Page 15 of CTRL+ME
WET DREAM
LYLAH
Tatum’s between my legs. Her normal hazel eyes have darkened to a deep brown with hunger—hunger for me, and they’re locked in on mine.
I release a moan, but it doesn’t sound like my normal voice when my lips part, completely overtaken by pleasure. My hips grind on her tongue, but she seems not to be giving me what I want. What I need to get there, she’s holding back, edging me along to keep me right on the edge.
“Please,” I beg while my hips start to grind into Tatum's face even harder. If she won’t give me what I need, I’ll just use her tongue. But I will beg to come in the meantime.
She stays between my legs, but my mind floats to the noises coming from somewhere in the room. When I look down again, Tatum is no longer between my legs, but I don’t let that hold me up. My hand finds my swollen, wet clit, and I’m circling it with a mission in mind—coming undone. Whether that’s on my own or maybe her seeing me shatter will get her back between my thighs where she belongs.
I add a little more pressure, and I’m falling apart, hoping Tatum’s eyes are on me wherever she ended up going.
It dawns on me as I hear yet another loud noise from across the room, but this time, it sounds a lot closer. My eyes slowly open, and guess who’s standing in the en suite bathroom, stark naked with water dripping down her glorious body?
Tatum.
“You looked very pretty falling apart in your sleep like that. Keep that up, and you might be unlocking a new kink for me.”
My jaw nearly unhinges from my mouth, but what’s my stupid cunt doing?
Pulsing, and not from just coming either.
For Tatum and her filthy words that just slipped through her lips. The thought of her doing things tome in my sleep shouldn’t turn me on, but it does… And I don’t know how to tell her that’s definitely something I’d be into exploring.
For some fucking reason, I trust this woman.
More than I’ve ever trusted anyone, even previous partners, but after the night we had last night, and her witnessing me wet dreaming, it’s all feeling like way too much.
So what do I do? What any adult in this situation would do—I throw the covers off my bare body, my feet hit her hardwood floor, and I’m running to my room that’s directly to the right of hers, where all my things are unpacked. I slam the door shut, then lean on it, acting like she’s about to break in here any second.
She doesn’t. I’m sure she’s a civil adult and is going to continue to get ready for the day ahead of her. That reminds me… I double-tap on my phone that was left on my nightstand, forgotten, and the time shows it’s barely past eight in the morning.
Great, she’s a fucking early riser.
“Satan… girlfriend, what did I do to piss you off?”
And I’m met with my rhetorical question being answered by none other than the woman taking up every space in my brain since I’ve met her. “Youcouldn’t piss the devil off if you wanted to, Bubbles.”
She chuckles, and I swear to whatever deity will grant me another night with that woman, I can feel that chuckle in my cunt like she’s already connected to me.
Who am I kidding? Anything she does has this effect on me.
And then the fucking nickname brings back a tidal wave of memories from last night in that tub of hers. That tub, I’ll never be able to look at and not think of all the filthy shit we did in there. But we didn’t stop there, no, we had to carry on to the bed, and I proceeded to empty her tits for her.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
And why do I want to head back in there and do it again?
After showering, fixing my hair, and lathering on a full face of makeup, I feel like I can finally face Tatum. I mean, I’m going to have to with this beingher house and all, and can’t forget being a nanny for her sweet Josie.
Heading down the hall, I try to get to the kitchen, but stop in my tracks when I pass by an open room and hear a keyboard clacking.
I peek my head in and see Tatum, and fuck, she’s wearing dark-framed glasses. I’m practically chanting,You can do this. You can do this, to myself when she breaks me out of my spiral.
“I’m doing some admin work this morning. Could you run to the grocery store and pick up the things we need for the week? The card’s on top of the list and grab whatever else you would like.” She speaks without ever looking up at me, and even continues her typing. “Oh my god, I didn’t even ask if you had any allergies!”
When I don’t answer right away, she stops typing and looks right at me, clearly taking this topic very seriously.
