He bends down, all menacing-like. “Are you done making inconsequential comments?”
“Maybe.”
He smiles slightly, which makes me tingle a little bit. He reaches out and takes my book from my hands. And before I can protest, he throws it at the leather couch we’ve been standing by.
“What –?”
“Are you experiencing any discomfort? Any soreness?”
I shiver at his question. Every sore spot, every ache flares to life. Just by him asking about it in such a frank, almost clinical manner. Just by him looking at me like that. From top to bottom. His eyes lingering everywhere. On my lips, my throat, my chest, stomach, the juncture of my thighs. He travels down and pauses at every curve and every valley.
I might as well be not wearing any clothes. He might as well be touching me with his hands.
“Wh-where?”
It’s a legit question. I’m actually sore everywhere below the waist.
“Anywhere. Everywhere.”
“Well, a little. I mean, in my thighs and butt.” I’m compelled to explain, “I’m not very athletic.”
“I’m aware.”
I frown at him. “How?”
“I’ve seen you trying to touch your feet. Or was it the ground?” His lips twitch. “It was quite informative.”
I gasp and slap his chest, remembering that day outside when Renn roped me into doing stupid yoga stuff with her. It was also the day he kissed me.
Still, I say in my snottiest voice, “It’s called downward dog. And it happens to be very difficult. One of the more advanced yoga moves.”
“Is that so?”
No, I’m lying. But whatever.
I sniff. “Yes.”
Simon throws me a lopsided smile, before tipping his chin to one of the chairs. “Sit.”
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to figure out what he wants. But of course, I can’t.
Slowly I amble to the chair, but at the last minute, I change my mind and boost myself up on his desk. I sit at the edge, my eyebrows up in a challenge, my legs swinging back and forth.
His gaze is challenging too as he approaches me and fits himself between my legs. Then he leans over me and my back arches at his proximity. Still eyeing me, he picks something up from the desk.
“Here.”
I look down at his hand. There are two pills sitting in the middle of it. Both white, both tiny.
My heart starts racing at the sight of them. Is he giving them to me?
Meds are not what I’d call my friends. Well, for obvious reasons.
I hate everything about them.
Everything.
Still, I take them from his hands. I do it.
My fingers might be trembling, and I might be apprehensive but I transfer them onto my palm, whispering, “Can I have some water, please?”
His eyes turn harsh at my question. “Aren’t you going to ask what they’re for?”
I should. I really should.
But I won’t.
As much as I hate the meds, I love the man giving them to me. And I trust him. Last night was just the beginning. I’m going to show my faith in him every chance I get.
I’m going to show him that he’s perfect exactly the way he is.
I keep staring into his eyes as I shake my head. “No.”
Simon gnashes his teeth. A vein pops at his temple and I feel like he’s going to explode. But he releases a breath and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Damn it, Willow,” he curses, exasperated. “You’re supposed to ask.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the smart thing to do. What if someone gives you something that could harm you? You’re on all kinds of drugs. What if these hurt you? What if these cause an Adverse Drug Reaction in your system? What then? Do you know how stupid it is to take something – meds, no less – from a man you don’t know?”
“I know it’s stupid. But it’s you. I do know you.”
Scoffing, he shakes his head. “You don’t.”
Why don’t you tell me?
“I know you won’t hurt me.”
Simon breathes out a long breath again, his chest puffing out in his crisp blue shirt. It goes so well with his eyes. He snatches those white monsters from my hand and holds one up. “This. Is for your pain. It’s Tylenol. It won’t react to any of the drugs you’re taking.”
Oh.
Oh God.
Why? Why did he have to go and do that?
He’s stupid, isn’t he? He has to be. He’s completely sealed his fate. He got me pills because he thought I was in pain.
How the fuck can I let him go now? And then, to grow all tight when I say I trust him? How can I not trust him?
Idiot. He’s a major idiot.
An idiot I’m irrevocably in love with.
He tries to give the pill back to me, but I don’t take it. Instead, I open my mouth and peek my tongue out. I want him to feed it to me.
His cheekbones turn dark with a flush that I find so fascinating, so alluring that I want to touch it. But I won’t. Not yet. I want him to fix my pain first. I know it’ll soothe him; he’s big on consequences.
When he places the pill on my tongue, I close my lips around his fingers and suck on them. Like I would suck on his cock. As soon as this pill business is over.
His gray eyes turn almost black, like a storm is coming and I’ll have to batten down the hatches. The poor man doesn’t know that I love the storms. They don’t scare me. And neither does he.
I let go of his fingers and he offers me a glass of water. “Drink.”
His voice is rough, and as I take a sip of water and swallow the medicine, I glance at his pants. Yup, he’s turned on. Hard and ripe for me.
When I’m done, I give him back the glass and swing my legs back and forth, biting my lip.
His puff of breath is both frustrated and turned on. Then he picks up the other pill. “And this… you know what this is for?”
I shake my head.
My ignorance doesn’t help with the tightness of his features and body. I wish I could take away his frustration with my touch but he clearly has something to say and a point to make. So I’m being good and listening to him.
“This is the morning-after pill,” he almost snaps.
And my breath hitches. I stop swinging my legs.
Finally, he’s happy with my reaction. I can see that. His eyes look satisfied with that fearful hiccup in my breath. “You know why you have to take this?”
I grab the end of the table to keep myself from sagging. The fullness that I’ve been feeling ever since I got up in the morning acts up now. It’s much worse, much more potent, alive, as I relive those moments from last night.
I’m reliving every stroke, every ridge and groove of his cock as it slid in and out of my snug channel. He was bare inside me.
“B-because we didn’t... I...”
Finally, he touches me. He puts both his hands on my waist and hauls me even closer. “Because you drive me so crazy, you tempt me so fucking much that I forgot the condom. I didn’t even think about it.”
I see him coming on my untamed curls and my stomach, and I swear I can still feel his cum on there.
“But you came on my… You came outside.”
Groaning, he fists the fabric of my t-shirt. “Yeah. And that’s because I’m sick. I wanted to see my cum spray on your cunt. I wanted to brand you.”
His words make me arch my back and show off my heavy, engorged tits to him. “Oh. I d-didn’t…”
“Do you know when I realized I fucked up?” He swallows. “When I woke up with your blood on my cock.”
A tiny whimper escapes me, and I grip his biceps. “I woke up with blood on my thighs too. And your cum. Dried up on my tummy.”
His forehead is resting on mine and I can feel his words on my mouth when he says, “Do you know what happens when a man comes inside you, Willow? D
o you know what will happen if I fill your pussy with my cum?”
I jerk out a nod. “Yes.”
“Yeah? Tell me.”
My fingers dig into his arms at his tone. Like he thinks I really am naïve. He thinks I don’t know anything about the world and it’s his job to educate me. He’s really teaching me worldly things.
I don’t know why this turns me on so much. But it does.
Gasping, I begin, “If y-you come inside me and fill me up with your cum, I can get pregnant.”
The P word makes me both horny and scared. I’m so confused by my reaction. The only thing I should be feeling is fear. I should be scared of getting pregnant. I shouldn’t be getting wet.
Simon brings his hand to cup my cheek. “Do you want that? Do you want to get pregnant, Willow?”
At last, I feel the right emotion. Fear.
My eyes widen, and I shake my head, almost violently. “No. Never. I don’t…”
Simon frowns, his sexual haze leaching out of his eyes as he studies my reaction. “You don’t what?”
Swallowing, I grip his shirt. “I don’t ever want to get pregnant. Not ever.”
He moves away, causing me to let go of him. He’s all serious now as he scrutinizes me. “Explain.”
I huff, blowing at my bangs.
What just happened?
I’m hot and horny and so fucking afraid at the same time. I huff again.
I’ve never really thought about getting pregnant. I mean, come on. I’ve only had one boyfriend and until last night, I never even had sex.
Unlike other girls, I daydream about death, not giving birth to new life.
But as soon as Simon uttered the word pregnant, I knew. I knew it in my heart that I’ll never have babies. I can never have them.
“Look at me, Simon. Look at where I am. I have to take meds, do therapy to be normal. Not that I’m ashamed of it. I mean, I’m trying not to be. I’m learning. But I can’t have babies. Ever. What if my baby turns out like me? What if I curse her with my illness.” I sweep my bangs off my face. “I can’t do that to her. I –”
“Willow,” he cuts me off with a black frown. “Shut the fuck up.”
And I do.
Simon crosses his arms across his chest. “You’ll have babies.”
“What?”
“Not now but when the time is right. And you won’t think about cursing them because it’s bullshit. There’s nothing wrong with you. I’ve said it a hundred times before and I’m saying it again, you’re a fighter. There’s nothing wrong with being a fighter. You’re not less than anyone. If anything, you’ll teach them to be like you. You’ll teach them to fight. Am I clear?”
My eyes have welled up and my throat is full of one and only one emotion: love. For him.
As if the pills weren’t enough? He has to go and do this.
Seriously. If I wasn’t in love with him, I would think he’s being cruel by being so… nice.
I nod wordlessly.
“Excellent,” he clips and produces the pill in front of me from out of nowhere. “Even though, I didn’t come inside you. We’re not taking any chances.”
Dutifully, I open my mouth and he puts it on my tongue before giving me a drink of water. Then he sets the glass aside and flicks the bangs out of my eyes, wiping the tears that have escaped off my cheeks.
God, I’m such a mess. Such a giant, sniffling mess.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“For what?”
“For ruining your plans.”
He eyes me, still tucking my wayward hair behind my ears. “My plans.”
I nod, clutching his shirt and bringing him in for a hug. I put my head on his chest and swing my legs to and fro. “You wanted to have sex with me, but I ruined it by crying.”
His laugh vibrates his chest. “What makes you think I wanted to have sex with you?”
Shifting away, I look up at his smiling face. “Why did you close the blinds?”
“There’s too much sun.”
“There’s not. You locked the door, too.”
“Too much noise.”
“That’s such a lame answer.”
I glance down at his dick again. It’s straining against his pants. I wouldn’t call it all hard but it’s half-mast, making a liar out of him.
“Your dick is getting hard,” I tell him, squirming on his desk, watching his erection getting to its full height.
“It’s biology. If you keep staring at it with your bratty eyes, it will get that way.”
I give him those bratty eyes. “I wanna suck it.” He flinches at my declaration and I keep going. “But I won’t ask you for that. And you know what else? I won’t be begging you to fuck me, either.”
“You won’t?”
I pout. “No. Because if someone wants to fuck me, then he should have the courtesy to tell me that himself. I have pride, you know.”
Finally, he stops smoothing down my hair and starts playing with the seam of my lips. “That’s good, Willow. Pride is good. One of us should have that.”
I try to press my thighs together but can’t. Because he’s between them. I end up squeezing his hips.
“You don’t have it anymore?” I ask, puffing out those words on the pad of his thumb.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have my pride, Willow, because I feel like a man on death row. Begging for life. Begging to live one more day. Begging to fuck you one more time.”
Winding my arms around his neck, I arch my spine. “What’d you do to get on death row?”
“Took your virginity. Made you sore. Made you bleed.”
He looks like he’s imagining it, making me bleed. I’m imagining it too.
Maybe it wasn’t the ideal situation or the place to have sex for the first time. But it was perfect for us.
This is where we met, at Heartstone. This is where I accepted myself and this is where I gave myself to him. I wouldn’t change a thing about last night or any of it.
I place a soft kiss on his lips. “Yeah. You did make a mess on me.”
Growling, he smacks a hard kiss on my lips, his fingers getting buried in my hair. “Then there’s no hope for me, is there? I should be fucking hanged for dirtying up the snow princess.”
I shrug. “Maybe you can live one more day. Maybe you can make it up to me, for making me all dirty and sore, so you can fuck me again.”
As soon as I say the words, he slides me off the desk and carries me in his arms. It makes me realize once again how small I am compared to him. How tiny and delicate, and how he can pick me up and put me wherever he wants me.
In this case, it’s the brown leather armchair.
He makes me put my knees up there and grab the arm with my sweaty palms, leather sagging under my weight.
I twist and look back. “Simon, I –"
He’s behind me, large and looming. His shoulders are jerking up and down with his ragged breaths as he looks up. “I know what you need.”
He goes to work on my yoga pants. He pushes them down and down, until they band around mid-thigh, leaving my ass bare and exposed. Despite the embarrassment that he can see everything in the daylight, my entire behind, I breathe in the first sigh of relief. If he’s rearranging my clothes, that means I’m one step closer to getting fucked.
And that’s all I care about right now.
Simon goes down to his haunches and I feel him sliding something on my feet. My toes wiggle and I realize it’s my bunny slippers. I must have lost them somewhere along the five feet to the armchair.
“Keep them on your princess feet. Don’t fucking lose them,” he commands before putting his mouth directly on my pussy and making all words die on my tongue.
I don’t even get the time to appreciate the whole kinkiness of him putting on my bunny slippers and calling me a princess again. The whole wrongness and rightness of it.
I arc
h my back as he takes a swipe of my core, trying to move away from his hot tongue because I’m so sensitive and sore. But he grabs hold of my bare ass cheeks and keeps me in place. His mouth stings my swollen and bruised parts, but he’s also managing to soothe them.
He’s lapping and licking, breathing on my most sensitive part, which is rendered tight because of the lack of space on the chair and the fact that my thighs are almost squished together due to the waistband around them.
When his fingers dig into my ass and he grabs a fistful of flesh, pulling it apart, I bite down on the leather. Its sour taste hits my tongue as Simon digs deeper into my channel. He’s licking my hole, going around and around, and I’m leaving indentations of my teeth on the leather writhing against his tongue.
Soon, Simon makes me come with his mouth and the leather absorbs my sobs.
Quitting my pussy, Simon stands up and somehow, I manage to turn around and look at him. Watching my half-nakedness, he unbuttons his pants and lowers them, along with his underwear and gets his cock out. This is the first time I’ve seen it in daylight.
Jesus, it’s big. And swollen.
No wonder I had to jack him off with two hands. The head of it seems purple in color, darker than the rest of the length. And he’s oozing out pre-cum. A white, pearly drop that makes me think of white, pearly gates.
Keeper of the black gates of Heartstone has a dick that makes me think of the white gates of heaven.
God, I want to suck it.
It’s like he knows what I’m thinking. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to hero-worship my cock.”
I blush. “I want to.”
“Not happening,” he growls. “I told you. You don’t belong on your knees.”
In front of you, I do.
Instead of telling him that, I keep my mouth shut. One day I’ll suck his cock no matter what.
I watch him fish out a condom from his lowered pants and something warm overcomes me. This is the final piece. Him taking care of me. Him thinking about fucking me and planning for it.
I rub my thighs together, anticipating the fullness.
Putting the latex on his length, Simon whips his eyes up to mine. “My princess wants to get fucked, doesn’t she?”
I nod, biting my lip. “Yes.”
Medicine Man Page 24