Page 20 of Disgrace

I may not be Prince Charming but I’m pretty fucking sure she’s the fuckingone.

Ireally need to pee but this feels so unbelievably good, I don’t want to move. Jason slid his glorious thick cock into me in the early hours, sweet, sleepy sex that felt more like a dream. I floated on the very edge of consciousness where ecstasy became my reality. The light filtering through the gaps in the blinds is unseasonably bright for this time of the year. It can only mean it’s either very late in the morning or early afternoon. I think it’s early afternoon because I really, really need to pee. I am acutely aware we must have fallen straight back to sleep, maybe not during but certainly immediately after. He is no longer inside me, but I can feel his cock twitch nestled as it is, between my cheeks. And his large body feels welded to mine, hot, firm and immovable. His arm is a dead weight across my body as I try to prise myself free, wriggling over to the far side of the bed. I manage to roll myself so his meaty hand is the only body part left resting on my hip.

With speed that belies his sleepy state, his hand glides fully around my body, and he picks me up with one arm and pulls me back into his hold.

“I need to pee,” I whisper, which is stupid. He’s obviously awake.

“Ten more minutes,” he grumbles and nestles his nose into my hair, inhaling deeply.

“Ten more minutes and I will pee all over you, and I charge extra for that.” I snort out a harmless laugh, but Jason is on me in an instant with a fierce scowl etched on his handsome features.

“It was joke, Jason. I don’t actually do wet play…not my particular kink.” I try and give him a tentative smile to lighten the dark cloud that hangs heavy between us.

“Not mine either but that is beside the point.” His stiff tone is clipped, his jaw is clenched and his eyes darken with barely contained anger. “Sam, I think it’s safe to assume certain references to your work are going to piss me off.” I stiffen beneath him, and he releases his hostility and frustration in one slow breath. “Look, I know what you do, and honestly, I don’t care. I want you period, no caveats, no if onlys…I want you as you are. But I am also not going to pretend that, when you refer to yourself in a derogatory manner, or reference the work you do in a way that I can’t help but picture someone else touching what I consider mine…that is going to piss…me…off.” His kisses soften the blow of his statement, although I shouldn’t be surprised. Jason may not be a typical submissive-owning Dominant but he isallalpha male—controlling, demanding and possessive, I just wasn’t anticipating adding sensitive to that list.

“Sorry,” I hold his gaze and witness the rage dissipate just as quickly as it came. His lips spread wide into his megawatt smile before he rolls off and releases me. I swiftly slide to the edge of the bed before he changes his mind. “It wasn’t even my joke,” I mumble as I slip his t-shirt over my head. It hangs very loose and falls to my knees. I look over and watch him watching me. He is resting now with his back against the headboard and one arm stretched up and round the back of his head. The sheet has pooled at his waist, and his muscles are taut and flexed from the pull on his arm. He has a light dusting of hair on his sculpted chest, which thickens as is progresses down his body. Not too much but enough to scrape my fingers through and just the right amount to make him look a little wild…untamed. His eyes are stormy with desire and a deep rumble vibrates in his chest but is barely audible. I back away with my hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, take it out on Leon when he gets back. It’s his joke.” I back away, because he is lightning fast if he decides he wants me back in his arms, and I’m about to burst.

I return to the bedroom, but the bed is empty and there is the smell of melted butter coming from the kitchen. Jason has his naked back to me, his fitted boxer shorts hugging the perfect round muscle of his arse.I know what I want for breakfast. I slide onto the kitchen stool, and he turns when he hears the squeak of the leather announcing my arrival. He is vigorously mixing something making the muscles in his biceps jump and flex enticingly. Yup, that’s breakfast sorted. I slide back off the stool and stalk around the island. He eyes me warily, his own devilish grin warming his features. I swipe a tea towel hanging on a cupboard handle and fold, deliberately slowly into a neat, thick square. I drop it to the floor and watch his eyes light with desire. He raises a knowing brow, and his mixing slows down but still continues, stopping when I sink to my knees. I hear him switch the heat off the stove, but instead of holding my head, cupping gently or gripping with intent, he simply resumes his mixing, slow and steady.

I rake my nails up the thick, defined muscle of his thighs and slip my fingers up the legs of his boxer briefs. I grab the waistband from the inside and pull them down his legs. His solid erection springs free; it barely bobs at all, despite its considerable weight. It is rock-hard and straining to reach his own belly button. I cup his heavy sac and squeeze. He grunts out a deep moan, and I waste no time wrapping my fist and lips around his shaft. My tongue swirls and wipes the pre-cum that is already wetting the tip. I hum my appreciation and notice the muscles in his thighs flex. I can still hear the whisk lap the sides of the bowl, but the rhythm is more erratic. I smile briefly to myself before I pull and suck him to the back of my throat. My fingers tighten at the base, synchronising the pump and gentle twist of my grip with my mouth. I use my other hand to tug and massage his balls, which tighten in my palm. He whispers out a stuttered curse when I try to take as much of his length as possible. A challenge, he is fucking built, thick and long. My lips feel the angry, pulsing vein, and I take a moment to guide my tongue along its length, teasing light flicks that make him catch his breath.

I swirl my tongue, dipping the tip into the slit. He groans and gently rocks his hips. I graze lightly with my bottom teeth, but even that is a little too much judging by the hiss he sucks through his teeth. I pull my lips to offer more protection to his sensitive tip and suck him deep into the back of my throat. He holds still, letting me set the pace, but I can see the tension in his thighs and hear the rumble of pleasure vibrating from deep in his chest. He hits the back of my throat, and I relax and swallow him down, then swallow some more and press firmly with my middle finger directly on the pressure point between his arsehole and his balls.

“Jesus fucking Christ!!” He slams his hand on the counter. The bowl misses me altogether, and the whisk hits my shoulder before hitting the floor. But the cool, thick liquid contents fall with a slick splat down my back, his cock emptying his own essence down my throat. I lap and lick him clean as he pulls from my lips, but I remain kneeling because I am dipping with egg, and moving is going to make this mess so much worse. He takes a moment to compose himself, and looking up, I can see his head is bent, and his eyes are scrunched shut. He mutters something I can’t quite make out, but I think it’s maybe something like praising the Lord. He seems to focus and take me in with wide eyes and a huge smile.

“Fuck, Sam, that was…shit…” He runs a hand through his short hair, the slightly longer top forming adorable spikes. He grabs the other kitchen towels and scoops the mess from my back, although gravity had done an admirable job, and most of the sticky mess is on the floor behind me. Nevertheless, now relatively clean, Jason helps me to my feet and lifts me to sit on the counter. “You’ve left me a little speechless.” His lips quirk. He looks a little shy, and that has leftmea little speechless.

“Ah, Jason, did I break your blowjob cherry?” I twirl a long strand of my hair around my finger, and he chuckles, a deep, hearty sound.

“Cute…It fucking felt like it. Everything about you feels like the first time.” He threads his hand around the back of my neck and tilts my head back to meet his intense stare. His words were said with humour and affection, but his gaze is laden with something more serious, something I find disconcerting for someone like me. “And now there is officially nothing to eat in your flat.” He shakes his head with amusement. “Right, shower, then my place.” He bends down and, with sudden force, pushes his shoulder into my waist, effectively doubling me over and scoops me onto his broad shoulder. I squeal and grab his arse for support. I might start to massage as well when he strides from the room in search of my shower. It is a mighty fine arse.

The journey to Jason’s apartment takes less than fifteen minutes. I thought for a moment he was going to take me to the club. I know he has a flat on the top floor of the building, but we drove past that, turned, and headed towards London Bridge. His house is nothing like I’d imagined. It’s a house for a start. I assumed he would have some swanky penthouse fuck pad with sleek chrome, glass and leather furniture and fittings, stylishly minimalist and clinically cold. His home is a narrow, four-story, mid terrace, Georgian town house, set one street back from the river. But even from the first floor it has an amazing view of the South Bank. He swipes his finger to unlock the front door. The building may be over two hundred years old, but the facilities are very much twenty-first century. He carries both our bags over his shoulder and continues to hold my hand. He really hasn’t let go for a moment.

At my apartment, from the kitchen, he’d carried me into the shower and washed every inch of my body. No, that’s not right; he cherished every inch of my body. His touch had been constant with intermittent squeezes and random strokes of his thumb on the back of my hand, my palm, my cheek. He was very good at making me feel…unsettled.

The entrance hall is light with white and black tiled floor and an archway leading to the rear of the house, possibly the kitchen. The walls are duck egg blue, and there is a large gilt mirror dominating the half-landing, adding much light to the space. The cream stair runner is held in place by beautiful golden claws on each tread. I smile to myself but the bitter edges barely curl my lips.

“Sam, is something wrong?” Jason breaks my unpleasant daydream with his equally unsettling insightfulness.

“Sorry. It’s nothing…just the carpet. My mother would approve.” His brow furrows, and his features darken at the mention of my mother. The thought that we have that in common warms me, and I swallow the unpleasant taste her memory invokes. “She thought you could tell a lot about a person’s breeding by their home. You have a posh person’s carpet on your stairs, very thick, top quality, and doesn’t reach the edges. See?” He glances over his shoulder, and his face registers the stairs as if seeing them for the first time. “If she hadn’t already pimped me out, that would probably have earned you a date.” I sniff derisively. Honestly, I barely think of her, but sometimes the ridiculousness of her life lessons hits me hard. Jason steps in front, towering over me, his face is etched with concern.

“I paid an interior designer, Sam, and you know your mother was fucking insane, right?” His voice is so serious, I snort out a laugh.

“Yes, Jason, besides,” I drop my voice a little lower, and he leans down to catch my words, “it’s not about the quality; it’s about the length.” I laugh and scream when he lunges to grab me as I dart around him and make a break for the very stairs. I take them two at a time, but my speed is no match for his long gait and powerful stride. He catches me two from the top, breathless, panting, and in a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

“You’re so funny, Sam. Tell me again, because I am pretty sure you just insulted my manhood’s quality.”

“No…no, stop!” I squeal and wriggle uselessly against his relentless tickling fingers and his dead weight pinning me beneath him. I gasp and struggle to get my words out between the panic and laughter. “The stairs…I meant the stairs!” I cry out.

He pulls back, his finger hovering at my side. “What’s wrong with my stairs?” His face softens, and his lips turn downward with a sad little expression.

I lean up and cover his adorable pout with my eager lips. He takes a moment to engage, only a moment, before his tongue is pushing and demanding entrance. I catch my breath and grin. “There is nothing wrong with your stairs. They are very long, beautifully crafted, very, very big, top quality stairs. I think they are perfect.” He runs his tongue sensually along his bottom lip, and I mirror his action. His eyes widen, and the heat between our bodies has gone from scorching to inferno in a blink of his lust-filled eyes.

“Good.” He growls and captures my mouth and my breath in one determined move. Hours pass, it maybe minutes but it feels never ending. I love that feeling. Kisses with him, I never want to end. He pulls back and a wicked grin spreads slowly across his flawless face. “Just so we’re clear, you meant my cock right?” I collapse with the most unladylike snort-laugh. “Just checking. I don’t know you that well. Who knows, you might be really into interior design. That might be your kink?” His smile widens, flashing straight, white teeth, and he lets out a deep laugh. The sound is relaxed and sexy, curling my toes and warming my heart. He sweeps loose hair away from my eyes and holds my gaze. Intense scrutiny with a mix of lust and fire but also happy. He looks really happy, and I think my eyes must look exactly the same.

I let out as deep a breath as I can manage, given his full weight is still on me. “I definitely meant your cock. Besides, I told you my kink.” I push his chest lightly, and he pulls himself upright, lifting me straight into his arms. I wrap my legs tight around his narrow waist and grip harder than is necessary. The apex of my legs melds against his tummy. He should be able to feel the heat, I wonder if he can feel the wetness. He lets out a deep groan and fists the cheeks of my arse, grinding me tighter to his body. That will be a yes.

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