Page 62 of By the Fae

He instantly understood what I meant. I didn’t know how, but he did. Goldie vanished the gap between our bodies and pressed his lips to my temple, his fingers twisting circles in my curls. “Gods, baby girl, are you going to let me fuck your mouth?”

Those words, from his lips, whispered into my hair, almost knocked my knees out from underneath me. There were moments in his bedroom when I thought I absolutely, positively could not be any more turned on. And then he would go and prove me wrong. He palmed his erection with his other hand.

I’d given men oral before, sure, but I’d never done it well. I’d never brought a guy to completion. Probably doing something wrong. But Seth would expect this to be something I’d have experience with, right? Any future boyfriend would. So, I ought to get that experience.

That, and maybe, a little part of me just wanted to . . . taste him.

“But can you not look at me? While I . . .”

I may have wanted to . . . do things to his . . . appendage, but that didn’t stop me from feeling shy about it.

With that, Goldie leapt over to his bed, opened the bottom drawer of his nightstand and, like a magician, produced a silk scarf and tie. He climbed onto the bed, and lay in the dead centre, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Then blindfold me, baby girl, and tie me to the headboard. Do whatever you want with my body. Use me. Break me. Fuck me with that pretty little mouth.”

Oh Gods, I liked that idea. Wow, yeah, okay. Iwaskinky.

“Can I just ask one favour before you cut off my vision? Can you take those farmhand trousers off? And your shirt?” he said, adding, “Slowly. Leave your underwear on.”

I did as he asked, teasingly peeling my clothes from my body, and tossing them towards a chair, revealing my pink bra and knickers. Not a particularly sexy set, but at least they matched. I didn’t know why I felt that was important.

“Thank you,” he said, his politeness catching me off guard for a second.

I climbed onto the bed, knelt either side of Godie’s hips, and wound the silky black fabric around his wrists, knotting it at the metal bar at the top of his headboard. My breath was already laboured, my knickers damp. My breasts and stomach brushed against his face, and he bit back his groan through gritted teeth, making my abdomen clench. A new Pavlovian response.

“Catch you on the other side,” he said to me as I placed the soft satin of the scarf around his eyes.

Gods, who was I? Extremely, ridiculously, almost overwhelmingly horny. That’s who. I shimmied down his body, pushed his jersey up over those defined stomach muscles, just high enough to see a slither of each pec. And I took a second, or twenty, to appreciate how physically perfect Goldie was. His body, his face, what I could see of it and what I remembered, was like a love letter to ancient mythological sculpture. Like each line of his physique had been painstakingly carved with determined purpose from the rarest, most valuable marble.

I found a vein that started at his hip and disappeared into his waistband and trailed a finger down it. His mouth parted, air rushed in.

And then I found myself leaning down and laying a kiss on the vein. Goldie’s skin, hot and firm, twitched under my touch. He smelled of his citrus cologne and of him. Like salty, sun-warmed skin and laundry detergent. A scent that was becoming unnervingly familiar and reassuring. I had no time to interpret the meaning behind those feelings as I unbuttoned his jeans and pulled down the fly. My hands were shaking, though not from nerves.

I didn’t feel nervous.

Goldie lifted his ass off the mattress so that I could tug his jeans down to his ankles. And there was his erection. Massive. At least, bigger than any human I’d been with. Still trapped inside his boxers. I trailed the same finger up the length of his shaft, eliciting another groan from his lips, causing his hips to buck upwards. A fresh rush of heat pooled in my belly.

I used this time to run my fingers over his thighs, to learn they were as perfect as the rest of him. Solid with muscle, coated in blonde hairs, feverishly warm.

“Are you going to tell me what to do?” I asked, the words barely escaping over the pounding in my chest.

“Do you want me to?”

“I don’t know. I think . . .” But my voice trailed off as I hooked a finger into each side of Goldie’s boxers and peeled them down his legs, taking in the full glory of . . . him.

Mother have mercy, I said in my head, possibly out loud.

“If you’re worried, baby girl, just make it wet,” he said between staccato breaths. His hips rolled themselves on the bed as though searching out my mouth. “Can’t go wrong if it’s really fucking wet.”

I nodded, not that he could see me nodding, and wrapped both hands around the base. Now crouching between his legs, I brought my lips to the head, over the head. Spreading saliva around it with my tongue. Goldie reacted as though I’d punched him in the chest, crying out, his back curving inwards.

I watched his reactions as I took more and more of him. Until my throat was waving its little white flag. His stomach muscles twitched and tensed. Sometimes his knees would jut upwards, and his thighs would graze my shoulders and arms. He pulled against his silk restraints.

I began sucking, moving my head up and down, my tongue memorising the shape of him. My hands gripping and stroking anything that didn’t quite fit in my mouth. Using his teachings. Listening to his hitching breaths, watching his muscles spasm, his jaw clench, his Adam’s apple quaver. Responding to his actions. Learning everything I could.

“Fuck, Holly Briar, how are you fucking doing this to me?” he screamed at the ceiling.

When I flicked my tongue around the lip of the head, he growled. To know I was the one drawing out those sounds was . . . well, I guess the phrase power-trip would have been appropriate.

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