “Unh, fuck, I love you so fucking much.”
Her ass lifts lightly off the bed, pushing me deeper, and as I pull back, I feel it. Her entire body locks down, her mouth opens in a silent scream as her climax washes over her. “Oh yeah, baby, that’s it.” I hold her tight against me as I allow myself to finally let go, emptying everything into her sweet body. My grunts and groans are muffled as I realize I’ve bitten her shoulder. My vision goes white. My muscles lock. The Devil’s Queen has stolen my very soul. I put up no fight.
After more than an hour of connection, of working up to this moment, I feel like a part of me is now permanently imbedded into her being.
Returning to reality, my body slackens, slipping a little to the side so I’m not crushing Celia. Our breaths are ragged, gasps more than anything, as we both come down from that high.
“Fuck, Chace,” Celia wheezes. With every breath she sucks in, I feel her. And her pussy is still trembling around my cock. It feels so fucking good, almost painful in the pleasure it’s still causing me, but I won’t move for anything. Not until I’m pushed away. “You weren’t kidding, huh?”
“About what?”
I groan as Celia finally removes me from her body. She limply rolls away to look at me. Her hair is sticking to the sides of her face, her skin warm and shiny from exertion. She looks so fucking beautiful it hurts to breathe.
“Keeping your promise,” she says and the smile on her face is so sweet. It’s shy, even considering all that we just did, and perfect.
“I love you,” I say in response.
Her eyes close and she inhales sharply. The smile doesn’t leave, it grows. As her eyes open again, I see tears. “I love you, too.”
We don’t leave my bed until long after the sun has risen. I make love to Cecelia in every way. I worship her body with mine, tasting, teasing, licking, sucking, with my fingers and tongue before filling her with my cock over and over and over again. I leave more marks on her and she does the same to me. Though Cecelia has tattoos, she doesn’t have as many, and other than the broken angel on her back, nor are they as big as mine, and so the claim I stake on her is fully evident. It’s that thought that has me regretting for the first time my own ink.
I want the whole fucking world to know this woman owns me, heart, mind, body and soul.
Slipping a t-shirt over my head, I watch as Celia zips and buttons her jeans. It’s such a simple act, one I just performed myself, but watching her do it, knowing only moments ago I’d had those tight jeans off and scattered across the floor as I buried myself inside her repeatedly has me twitching. Despite the fact that I am in fact exhausted after going all night and most of the day. And I know Celia is sore, because though I have the day off, she isn’t so lucky.
It’s with that thought a smile spreads across my face. And what I’m thinking is apparently not going unnoticed.
“What’s that look for?”
Looking into Celia’s eyes, I can’t help my smirk. “Just thinking about the fact that when you go to work, my scent, my mark, my very presence will be all over you.”
“And what if when I went home, I showered?”
I expect this question. “Well, you could. But I know you don’t have time. You start work at two. It’s one-thirty now so I know you’ll be in rush to get home as it is. But that isn’t the only reason you won’t shower.”
“No? Why’s that?” she asks slipping my old t-shirt back over her head, concealing her beautiful breasts, forgoing the bra.
I walk toward her, hooking my thumbs through the hoops in her jeans. Lowering my head, I skim my nose along hers. When I speak again, it’s a whisper. “You don’t want to. You like that I’m all over you. You like that you can still smell me, still feel me.” My mouth hovers over hers, inhaling her quick exhales. If she wasn’t sore, didn’t have to leave, and hell, if I wasn’t in need to some recuperation, I’d
take her again. She’s got me so fucking hard all the goddamn time. “And you know how much I like it too.”
“I need to go,” she whimpers. From my viewpoint, I can see her nipples have hardened.
Yeah, she really needs to go.
Inhaling deeply, I step back, trying to clear the fog only Cecelia Santos can cause. “I’ll see you later? You’ll come watch?” I ask to get my bearings back.
She shakes her head but I know it’s not in answer. Simply clearing out the cloud of lust. “Uh, yeah. Text me if anything changes, otherwise I’ll be here around ten-thirty.”
“Okay.” I stay back so she can slip her shoes on, but as she moves to the front door, I hurry behind her. Before she has a chance to turn the handle, I have her turned around pressed against the frame. “I love you,” I say before kissing her with everything I have left.
Her mouth opens, our tongues fight for dominance, and then we pull back in gasps.
“I love you, too,” she replies before I feel her push me back slightly so she can open and slip through the door.
My forehead falls against the worn wood of my front door. Her taste is still on my lips, my tongue, and the feel of her is still tingling against my fingertips, across my skin right down to the very inside of me. I feel myself vibrating from the need to have her again, even with my exhaustion. It scares me a little. I haven’t felt this way in years. At least not since I dealt fully with my addiction and our short trip with cocaine.
Still, the blood is racing in my veins. My heart is pounding, my breath is short and my vision is blurry. I’m adrenaline and desire and it’s so fucking overwhelming I allow myself to fall to my knees.
It’s never been this way before. I’ve never felt so engulfed by feeling before. I’ve never felt like my whole world was completely centered on one thing. Even when I was drinking, I’d go days and not feel like I couldn’t handle the distance. I’d go a few weeks and while I’d want the drink, it didn’t make my skin sting with sheer need. Not like Cecelia Santos does.
I can’t understand what’s going on, and it’s not like I have anyone I can talk to about this. I don’t have parents. Well, that’s not true. I have parents, they just don’t want anything to do with me. And that’s fine, I’ve done just fine for the last nine years without them.
I don’t have a best friend. Not anymore at least. Not after Frankie proved what a fucking piece of shit betrayer he is. I haven’t bothered to “fill the position” since that clusterfuck and have no intention to put myself out there like that. Besides, if anyone is my friend, the one person I trust above all others, it’s Celia but I can’t talk to her about this. One, it would probably scare the shit out of her, and two, it’s about her.
I suppose I could call my brother but…hmm. How awkward would that conversation be? More to the point, what would Ben think about it? I was an addict to him, he saw it in living color. I imagine hearing me describe my need for Cecelia would not look too good.
Rising from the floor, I move toward my kitchen, landing heavily at my dilapidated second-hand kitchen table. My cellphone sits in the center, the red light blinking telling me I have a notification to attend to. I check what it is and notice it’s a text message.
~Hey Chace. Not sure this is ur # but thought id try. It’s Marshall, hit me up, In C-town for a few days.
I cock my head and release a bemused chuckle. Marshall Ames either has impeccable timing, or someone is looking out for my sanity.
I shoot a quick text back letting him know it is in fact my number and that we should get together while he’s here. Lucky for me, he’s free now and we make plans to meet in a few. I don’t want to shower, I don’t want to wash the feeling of Celia away. I don’t want to wash away the scent of her, of us together away. I want her all over me like I know I’m still all over her. But I did fight last night. I fought and didn’t shower before I was buried inside Cecelia. Despite what my shittastic apartment might suggest given its location, and the fact that I fight guys regularly for money, I do like to be clean. I try to keep my home clean, tidy, of the few belongings I have. And I always shower and get tested for disease because I really don’t know what some of the guys I fight are doing when we’re not beating the shit out of each other.
It’s honestly enough to gross me the fuck out.
Besides all that though, there’s also the fact I smell like pussy. And not just any pussy. Cecelia’s. The last thing I want to do is bring this scent with me to meet a recovering sex addict.
Muttering a low fuck, I strip off my shirt and yank my jeans down. I take a quick shower, washing what’s necessary but not lingering like I usually do. Usually I jerk off at least once. Prior to Cecelia staking her claim, prior to us essentially committing, during the times between when she wanted a fuck from me, all I had was my hand. A few pumps at the end of my shower were all I had to tide me over until Celia wanted me again. Now though, well, now that I’ve just fucked her, made love to her all fucking night long and into the day, my dick is quiet, relaxed. No need for the quick jerk.
I’d probably strain myself if I tried. Not that I am going to, but still.
Grabbing my phone and keys after dressing quickly, I make my way down the street to the Burger King where I’m meeting Marshall.
Stepping through the doors, I spot him instantly. I give him a quick nod before getting in line to grab some food. After placing and then receiving my order, I head over to his table, and after putting my food down, one arm hug him as he stands. “It’s good to see you, man.” It’s been a few years. Around five, I believe. I’d run into him on my way into the main lobby of Houston Methodist Hospital. He was there visiting someone and I was on my way out from seeing Ben.
My brother had gotten into a car accident, broke his back and punctured a lung as a result of some punk driving under the influence and running a red light. I’d gone back to Houston to see him after hearing from his wife Tandy about it.
Of course my parents didn’t let me know about Ben. Hell, they’d both been away at yet another schmooze-fest medical conference and upon returning, they were surprised and more than pissed off to see me at the hospital. My dad accused me of trying to steal Ben’s pain meds and when he realized that wasn’t true since he was hooked to an IV that was checked quite often, he accused me of trying to manipulate Tandy into giving me money so I could go buy drugs.
See, Ben is an accountant, as is his wife. That’s how they’d met, I guess. And being accountants, they make good money. They have a nice little family with twin boys, and a modest house they’ve made a home in. They are doing well for themselves.
So of course the only reason I would leave Chicago and come back to Houston when I swore to myself I was done with the fucking place after my sister-in-law calls to tell me my brother – who doesn’t hate me or think I’m a walking talking pile of shit – has been hurt is because I’m trying to score some booze or drugs. Of fucking course! I mean really, it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I love Ben. He loves me. Whatever.
It really sucked seeing him laid up like he was because of some asshole. Never in all the time I was drinking did I think about driving. Sure it helped that because I was the lackluster child I didn’t get the car for my sixteenth like Ben did, and therefore had to bus everywhere. But even still. I did get my license. I had friends who had rides. Know how many times I got behind the wheel intoxicated?
Zero.
It wasn’t worth it as a teenager, it sure as shit isn’t worth it now. And it wasn’t worth it seeing what it caused my brother and his family. Which only reiterated my desire to stay away from all substances.
But you’d never know that from the way my parents act. I’m still that fuck-up they had to send to rehab. I’m still the one who leaves a negative mark on their perfection. They can talk about how great Ben is, how beautiful his family is. How proud they are. But when people ask about their other son? They have nothing to say. They know nothing about me. I’m out of the will, not that i
t matters to me. I’ve been getting by just fine without them.
But yeah, seeing them degrade me like they did five seconds after acknowledging me? That shit hurt. Thank God Ben married a good woman. She stood up for me. Even when my parents tried to manipulate her into thinking I was the manipulator and that she was being lead. She’d heard enough about me from her husband, my parent’s lies weren’t going to sway her. Nor was the fact that they should have been focusing on the fact that their first child was in the hospital, rather than beating down their second.
I left Houston promising to stay in touch with them, and I have, though I really have no intention of going back anytime soon.
“You look good, man. Almost as big as me!” Marshall laughs as he looks me over. He’s exaggerating. Marshall is still an intimidating figure. He tells me he’s a firefighter in Houston now, having gone through the training a couple years back. So he’s in pretty good shape. But with all the work I’ve been doing in construction, not to mention the fighting; I am definitely not the scrawny seventeen year old he knew once upon a time.
“Nah, you’ll always be the house,” I joke digging into my meal. “So, how’s things going? What’s got you visiting Chicago?”
“I’m getting married,” he beams and I swear to fuck his dark cheeks tint a pinkish hue in his pride. “My future in-laws are from here. Came up to finalize some details and whatnot.”
“No shit. That’s awesome,” I tell him giving him a light punch. “Who is the lucky lady?” I know it’s not Tina. When we saw each other in Houston, he’d told me she’d moved on, and away. She went to school, met someone, and was happy. He was happy for her. He’d put her through a lot, it was the least he could feel for her.
And the Sweet (Addiction Series Book 2) Page 9