Page 10 of CTRL+ME
What the hell have I gotten myself into? I’m practically in a cuck chair while she teases me.
I watch as her eyes rake over her own body before connecting with mine in the mirror. Pale skin, every part of her deliciously plump. One leg steps over the edge of the tub before the rest of her body follows into the water. She sinks below the bubbles, and suddenly, my perfect view is obscured. It’s everything I can do to choke out the words to ask her if she’d like another glass of wine during her bath.
SEVEN
FULL... SO, SO, FULL
LYLAH
I’m staring up at Tatum through my lashes, and she seems to snap out of whatever trance she was in, and coughs out, “Would you like another glass?”
Laying my head back on the tile ledge that’s behind this corner of the tub, I practically moan, “Yesss, please.”
I pop my eyes open in nothing but shock because that came out a lot breathier than I wanted it to. The pure hunger lining her features has me clenching my legs together below the bubbled surface. That same hunger morphs into a predatory smile, and if my pussy weren’t currently dipped in water, it would be soaked on its own.
She pours both of us another glass, setting them on the front tile of the tub, where I have to move closer to grab it. Right as I begin to lean forward, the wine seems to go to my head—actually, make that my cunt. Is it me coming to terms with the fact that this woman is fucking breathtakingly beautiful, and I deserve to have some fun with her? Whatever deciding factor that pushes me to make the decision, I do it.
I get to my knees in the tub and slowly shuffle to the front. My upper half is exposed out of the water but lightly covered in bubbles. Bubbles that smell of the beach, your favorite tanning oil—with sun protection added, of course. I’m not an animal—and the salty wind rolling off the ocean.
Tatum.
It smells like Tatum.
And it’s becoming apparent all too quickly that this woman in front of me will have me making decisions that I would’ve never made a couple of days ago. Anything to get to her, to keep her eyes on me, and the want—no, the need—to have her hands on me, is a craving I’ve never experienced for another before.
My tits sway back and forth with each movement. And yes, sue me; I’m adding a littleextra shake for her. Her eyes are on me, everywhere. Not just my chest, where I figured she’d be devouring me, but my face, catching every expression, my lips, my neck, and even the skin that’s showing above the bubbles of my stomach. She’s soaking me in the same way I soak in the bubbles. All of me, and I don’t ever want to be anywhere else besides under her gaze.
I get to my wineglass, lifting it to my lips as slowly as I can without being too obvious, and take a long, equally slow sip. My eyes are on hers over my wineglass, and she watches with rapt attention as the wine works down my throat.
I want her hands there.
Fuck.
I’m royally fucked when it comes to this woman.
“Lylah,” she murmurs, almost seeming like she didn’t mean to say it, but she couldn’t stop herself. If I didn’t see my name roll off her lips, I would’ve thought I imagined her angelic voice… But I didn’t. And my name in that cadence will be ingrained in my head for the rest of my life.
True spank-bank material.
My elbows land on the side of the tub, and I drag my eyes up and down her body. “This is quite unfair.” I mock pout as her eyebrows pull together.
She lifts her glass to her lips and gulps down half of the heavy-poured glass. “What’s unfair, Bubbles?”
I don’t want the nickname to distract me, but it does cause my heart rate to pick up, nonetheless. “You’re still fully clothed, and I’m… not.” I genuinely pout now, giving her a taste of my bratty side, and that wicked smile of hers quirks her full lips.
“Would you like me to be undressed with you?”
I nod eagerly but don’t say a thing. She’s quick to give me what I want. No one can deny a brat.
She sets her glass back down and, with her eyes on me, she pulls her T-shirt over her head. She remains in what I’m assuming is a nursing bra—all the fancy lingerie left in her closet. I love her unapologetic nature even more than I’d love to see her in any combination of those pieces. I know that if it were me, I would be apologizing until I was blue in the face because I didn’t have the cute matching set on, or that my bra had milk stains from feeding earlier in the day.
But that hasn’t been Tatum.
She’s confident beyond words, and it just makes her even more exquisite. I don’t know if I want to be Tatum or slide my pussy all over Tatum.
Maybe both.
Reaching behind herself effortlessly, she unsnaps the bra and lets it fall from her arms. My eyes have to be millimeters from falling out of my skull. Her tits are worthy of having sculptures modeled after them. The veins lining beneath her skin are so pronounced, and I know it’s from the fullness of the milk. She leans over to pull her leggings from her ankles, and that’s when I see it. The first droplet falls to the floor, where she stands to her full height. The liquid n0w pebbles and slips down her stomach, right to?—
