Sugar

by Lydia Michaels

  “Goddamn, your mouth feels incredible.” His strokes slowed as he savored the delicate curling motion of my tongue. “Moan. I want to hear you.”

  I let out a small sound that took on the pattern of his thrusts. That only egged him on. The faster he moved, the less he penetrated, but it was a lot to manage. My eyes were watering, and my nose inhaled his intense scent with each rapid breath. Saliva built and there was no time to swallow.

  I should have felt dehumanized, meaningless. But the sounds streaming from him kept those ugly feelings at bay. He gasped and panted, plunging over my tongue as I clenched those red panties tight in my fist.

  “Look at me.”

  I forced my stare upward, eyes wide.

  “So fucking sexy. I can smell your pussy. Sucking my cock makes you wet, and I love it. You’re gonna be soaked when I finally work my way down there.”

  I moaned, and he slowed, taking careful strokes over my tongue.

  “Tighten your lips, Avery. Suck me hard. The tighter your lips, the more I know you want me.”

  Lifting my head, I pulled my lips tight, and he shivered, his body shifting his weight to his legs as he cupped the back of my head.

  “Keep looking at me.”

  My eyes watered and my lashes fluttered, but I held his stare, certain my face was flushed, and my lips were swollen.

  “So fucking sexy.”

  His fingers sifted through my tangled hair as he pulled my face to him, stuffing my mouth with his cock until my shoulders tensed. He slid free, and I gasped for air.

  “Do you want to stop? Is it too much?”

  I blinked up at him, unsure why or how I was so turned on by this, but I was. I was sopping wet. Jesus, no one ever did this to me before—not the way he was doing it. I wasn’t blowing him. He was fucking my mouth. And I liked it. It was as if I wasn’t there. Or I was, but he needed me like this in this moment, for his pleasure. And dear God, did I want to please him.

  Perhaps there was a zip of panic that my dominant nature had gone dormant, but it was so small and slight I hardly felt anything beyond the dark desire to please. What the hell was happening to me? A stranger was suddenly running the show in my head, controlling my body. And I liked the way she drove.

  Blinking up at him, I rasped, “More.”

  His hand tightened in my hair, and he impaled me, holding my face tight to his pelvic bone as he groaned.

  “I think you have a dirty side I like. I think you like it, too.” The fist in my hair tightened, jerking me back. “Can I call you my dirty little slut, Avery?”

  Fuck. Never agree to anything in the throes of passion. That was rule number one about sex. “Yes.”

  “Tell me who you are.”

  “I’m your dirty little slut.”

  “Show me.”

  I angled forward, mouth open wide and his fist tightened, preventing me from closing the distance. I whimpered, delirious with wanting him.

  “What does my dirty little slut want?”

  “Your cock.”

  “Beg me for it.”

  “Please give me your cock, Noah. I want you to fuck my mouth like a dirty slut.”

  “Goddamn.” He shoved his dick in my mouth and jerked my head up and down, grinding into my lips and growling out a stream of filthy words. It was … strangely empowering.

  My fingers tightened around the panties, and my lips formed an airtight seal as he plunged in and out of my mouth. My scalp tingled as he pumped my mouth over his drilling cock. My arms moved, but I held the panties, sure to not let any red show.

  “I need to see your hand, Avery.”

  I extended my arm, so it rested in his view. My other hand curled around his hip, my fingernails digging into his skin. He ripped his dick from my mouth, and I gasped, catching my breath. I looked up at him, unsure why he stopped.

  “Lick your fingers.”

  I frowned but did as he asked—what he told me to do…

  He shoved his dick back into my mouth, holding my hair tightly as he pressed to the back of my throat and stilled. My wet fingers tightened on his hip as my eyes leaked. He caught my hand on his hip and dragged it to his ass.

  Suddenly, he released my hair. My head dropped back to the bed, and I panted. He didn’t give me much time to catch my breath.

  Back in, fucking deep to the back of my throat, he moved my hand again, this time to his crack.

  “Do it.”

  My eyes flashed wide, my breath coming so quickly I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly. He rose up on his knees, his cock still in my mouth, his hand braced on the headboard.

  “I said, do it.”

  He wanted me to finger him? My touch slipped down the seam of his ass and pressed on his puckered flesh.

  He grunted and slowed his thrusts. “All the way in.”

  Seemed there were two dirty sluts here tonight.

  I pressed, and he let out a guttural moan, his body trembling as he sank his cock deep. I withdrew by the slightest degree and pressed in again. His thrusts slowed, and his moans intensified the longer I fingered him. It was evident how much pleasure he drew from my touch there, but also how new this experience was for him.

  His motions turned jerky, and he withdrew his cock from my mouth. “Enough.”

  I removed my finger and waited, unsure if something was wrong. “Noah?”

  “Just a second.”

  He climbed off the bed and reached into a drawer. He tossed a few condoms on the sheets and a bottle of lube.

  “Lift up your legs.”

  I lifted my bound legs, and he rested my ankles on one shoulder. The sound of foil tearing mingled with his heavy breathing. Then he was pressing my legs back until my knees were at my chest, and his cock was seeking the slightest entrance between my clamped thighs. He nudged my pussy, wet with arousal and glided home.

  The fit was incredibly tight. I wasn’t sure how he was managing, but he made it work, squeezing in and out in quick, deep strokes. He used my body like a toy for his pleasure, and I let him. I wasn’t Avery Johansson tonight. I was Noah Wolfe’s dirty little slut.

  Our cries of pleasure beat against the silence, dominating every other sense. It was all pleasure. Raw, unrefined pleasure.

  His hips bucked faster, and his body shook. His spine jerked, and his eyes rolled shut in a magnificent show of male ecstasy. I knew I’d given him everything he wanted. Somehow that equated to me getting what I wanted, too. But I wasn’t sure how.

  The belt loosened, and my legs fanned apart. My pussy was swollen and throbbing, and my heart pounded in an erratic beat. He stripped away the condom and rolled to his back, cupping my head and pulling me to rest my cheek on his abs.

  I let go of the panties, not sure I needed to hold them anymore, and kissed his stomach. He groaned and ran a hand through my hair. I kissed the top of his softening cock and shifted lower, my hands gently massaging and cupping his balls.

  I thought about how he took care of me the other night, worshipped my body, laving kisses all over my tender flesh long after I came. I wanted to give him the same satisfaction, so I crawled between his legs and licked every curve of him.

  He watched me without saying a word. I tended to his body, and then I came back to what he’d wanted earlier, realizing the lube might have been for him.

  “Can I see that bottle?”

  His gaze lifted to my face, held, and then he nudged the bottle within my reach, not saying a word. I massaged the oil into my hands, coated my fingers, and looked at him.

  “Do you want me to?”

  His feet parted, and his knees lifted. I reached beneath his heavy sack and massaged, stroking, and gently probing. The lube made a huge difference, and the moment I sank into him, he moaned.

  His cock twitched and started to swell as I slowly pumped my finger in and out. The edge was off, and our pace had slowed substantially. I tried for another finger, and he tensed.

  “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

  He nodded tigh
tly, and his body visibly relaxed. My mouth lowered to the root of his cock, kissing, licking, and whispering words of praise.

  He was thick and swollen by the time I was pumping my fingers easily. I stroked him slowly with my fist, watching him come to terms with the visible pleasure he was deriving from this.

  There seemed a silent handoff of power, as graceful as Olympian athletes pass a torch. This time, there was no struggle or argument, only acceptance. I surrendered to him, thereby earning some of his trust, and he proved he could surrender to me in return. It was a breathtaking give and take, one I’d never experienced before.

  “Come for me, Noah.”

  My fingers teased deep, and he arched and moaned, come erupting over my fingers in ribbons of pearl as his body bowed beneath my touch.

  His weight dropped to the bed, and I removed my hand, nestling alongside him and smiling against his ribs. A few nights ago, he flipped out when I touched him there. Now, he was practically begging for it and coming on command.

  Somehow, we figured out a way to both get exactly what we wanted. And while I’d had previous lovers who allowed me to play to my proclivities’ delight, this was the first time I felt this sort of intimacy with a man.

  I … liked it. I could even come to … love it. Be still my cold, twisted heart. Be still.

  31

  Avery

  I definitely had a boyfriend.

  Sort of.

  Maybe.

  Every day that I got home from class, there was a surprise waiting at my door. Sometimes it was something as sweet as a single, long stem rose, but other times it was something clever, like the copy of the Kama Sutra with highlighted passages and notes telling me to pencil him into my schedule and to stretch.

  My favorite surprise was a burned CD. Inside the case, he drew a picture of a house with two hearts. In marker, the CD simply said, PLAY ME.

  I popped it into my laptop and smiled as Harry Styles Sweet Creature played. It immediately became my favorite song. Our song.

  I loved the lyrics. Two hearts in one home, arguing and making it hard. Being drawn to a place by another person…

  Every day I left campus, my steps quickened at the thought of Noah. My apartment no longer seemed like a place I leased. It felt like a home. It was a strange notion, being that even Blackwater hadn’t felt like more than a shelter after a lifetime of living there. Blackwater would always be a mistake I’d been born into. It would never be my home.

  At night, before my appointments, we’d share a quick meal, usually at his place because I didn’t cook. Then, as soon as I wrapped up with my clients, he was there, carrying me to his bed or mine.

  There was no balance, no structure. There was no decided bottom or a top. It was whatever it had to be in that moment, whatever one of us needed. And whoever needed it most usually got their way. Strangely, that seemed to work for us.

  It had only been a week since the tension broke and we could be ourselves without wanting to freak out on the other, but it was an incredible week, the sort of week that made you lose sight of reality and wonder if you ever had to live in the real world again.

  I wanted to stay tucked away in our cozy world forever, where the snow kept us in, and Winston kept others out. But life still found a way to intrude.

  My mother was out of money again, and that meant my phone was ringing nonstop. When I finally got back to her, she was impatient for an excuse as to why I’d been avoiding her.

  “I’ve been busy, Mom.”

  “Do you think I was born under the stupid tree, Avery Dean? You’re shirkin’ your responsibilities and I ain’t had heat since the boiler went last Tuesday.”

  “Did you have someone come look at it? Maybe you’re just out of fuel.”

  “It ain’t the fuel. I had a man out yesterday. He says the whole thing’s shot and I need a new one.”

  “How much does that cost?”

  “Two grand.”

  “What? Mom, I don’t have that kind of money. I just paid my tuition, and I need to save for student teaching.”

  “School before family?”

  “It’s my internship. I have a commute now, and I need a ton of supplies, including an iPad—”

  “Oh, well, don’t let my need for heat and hot water get in the way of your fancy techy needs.”

  “These are requirements. I can’t help what they tell me to get.”

  “Avery Dean, you figure out a way to get me that money before my toes fall off and my hair catches a squirrel because it’s so filthy. Or so help me Jesus, I’ll take a bus to Philadelphia and come stay with you until the weather breaks.”

  “No, don’t do that.” My mother absolutely could not come here. “I’ll figure out a way to get the money. I just need a few days. I’ll get it.”

  “I can’t go another week like this, Avery. I’m lucky the pipes haven’t burst.”

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  After the conversation with my mother, I was so distracted I could barely focus on my studies. I was supposed to be writing up my first lesson plans and researching the staff at the school so I’d remember everyone’s names, but I was consumed by anxious worry that my mother might show up on my doorstep uninvited.

  I wasn’t a terrible person. But my mother had a way of making everything about her and nothing about me. If she came here…

  I just couldn’t let that happen. She’d see how I was living and feel entitled to everything I owned. She’d never return to Blackwater and having her close would feel like an albatross around my neck.

  She embarrassed me too many times for me to trust her in the vicinity of my clients. Micah wouldn’t know what to make of her. And Noah… I couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing anything or anyone associated with my past in Blackwater.

  I needed to get that money, and I needed it in as soon as possible. Hating that I had to dig to the bottom of the barrel for a solution, I called my least favorite client, Don, but he didn’t answer.

  “Hey, Don, it’s Avery. I haven’t heard from you in a few weeks. I was wondering if you had plans tomorrow night. Call me.”

  When he didn’t call, I left another message. He usually got right back to me. He was the only client that I could wheedle a few grand out of in a matter of hours and not feel guilty for taking advantage of him because he was a gross, old pervert. Exactly why he wasn’t one of my regulars.

  By Friday, when Don still hadn’t called back, I started to panic. I wasted so much time banking on the fastest solution and blew my chances to earn money in other ways. The weekend was here, and I had nothing.

  “Fuck!” I tossed my phone onto my lesson plans as I got Don’s voicemail again. Why wasn’t he returning my calls?

  My mom had left six more messages that day, each one promising that she’d be on a bus to Philly if the money wasn’t on its way by Monday. I called Don again.

  “Hello?”

  Caught off guard by the female voice, I stilled.

  “Hello? Who is this?” the voice repeated.

  “Is … Don there?”

  There was a strange pause. “How did you know my dad?”

  My stomach twisted as too many realizations bombarded me at once. One, I never wanted to picture Don’s children or speak to them. Two, why was this woman speaking in the past tense? I knew why. On our last date, Don could barely cross a room without getting winded.

  Oh God… He was dead, and I couldn’t do more than sit there in silence.

  “Hello? I know you’re there. I can hear you breathing.”

  I hung up the phone.

  Should I cry? Was there something wrong with me for not crying? My only regret was the loss of income his death caused. What kind of fucked up person thought like that?

  Me. I thought like that. Don was my last resort, the one person I always felt better than even when things were at the worst, and I shamefully posed like a teenage girl as his fat, sausage figures snapped pictures and he panted.

  God, I
knew he masturbated to those pictures, and I didn’t care. I just wanted his money. Even Micah didn’t know how low I’d go when in a pinch and now I was out of options and probably crossing a line into that of a sociopath because I felt no grief over his actual death.

  How could I when I was still panicked my mom would show up? I needed to do something.

  Rubbing my head, I reached for my phone and dialed the only other person who might give me that kind of money, but it wasn’t the same as asking for it from Don. Don was gross. With him, I knew I earned every nasty penny. But asking Micah…

  Micah already did so much for me. My debt to him was becoming top heavy, and my simple services no longer felt reciprocal to the many luxuries he provided. It was wrong to ask for more than he already offered, and I hated taking advantage of his generosity.

  I sent him an email asking for him to call me when he had a free minute. My phone rang ten minutes later.

  “Avery? You sounded upset in your email.”

  “I’m in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Financial trouble. I didn’t know who else to go to, and I need a lot of money fast.”

  “How much?”

  “Two thousand dollars. Maybe more. I’m not really sure.”

  “That’s nothing to get upset over, love.” My phone pinged. “I’ve just sent twenty-five hundred to your account.”

  My eyes closed, but the relief was bitter. “I’ll pay you back. We can work out a trade or—”

  “Stop. That’s not how this works. I’m sure you need the money, and I hate to hear you upset. Is it family?”

  He had a very sketchy picture of my background but knew enough about my circumstances to discern I was running away from something. “Yes.”

  “Is everyone okay?”

  “They will be now.”

  “Take care of things, Avery. See that they get what they need, but perhaps tell them this is the last time. You work too hard to take responsibility for those who aren’t there for you.”

  “I know. But it’s … complicated.”

  “You have such an empathetic streak.” If only he knew the real me, the side that didn’t show emotion over death and acted like an absolute sociopath. “It’s your nature to want to take care of others.”