Page 54 of Tempest

“You think I won’t be able to keep up with you, hotshot?” Odette asks, a brow raising steadily over one amused eye.

“You’ve had a rough day, pumpkin,” I tease. “I wouldn’t want you to wear yourself out too quickly.” I finger the towel, right at her cleavage, pulling her an inch closer.

“Pumpkin?”

“Hotshot?” I fire back, and she smiles wickedly. “Be sure, Ode. If we do this, you need to be one hundred percent.” I won’t have her hating me for this, too.

“You need to be one hundred percent, Gavin. You can’t fuck me tonight and lay claim on me tomorrow. That’s not what this is. It’s not what I need.”

I’ve been laying claim to her in one way or another since that first night in front of the shop she worked for at eighteen. I may have placed obstacle after obstacle, but I always saw her as my end game. When I’ve imagined myself old and retired somewhere with Tori coming over to visit with my grandkids, it’s been Odette my fucked-up brain envisioned by my side. So, no, I don’t agree with her terms entirely.

But fuck it. I drop my towel and stand there waiting for her to do the same.

“Birth control?”

“I’m covered,” she says breathlessly, her eyes, once again, darting between mine. “Clean?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then fuck me, Gavin,” she purrs and releases the twist holding up her towel. Finally, I get to take her in without shame or fear. She’s thin, yet with curves from her full tits and ass. Her skin, flawless and unmarred, is the opposite of mine that’s consistently finding new scars. Her nipples harden while I study every inch of her body, from her still wet hair that clings to her shoulders, to the toes she has painted a shade that matches that perfect mouth of hers.

I can’t wait any longer.

Palming the back of her skull, I pull her mouth to mine. Dive in. She asked for feral, she’ll fucking get it. She matches my intensity, her own hands finding purchase in the curls at my temples, her leg rising against mine as if she’s trying to climb me. I help her by pulling her knee up to my hip. She rises on her toes to keep balance as she starts to writhe against me. Hip to hip.

We’re so ready, but it’s far too soon for my cock to drive in. She wants oblivion, not a quickie.

Abandoning her head, I snake my hand down her side, over the ample curve of her plump ass and slip my fingers into her cunt. She cries into my mouth and tries to rise further, but her height won’t allow it. I help with a hand on her ass, easily lifting her up so she can wrap those silky-smooth legs around my waist.

“Get inside me,” she cries.

“Fuck my fingers, Ode. I’ll get you there,” I tell her.

“It won’t be enough,” she practically whines, and I stifle a laugh while I insert another. She hums and starts working her hips in earnest.

“Do you dream of this, Ode? How long have you been aching for me to make you come?”

“I haven’t,” she pants.

“Liar.” I walk us out of the bathroom and unceremoniously drop her onto the bed. She pouts at the sudden change, since it robbed her of an orgasm. She can play games, but I want those played in truths. “You can come when you tell me the fucking truth.”

She narrows her eyes but doesn’t recant.

Dropping to my knees on the floor, I pull her body to the end of the bed, placing a leg over each shoulder and her cunt right where I want it. She’s beautiful everywhere. Perfect. Odette props herself up on her elbows, allowing a clear view down her body to where I perch at her entrance. Still, she says nothing.

I tease her first with soft air that makes her eyelashes flutter. Then I scent her, just the tip of my nose grazing her folds and clit. That makes her lips part, and her blink lasts a long few seconds. A kiss to her thigh and another a little closer. She twitches, needy and impatient. I feel the tension in her legs as she curls her toes behind my back.

My tongue slowly takes a first taste, not too deep or long. Just enough to have us both anticipating the next.

“I fucking knew,” I whisper.

“You knew what?”

“That I remembered the way you taste. The way you smell. Like an iced cinnamon roll.”

“I do not,” she protests.

“You fucking do. And it’s been burned into my senses for decades. I couldn’t escape it, ever,” I say before going in for another taste. Only this time, I don’t stop, I can’t. Not when she’s this delicious, this ready and willing. Not when her thighs tighten around my head because she is just as hungry for this as I am. Her hips rock, matching the same rhythm as my tongue, my nose bumping her clit with each thrust as she earnestly fucks my face. I pull away slightly to ask, “The truth?”

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