Page 61 of His to Teach
But it’s deeper than mere irresponsibility. It’s not just the rules of the world around us that I’m willing to break for her, it’s my own personal code. Ever since Renee I’ve lived my life a certain way. I need dominance but I also need to keep that side of me constrained to Club Wyld. I know full well just how painful it can be when you try to mix that kind of arrangement with a real relationship. I promised myself I would never go there again.
Club Wyld is for sex and the sex I like is only appropriate at Club Wyld. I have to keep it separate. And doing so has been working out for me for several years.
So why am I messing with that rule now? Why is this woman standing here in my kitchen, in my home, even after I satisfied my body with her at the club?
Because I’m not satisfied,I realize, my eyes scanning down her figure. Her dress looks far more rumpled than it did when I picked her up, and a possessive thrill goes through me when I remember she’s naked under it—her soaked panties are still in my pocket. She’s watching me, expression uncertain, her fingertips dancing along her collarbone the way I know they do when she’s nervous.
I’m never fucking satisfied when it comes to her.
I wonder if I ever could be.
I push away all the doubts, all the warnings in my head, and I stride towards her, lifting her in one fluid motion so she’s sitting on the counter. She gasps, her hands immediately going to my shoulders, and I remove them, curling her fingers around the edge of the granite. “Hold on,” I tell her, voice little more than a growl. Then I’m on my knees, lifting her skirt, my face buried in the heaven that is her cunt.
“Fuck, Harper,” I groan against her hot skin. “You’re still so wet for me. And you taste so good. So fucking good.”
“Nate.” She’s whimpering, the sound desperate and needy, her body squirming above me.
“Get this off,” I command, pushing at the fabric of her dress. She pulls it over her head and I have to pause to take her in. Sprawled naked on my counter, smooth long legs spread wide and lewd. She’s breathing heavy, the gasps causing her amazing tits to heave.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” I mutter, unable to take my eyes off her. Her tits are perfect, full and heavy, topped with tight nipples that I want to spend hours worshiping with my tongue. She’s a tiny little thing, petite and delicate, except for those round tits and her full, wide hips. I want to touch every inch of her body at once and I feel like I might go insane if I can’t.
“Please,” she moans, tilting her hips toward me, wanting more of my tongue on her center.
I think, briefly, of making her wait, of driving her desire higher and higher until she can’t take it anymore. But the truth is, I don’t want to play games, not right now. I just want her pleasure. I just want to make her feel good. So I flatten my tongue and run it up and down, from her opening to her clit. And then I do it again, and a third time. She’s writhing above me, moaning my name, her hands in my hair.
Moaning myname. Not sir. Not master. When’s the last time I let a woman use my name during sex?Renee, I think, but immediately push the thought away. There’s no room for her—or anyone—in my head when my face is buried in Harper’s wet perfection.
“Nate,” she moans again, and I groan in response. Ilikeit. I like her using my name.
“Louder,” I tell her, pulling back long enough to get a look at her face. Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing rapid, her browneyes blazing with desire and frustration and bliss. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “Louder,” I repeat. “Let me hear you, angel.”
I return to the spot I want to be, slipping two fingers into her center, my tongue attacking her clit in tight circles. And even though we aren’t at the club, even though we’ve established no rules here, she still does exactly what I asked—she gets loud. Really fucking loud. Every cry from her lips, every groan and whimper, every shout of my name—all of it goes straight to my dick, making me want to take her, to claim her, to bury myself deep inside of her.
But, more than that, I want to make her come. Need to make her come.
And when she does, when she finally explodes on my tongue and around my fingers, it’s fucking perfect. So perfect that I keep going, needing it to happen again, needing her pleasure even more than I need my own release.
An hourlater she’s wrapped around me in my bed, her head resting on my chest, blond hair draped over my skin. For the first time in weeks, I feel truly calm.
And that kind of scares the shit out of me. This thing between us feels too big, too real. Like it could overwhelm me at any moment, ruin everything I’ve struggled to build for myself since Renee left.
Harper stretches beside me and I force the dark thoughts away, determined to just enjoy this for as long as I can.
“You sore?” I murmur and feel her nod against my chest. I’d performed adequate after care back at the club, rubbing lotion into her beautiful pink skin. But it’s her first time with this, andI need to be conscious of that. I move to get up. “Let me get you some more lotion.”
She tightens her arms around me. “No. Stay here with me. I’m fine.”
I relent easily, melting back into her. The lotion can wait. “How are you feeling otherwise?” I ask, rubbing a hand down her arm, loving the way her skin erupts in goosebumps at my touch.
“Good,” she says, voice soft and slightly dreamy. “Really good.”
“So you’re feeling confident about your decision?”
She stiffens a little before relaxing again. “Yes.”
I slide her off of me, turning so I’m facing her, our noses inches apart on the pillow. “You still have doubts.”
She’s quiet for a moment. I try to give her time to get her thoughts together but it’s hard for me. My instinct is to press, to charge right in and take control, demanding her answers and obedience. But I force myself to breathe, and to wait.
