Page 25 of Bordeaux Bombshell
A bristle runs up my spine, but I bite back the retort on the tip of my tongue. “Here and now, Syd.” I dip my head and pull the tip of her nipple between my teeth before replacing them with my tongue to keep her focused on the present and not the past.
She moans and squirms in response, her hips bucking up and grazing the underside of my dick. The sensation sets off a chain reaction, my toes curling and my ass squeezing as electricity shoots through me.Fuck. This is what I’ve been missing. I forced myself to forget thatthis, Sydney, is what my body has been craving for years.
I keep my lips dancing over her skin while I fumble on the floor for my jeans and the condom in my wallet. I don’t dare stop and give her a moment to change her mind. If I can just keep her feeling good, anchored to this moment, I can remind us both of how inevitable we are.
“Do you need a condom?” she gasps, unaware that I already have one pinched between my fingertips. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I give myself a mental high five for being one step ahead of her. “I have some in the bedroom.”
“Don’t need it, don’t want to know,” I growl, whiffing my mental kudos with the reminder that she hasn’t been mine for years. Of course she’s had sex with other guys in the meantime.
Stabbing pain in my ribs catches me off guard, and I almost fall off the couch. “What the fuck, Sydney?” The marks from her nails jabbing deep into my ribcage are already bright red when I glance down. Weirdly, my dick is still at full mast, undeterred by the hellcat’s claws.
“If you’re going to judge, you can go fuck yourself.” She glares up at me from between my arms. Her chin juts up, eyebrow raised in defiance, but the hitch in her breath tells me she’s not as confident as she’s pretending. And for whatever fucked-up reason, the way she’s daring me to be angry makes me want to prove to her that I’m not.
“Glad to know you haven’t been reckless, tiger.” I finish sheathing my dick, but instead of sliding home inside her, I drop my knees to the floor, pulling her sideways so her legs dangle over my shoulders. “But now I’m going to remind you who knows your pretty pussy the best.”
With that, I lick from the inside of her knee to the pink lips that are begging me to kiss them instead. Sydney relaxes into the couch with a deep sigh, the leg I’m painting with my tongue extending, muscles flexing with each stroke.
“Oh god, I hate how good that feels.” Her voice is muffled by the thighs squeezing my head, but I nip her in response. “Ouch, shit. Don’t stop, asshole.”
I lift my head to meet her eyes. “Play nice, or I’ll leave.”
She smirks. “You going to take your toys and go home?”
“I won’t let you play with my joystick if you keep insulting me.”
I was scared to break the tension earlier, but this feels right. Like maybe we can still be ourselves without scaring each other off.
“I always preferred playing with your joystick. It was so much better than our crappy old NES system.”
“Do I have to blow on this one to make it work too?” With that, I lean forward and gently blow on her clit, my fingers sliding along her slit, gathering the wetness she can’t hide from me.
I dive in, my tongue swirling around the bundle of nerves, and Sydney lets out a gasping moan. The flexing of her ankle as she squirms pushes against my neck and shoulder, proof I still know her body inside out.
If I wanted to, I could have her coming in a few minutes angling my tongue a little to the right and sliding a finger in her tight pussy with a little pressure to the left. Instead, I keep my tongue and fingers busy, centimeters off the spots I know she wants.
If all the rules are changing tonight, I’m sure as fuck going to make her come with my dick inside her. No more denying myself the one thing I’ve been aching for ever since I came back from France.
She gave me an inch, and I’m going to make her mine.
Sydney
Thebastardisedgingme on purpose. His tongue and fingers work against my aching slit, always moving away or just to the side of where I really want him.
His free hand roams my body, kneading at my breast, tracing my torso and the tattoo that decorates my ribs. I’m sprawled out, my arms gripping the back of the couch, giving me leverage to arch up and into his space. To beg for the orgasm he’s denying me without having to embarrass myself by using words.
He’s made me come in two minutes flat enough times that I know he’s proving a point. He’s only going to do the job properly when he’s inside me.
He wants us to be in the moment, but the moment is colored by the tangle of our past. Instead of spiraling into my memories, I’ve been fighting to hold on to some semblance of control over this situation. And at every turn, he’s pushed back in order to keep his own.
When he suggested the bed, I opted for the couch, determined to keep my bedroom a sanctuary.
I offered to get a condom, and he insisted he had his own.
The worst part is that each time he pushes back against my words, it turns me on even more.
And despite my body begging me to let go and fuck like monkeys, I’m not willing to give ground and neither is he. Two immovable objects crashing in slow motion. Tectonic plates that have been rubbing against each other for so long that the impending earthquake promises to be more destructive the longer we hold it off.
“Goddammit, Nate,” I snap when the flat of his tongue stops shy of my clit for the third time. “Either fuck me properly or get out so I can do it myself.”
