by Natasha Boyd
"Christ." I hiss the word as I feel her hot wet tongue touch the head. I grab her wrist, my other hand gripping her hair. "Don't," I say against every urge and instinct in my body that wants her hot mouth to devour me. "I've never been this ready. It'll be over." A burn of sparks is already shooting down my spine. This is insane.
I urge her to come up my body, and she does, her nipples dragging over my bare chest, which does nothing to calm the rising tide.
"Let's slow down," I manage and can't believe my own words.
She pouts. "I was thinking a quick one now and a slower one later."
Later . . . I wonder if later will even be enough, or if we'll survive the first time without going out in flames. Holding her head, I bring her in and fuse my mouth with hers again and flip her onto her back.
She squeals.
My hips settle between her legs, my cock nestled against her, and I feel how wet she is. Hot and cool. I try to talk. "I need"—her hips move and I rock in response, my body closer to its goal—"to suit up the general."
She smiles at my euphemism then bites her lip. "Do you always suit up?"
"Of course. Always." I've never, ever taken a chance of someone using it against me. I control these situations. Always. "You?"
She nods. "Always," she says seriously. "But it's been a while. Obviously," she adds, reminding us of her expired condoms downstairs.
Personally, I fucking love the fact it's been a while for her. The thought of someone else touching her is—nope. Not going there. "I have some in my wash kit, hold on." I hate to break the moment and leave the bed. I should have done it sooner.
"I . . ." She squeezes my arm as I move, making me pause. She swallows. "I'm on the pill. What you said to me last night about . . . c-coming deep inside me. I want that." Her cheeks flush red as she admits it.
"Jesus, Emmy," I moan. I could orgasm right now. "Fuck."
I grab her head, and my mouth finds hers wildly, our bodies straining toward each other.
Her legs open wide, wrapping around my hips, and my cock slips against her hot opening. I heave in a breath like I'm on top of a fucking mountain with no oxygen. There's no way I'll last without a barrier between us. I feel like a teenager. Where's the damn ghost when you need it? I need sports stats. Something. But right now I wouldn't be able to say if someone even needed a bat to play baseball.
The only solution is to get her there with me in case she isn't already. I need access to her body.
I drag my mouth from hers and rise onto my hands. My mouth closes over her nipple, tongue flicking, teeth grazing, mouth sucking.
"Yesss." She's writhing, holding me to her. I've never known breasts to be this responsive. Not that there are any other breasts in the world. Only these. Only Emmy's. "Oh God, yes," she pants, and I switch sides. My mouth works and works the peaks until she's gasping.
Holding her around the waist, I kneel, pushing my legs under her thighs. She is still lying back, her butt raised, her legs spread open for me. I look down. Big mistake. I close my eyes and struggle for control. "God, Emmy, you're fucking gorgeous." Her sweet pussy is winking up at me from beneath the thin smattering of golden red curls. The flesh is pink, moisture sparkling and catching the light. Next to her, my aching flesh looks red, angry, and desperate. I run my fingers down her belly and graze between her legs.
She bucks and whimpers. "More."
"You like that?" I ask, and my fingers slip closer to her opening, bathing in her wetness.
She nods.
My fingers move upward, circling. "Do you like it when I do this?" I ask, and before she answers, her breath catching, my fingers sink lower again and I work one inside her. It's hot. Velvet.
I bring it to my mouth and suck. She's tastes like sweet and salt.
Her eyes are fixed on my hand, her mouth parted, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
I suck two of my fingers and then bring them back to her body.
She's panting, just watching me.
I work in a second finger. Gently, because she's so tight. "Or do you like it when they fuck you?"
Emmy's body is moving against me, against my hand, her mouth is open, her eyes glazed and unfocussed on me, her breath coming in pants. "Don't stop."
My thumb touches her clit.
"All of it," she mumbles. "I like . . . it all."
Her body shudders, I feel it in the muscles of her legs against mine. And I take my hand away.
My mouth is watering so I move my body, holding her open and take a quick taste. A promise. A long swipe of my tongue from the crease of her ass, over the delicious center of her and up over her hard clit, making her cry out and buck.
I'll return here. It will be my new playground.
Then I'm back up, my cock in my fist, positioning myself at her entrance.
We both hold our breath and lock eyes.
"I don't want to come, Trystan. Make it last. Make it last," she begs me. "This place, right here. I want to live here. God, it feels so good. I've never felt this good."
Her words make me feel like a king. And she is my kingdom, my queen, my advisor, my beggar, and every loyal and willing subject. I’ll worship at her alter.
My other hand reaches forward, cups her head, and my palm runs to her jaw. My thumb crosses her lips. She leans into the touch and draws my finger into her mouth.
"God, you're beautiful." I sigh and let my hand move down her body until I can grip her hip.
I nudge her with the head of my cock. "Take me in, Emmy," I breathe as I press forward and look down. Her body hotly swallows the tip of me. "Jesus." I squeeze my eyes closed because it's too much. I've never felt this good either. Sweat is freezing on my skin, the prickles racing up and down my body. "God, you feel good," I echo lamely because there are no words to describe what is happening right now.
She's panting, her body still. "You're big," she says.
"You can take it."
"More, give me more."
I sink in farther, and I'm glad I'm bracing my weight on my knees and not my arms because I'm shaking with the effort to stem back the coming rush. My fingers steal over her clit, and I press down, massaging in slow circles.
Emmy lifts her head and comes up on her elbows, her eyes glued to our joining, her chest heaving.
I watch in fascination as a blush comes over her like a tide, and her body starts to shudder.
"No," she moans in shocked fascination. "Not yet. Oh God, it's too much." Her head drops back exposing the skin of her throat, and her body clenches hard and repeatedly, squeezing my cock. Her body twists against my hand on her hip that is trying to hold her still, anchored as the storm buffets through her.
"Trystan." She's sobbing my name, and it's glorious. A symphony. A rhapsody. I've never heard my name sound so beautiful.
Gritting my teeth, I hang on. I'm not even fully inside her, and then I can't anymore. Her body is loosening, grabbing me, pulling me in. With a hoarse sound, I barely register is coming from me, I give in with a hard thrust, forging my way inside.
There's no time to appreciate the tight, snug fit because my orgasm is barreling through me, a racehorse out the gate. "Jesus, Emmy. I'm coming." And all I can do is helplessly ride it, drowning in the beautiful ache and the freefall into euphoria. I work my hips to wring as much of it as I can.
Trying to keep it.
Trying to get as deeply into her as possible.
I want to leave myself there.
I already have.
34
Trystan
As the tide ebbs, and I drop back into my body, it's like dropping back into an empty husk. Like I gave myself completely away. I feel a flicker of alarm but have no energy to analyze it.
Blinking my eyes open, I'm relieved to see Emmy. She is there with me, I wasn't left alone. She's reaching up and pulling my face to hers, her mouth opening to mine. I give another slow thrust, not wanting to leave the snug home, even as I'm softening.
For long moments we say nothing, just panting
, waiting for the blood to return the oxygen to our brains.
"How did the general do?" I ask when I think I can talk.
She shakes with silent laughter beneath me. "He was a little trigger happy."
I lean up and kiss her nose. "Um, he wasn't the only one. And anyway, that's because he was unprotected and exposed," I say in his defense. "He wasn't used to it."
"Hmm," she says, eyes sparkling with mirth and hands roaming up my back that's damp and cool with sweat. "But he'd already ascertained it wasn't hostile terrain."
"It was a utopia. But it had to be conquered, nonetheless."
"And it was. Thoroughly. He definitely left his mark." Her mouth nips at mine.
I groan. "I guess he earned a promotion. He’s now a four star general."
She scrunches up her nose, and it's cute as fuck. "I need to take a bath."
"Can I watch?" I give her my most hopeful expression.
"You can," she says indulgently like she just gave an ice cream to a toddler. And I adore that she didn't default to self-consciousness. "You can even bathe with me. If you want."
I roll to the side of her, my body instantly missing her warmth, and eye the tub set below the window over my shoulder. "Will we both fit?"
"If we don't, I call first." She leans up on an elbow and purses her lips unapologetically. I can't resist kissing them again. "In fact," she goes on, "can you run it for me while I go to the bathroom?" Then she's shimmying to the edge of the bed and tiptoeing with her legs squeezed together.
I laugh at her and glance at the clock on the side table. "Are you sure you don't want to have a bath in the morning? It's late."
"Ummm. Pretty sure," she answers as I get up and put the plug in the tub and turn on the tap. There's bubble bath on the window sill, and I squeeze a healthy amount into the running water. Yep, I doubt we’d both fit.
Emmy exits the bathroom in a white robe, her hair piled on top of her head. Her cheeks are still flushed.
"I'll make it quick," she says.
"It's fine. No rush." I'm feeling weird suddenly. Out of sorts. I step past her toward the bathroom and try not to notice the small frown line between her eyebrows. "Just going to brush my teeth," I say.
In the bathroom, I shut the door then lean against it and pinch the bridge of my nose. I'm starting to feel claustrophobic. I think. I don't know what I'm feeling. But I no longer have a handle on things. What seemed like a good idea earlier, now seems messy. Complicated. I hate complicated. And I can't leave. I'm here for the night. I guess that's where the feeling of claustrophobia is coming from.
Immediately my brain defaults to figuring out the worst-case scenario so I can mitigate the risk. The problem is I don't know what's on the table. What am I risking? What are the potential gains? What's the guaranteed return on investment?
I splash my face with cold water.
Gains, I have to base on experience: fun, anticipation, sexual release. Laughter. Quite literally the most intense sexual experience of my life.
Risk: She becomes clingy. But she doesn't seem the type, and I negate the thought. Risk that I hurt her? I'd hate that, but somehow I know she'd hide it from me. Protect me from knowing. Something inside my chest flinches at that.
Return on investment: I enjoy my last night and day in Charleston and potentially have a standing arrangement here every time I have to come back. I could more than live with that.
I brush my teeth.
"Trystan?" Emmy's voice calls from the bedroom.
"Yeah?"
"Can you come out here please?"
"One second." I spit and rinse and look at myself. My eyes are bright like I'm drunk. I blink, shake my head, and open the door.
Emmy is standing up and pulling a towel around her, and I feel stupidly disappointed. I missed her in the bath because I had to give myself a fucking pep talk.
"I missed the show," I say and my voice is rough.
She smiles at me, but it seems like she knows I freaked out. "You sure did." Tendrils of her hair are curling from steam, and her skin is shiny and slick from water. She reaches over and grabs her robe, slipping it on before removing the towel wrapped around her body. She's hiding herself from me.
"What did you need?" I ask.
"For you to come out here and realize I'm not going to bite you."
I laugh uncomfortably as I root through my bag for a clean pair of boxers, grateful I used Emmy's washer and dryer earlier. I was definitely on my last set of clean clothes.
"Trystan."
"Yep."
"I know you're kind of freaking out. I'd be an idiot not to realize you don't normally do this."
"Do what?" I say as if I have no idea what she's talking about.
"Spend the night with someone you just slept with."
I'm about to deny it but stop.
"I realized that at the hotel." She lifts a shoulder and bends over to use the towel to dry each of her legs. Then she lifts a foot and balances it on the edge of the bath, turquoise toes curling over the rim. She reaches for a bottle of lotion. "But here's something you may not have realized. I don't do this either."
I laugh humorlessly. "I knew that. Not the same thing."
"Probably not," she says, eyes flashing briefly at my tone, and smooths cream up and down her legs from her ankle up to her thighs and then her butt. I swallow. She changes legs and repeats. The scent of the lotion finally reaches me. It's her signature scent. I inhale deeply, feeling the stirring of arousal, remembering the first time I smelled the concentration in her sheets and heard her lose control. Now I've seen it in person. I know she flushes head to toe, arches her back. I can't remember if she closed her eyes or the exact sound she made. Next time I'll—Christ, that went sideways fast.
"But I'm not sleeping on the couch,” she says. “Or going back to Armand's—"
"I'd never—"
She laughs. "I know. You're a good guy. You normally remove yourself, don't you?" She somehow manages to finish the contortion of lotioning up her body underneath her robe. "I think we're more alike than you think." She looks at me squarely and lifts an eyebrow in challenge. "But how about you don't sleep on the couch either?"
"It's uncomfortable to sleep on anyway." I rub a thumb over my lip.
"Is not," she argues, offended.
"It is." I turn to climb in the bed.
"What do you think you're doing?" Her question stops me.
"What?"
She rolls her eyes with a long-suffering sigh. "That's my side."
I straighten, hands up in surrender. "My bad."
"Scoot." She shoos me past her, and I go around the bed, shaking my head in amusement. I don't know how she does it, but my earlier flight response is nowhere to be found. I'd rather stay here and argue with Emmy Dubois than be anywhere else right now.
"I hope you don't mind if I sleep naked?" Her hand releases the hair tied up on her head so it comes cascading to her shoulders. Then she unbelts the loosely-tied robe and lets it fall to her feet before lifting the duvet and climbing in. "Are you just going to stand there? Tuna will be out of a job, you'll catch all the bugs with that open mouth of yours."
She rolls onto her side away from me and reaches out a long toned arm to the bedside lamp I'd turned on earlier and plunges us into darkness.
I smile in the dark and climb under her covers. I'm probably going to freak out again in the morning, but for now I'll just go with it.
35
Emmy
I stretched, my muscles aching. I danced hard last night. It felt great.
Trystan.
His name, his face and a thousand memories, dark and light, innocent and explicit, were like an explosion in my mind, blanking out everything else. I blinked slowly in the darkness. The heaviness of my body and stickiness of my eyelids told me I'd only been asleep a few hours and could definitely sleep a few more. It was close to dawn.
I turned and made out the outline of Trystan lying on his back. He was breathing deeply,
steadily. I wished it was lighter so I could see his face at rest, his beautiful features relaxed, his eyelashes resting against his cheeks.
Last night after we’d slept together was like luring a stray dog inside for a warm meal. Chances were he'd bolt at daybreak.
Besides, he’d already told me he was leaving today. A week ago I had no idea he even existed. Now he was in every crevice of my life. My home. My family. My friends. My mind. My heart.
I never saw him coming, but I knew he had quickly become an addiction that would be impossible to quit. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I acknowledged the choice wouldn't be mine. I'd have to be happy with the time we'd had. I wasn't sure how he'd made it past my defenses. Emotionally I was right in the place I always avoided.
Sighing, I gave in to the longing to be held close, and I slipped up against his warm body, my head nestling into his shoulder. What did I have to lose? He'd either wake up now and leave, or later and . . . leave.
He groaned, and I held my breath. Then his arm lifted and curled around me, warm and tight, and he let out a long sigh before his breathing returned to normal.
I exhaled and closed my eyes, drifting back to sleep.
* * *
A weight settled on my side. Tuna always liked to perch there. Why? I had no idea. There was light behind my eyelids, and the sounds of a city waking up outside my window. Then I became aware of the heat at my back. It wasn't my cat, it was Trystan spooning me. I bit my lip as arousal spread through me, wondering if he was awake yet.
But then he inhaled against my hair and his body pulled me closer. "You smell so good," he whispered.
"Um, did you bring a broom handle to bed? Or are you happy to see me?"
I felt his body shake with laughter behind me, and he pressed his erection harder against my ass. "It's a broomstick. Yours. You can ride it if you want."
"Are you calling me a witch?" I said, outraged.
He flipped me onto my back.
I was greeted to the sight of “Morning Trystan,” gray-blue eyes crinkled with mirth and soft brown hair sticking up all over his head.