Page 9 of Throttle Me (Men of Inked 1)
An old claw foot bathtub and white pedestal sink filled the white and black room. He didn’t seem too fond of color, which I found odd since he described himself as an artist. Everything was clean and sparkled. I could tell that he took pride in his home. I searched his bathroom looking for an extra toothbrush but tried not to make noise. A knock sounded at the door and I jumped, knocking over some bottles under the sink and smacking my head against something hard. “Shit,” I said as I rubbed my head.
“You okay? Did you need something?”
“I’m fine.” So not fine. He caught me snooping and probably heard the bang from my head. “I wanted a toothbrush, do you have a spare?” I put my head in my hand feeling like a fool thankful that he didn’t witness the event.
“There’s an extra one in the medicine cabinet. Help yourself.” I could hear his footsteps quiet as he walked away.
My face was still red as I left the bathroom and walked into the kitchen trying to avoid City’s eyes. “Eggs, pancakes, and bacon okay?” He looked amazing. He wore a pair of black track pants and a smile.
My stomach rumbled seeing all the food he had prepared. “Did you cook for an army?” I asked.
“Didn’t know what you liked, so I made a little bit of everything.” He put the spatula on the counter and walked toward me. He was so damn hot. I licked my lips and closed my eyes.
I could feel his hot breathe on my lips and I smelled his scent. “I’m gonna fuck you, right here, right now. Yes or no?” Omg, omg, omg, yes, yes, yes!
I swallowed hard and nodded my head before I leaned forward.
“Words, Suzy. Now the answer needs to be ‘yes, fuck me, City’ or ‘no, I don’t want to.’” How would I ever say no to this man? I thought about the possibility of never seeing him again and I wanted one last shot at him.
“Yes, fuck me, City,” I whispered against his lips.
His mouth crushed mine and I could taste the coffee and sugar on his tongue. I could only hear our breath as the world around us fell away. His hands trailed up my thighs and cupped my ass. Fuck, this man is pure sin and I wanted to be his minion.
He broke the kiss and looked in my eyes. I could hear his breathing fast and hard. “Hands on the counter,” he said with a commanding tone. Yes, sir. Gladly.
I turned my back to him and placed my palms on the edge. He pushed down on my back and lifted my hips. I rested my head on the cold tile and waited. Looking behind me, I watched as he pulled down his pants before palming his shaft. I heard a crinkling noise coming from his pocket. He planned this – he had a condom ready to go. Lord, help me with this man. Could I resist him?
I started to stand up when I heard “Back down, sugar.” I closed my eyes and followed his command. I felt him stroke my opening and I sighed. When did I turn into a big ole pile of mush with a guy? He slid inside of me easily; I was slick and ready for him.
He grabbed my hips, holding me tightly as his hardness worked like a machine inside of me. I gripped the counter and my fingers began to tingle from my death grip. He felt amazing, caressing my insides with the metal piercing. My muscles ached as I stood on my tiptoes. He pounded into me, the sound of our skin slapping against each other filling the air, his grunts ringing in my ears. His grip intensified and became almost painful.
“Fuck, your pussy is so damn tight,” he growled.
“I love your cock,” I moaned. That just slipped out – like it was something I said every day.
“I love being buried in your sweet pussy, sugar.”
All the dirty words and the feeling of him stroking my depths pushed me over the edge. My body began to shake and I moaned, “City.”
I heard a loud crack and my ass began to sting. Did he just slap my ass? The pain began to radiate throughout my body and made my orgasm grow and build. My grip began to slip as my insides clenched against his length. Crack. Fucking hell.
“Fuck,” he yelled as his stroke became more intense and erratic. I could feel him grow harder inside me as he slammed me against the counter. He rested his head against my back as we both stood there immobile for a moment.
“You got me all kinds of crazy, Suzy,” he said through heavy breath.
“Makes two of us.” I was thankful the tile was cold. My body was covered in moisture and my skin was hot from the pounding I had just taken. He pulled out and I instantly felt the loss of him. I waited for my feet to uncramp before trying to stagger to a chair. He removed the condom with a quick snap and tossed it in the trash. I swayed to my seat, thankful that it was only a few steps away. He adjusted himself inside his pants and walked to the stove with a devilish grin on his face.
“Pancake?” His blue eyes stared into mine as he held the pan up asking permission to slip it on my plate.
I forgot how hungry I felt when I walked in. How did the man just fuck me like a maniac and now he’s cooking like Guy Fieri?
“Yes. I never met a meal I didn’t like.” I silently prayed to God the jitters that filled my stomach would subside long enough to eat the giant meal he’d prepared.
“I love hearing shit like that. My sister is so fucking picky it makes me bat shit crazy.”
I buttered my pancake and watched him out of the corner of my eye as he grabbed the pan of eggs off the stove. An awkward silence filled the room as I looked at my plate. He just had his cock in me as the food sat on the stove and now what? I wanted to keep the conversation flowing and figured I’d follow his lead.
“Just one sister?” I asked.
“Just the one, but I have three brothers too. Eggs?”
“Everything,” I said moving my pancake to make room for the eggs and bacon. “Five kids, wow, your mother must be an amazing woman.”
“Yeah, I think we caused most of the gray hair on her head which she now dyes to keep her youthful appearance. We aren’t the traditional Italian family. You have any brothers or sisters?” he asked, plopping the eggs on his plate and putting the pan back on the stove.
“A sister, she doesn’t live here. She’s still up north where we grew up.” I poured the syrup on my single golden pancake before cutting a chunk.
I envied City. He had a big family and they have a bond that I never did with mine. He had something I always wanted.
“Ah, I can’t imagine only having one. We’re kinda a gang. We do everything together.” He stuffed the eggs in his mouth and grabbed a piece of bacon. “You’ve missed out.”
I loved that it seemed easy between us, we were comfortable and he made me feel that way. “I guess so, but I have some friends that I’m closer to than any of my family.” I placed the forkful of buttery goodness in my mouth and let it sit on my tongue a minute before I chewed it. “My mom’s kinda a flake and my dad works all the time, so I just have my friends.”
“Damn, that fucking sucks. My family gets together every Sunday for dinner and it’s usually a bit loud.”
“Every Sunday?” I see my parents every week, but sometimes it was only for an hour and dinners only happened on holidays. I tried to go slow, not wanting to eat everything on my plate. I didn’t want to look like a pig, but I was starving.
“Every Sunday. It’s required or my parents think something is wrong. Sometimes my grandparents come over and it turns into an all-day affair. Mom usually wakes up early to make the sauce and meatballs. We’re required to be there at one for an early dinner.” It sounded nice. I never had anything like that in my life – never knew families did that kind of thing besides in the movies.
“Hmm, that sounds like fun.” I ate my breakfast and thought about all the family things I’d missed out in my life. My parents seemed too busy to deal with us at times, let alone have me over for dinner every Sunday. I knew they loved my sister and me, but we didn’t have the close-knit family that City had described.
“It is, but I work with my brothers and sister and sometimes it gets to be too much. So, babe, do I get to take you on a proper date?”
“Oh, sorry,” I said. “I’d love to
go on a date with you. I mean we already…” I moved my hand around lost for the right word to describe what we did the night before.
“Fucked,” he laughed. “I don’t know if I will ever get over your good girl thing you have going on.”
“I’m not a good girl, City.” I wasn’t and I knew it. Good girls didn’t think about the things I did. They didn’t want the things I wanted, and they sure as hell didn’t go home with strangers. “What we did last night wouldn’t have happened if I was a good girl.” I smiled at him.
“You’re a woman, Suzy. Sex doesn’t make you a bad girl; it makes you human. That shit was explosive last night and this morning I needed to be in you again. I wouldn’t change a god damn thing.” He must have sensed I was uncomfortable with the entire conversation. “I don’t think you’re bad. If someone does, then fuck them. I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks about me.”
“I know. It’s not always so easy.” I wanted to change the subject. “Do you want me to call my friend to pick me up?” I didn’t want to dissect my qualities at the moment.
“I’ll take you home after you’re done, okay?”
“Thank you. I have a ton of things to do today.” I had to grade papers – it was the end of the grading period and grades were due on Monday morning. I had to make lesson plans and pay the bills before the weekend ended. My work never ended, not even on the weekends. Teachers don’t walk out the door on Friday and leave it all behind – we work on the weekends and walk through the door on Monday prepared to teach the budding students not always so interested in learning. I sighed thinking about all the work I had to do, but I was the only one that could get it done.
“No problem. I have to get to work by noon, so no rush.”
I wiped my mouth unable to consume another morsel. “Where do you tattoo?”
“Inked. Ever hear of it?”
“I drive by it every day on the way to work, I think.” I remember seeing the sign, but had never stepped foot inside. “Looks like a nice place.”
“Ever been?”
“Oh, no. I meant from the street. Doesn’t look like the other shops in the area. Yours is pretty. How long have you worked there?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard it described that way. My sister does all the decorating. We own the shop and opened it about five years ago.” Well, maybe he wasn’t the starving artist I thought he was, after all. “Why don’t you stop by sometime? I’d love to pop your cherry.” I started choking. “Ink, babe, I’d love to give you your first tattoo,” he laughed.
I patted my chest and coughed. “Maybe someday I’ll let you. My parents are just anti-tattoo and I never found anything I’d want to look at for a lifetime. How’d you pick yours?” I asked.
