I lie there, waiting. Waiting to get serviced by the man, now standing above the bed. The one who told me just a few months ago that he didn’t give an s-word about what I want.
Maybe he still doesn’t.
His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes scan my body as he climbs onto bed. One knee, two, and then his arms.
He’s so hulky up top. He installed a workout room in the basement, and I have to wonder just how much time he spends in there. Surely, it’s even more than the hour he does right after dinner. Everything on his bare upper body bulges as he crawls over to what I guess is now my side of the bed and places himself between my spread legs.
My thighs tremble when he touches them, even though he hasn’t really done anything yet.
“You afraid?” he asks. There’s a gleam in his eyes. But I don’t know how to describe it—wicked, sinister, amused. All three words apply.
“It’s been…awhile,” I answer.
And by awhile, I mean never. No one’s ever gone down on me. Not the boys I sort of fumbled around with in college while feeling vaguely guilty about the two blind parents I’d left behind at home. Not Rock…no one has ever kissed me down there.
“You’re already wet,” Stone observes, his voice flat as a scientist.
“My body’s response to knowing something sexual is about to happen,” I answer, trying to keep my voice just as clinical and unquavering as his. “It doesn’t mean anything, purely biological.”
That’s true, I know, yet it’s also not true. Yes, getting wet when you know sex is coming is a biological response, without any proven link to increased desire. But this feels like more than that. My entire body is pulsing. Dying to find out what will happen next.
He dips his head down between my legs.
He has a large tattoo on his back, I notice. Dark angel wings.
Devils also have wings, I’m suddenly reminded. Right before his tongue enters me with a single plunge.
I gasp out in surprise, a very, very nice surprise. His tongue is warm and sure, working inside of me with more confidence than any dick ever has.
“Stone…” I breathe out, his name little more than a moan as he efficiently stokes the long dormant embers inside of me, licking up and down my slit, before adding two fingers.
Oh wow… oh wow. My hips squirm beneath his mouth and on instinct I reach down to cup the sides of his head. He must shave every morning, his skin is bristled with new growth, and the five o’clock shadow on his head scratches beneath my palms as his tongue and fingers work between my legs.
It usually takes so long for me to come with someone else. First I have to calm down and convince myself not to be self-conscious. Assure myself that I don’t have to look like Amber or a supermodel to have a guy be into sex with me.
Stone doesn’t want to have sex with me. He’s made that plain and clear. But for some reason, despite his disdain, and his general zero f-words attitude, I find myself rising embarrassingly fast.
My core greedily clenches, and my hips lift to receive more of his mouth and fingers as my hands tug, trying to bury his tongue even deeper inside of me. I know it’s wrong. I know it’s dirty. But, I can’t help myself. Just a few minutes of Stone, and I’ve lost all control.
“Oh God… Oh God…Stone.” His name comes out a broken plea, right before I crest. Screaming mutely into the fully lit room, as I cream all over his face.
Stars bursts in front of my eyes, as a universe takes over my vision and an ocean fills my ears. Pleasure, unlike anything I’ve ever known from a toy, my hand, or a real life dick, washes over me. The heat of it completely suffuses my body as I squirm, both enjoying the orgasm and trying to get away from it, because it is just so, very intense.
Somewhere during that, Stone rises up on both knees. Then, with the same cold, almost bored expression, he observes how my body trembles and shakes, long after he’s done.
It’s so embarrassing. I wait for the orgasm to let go and hate him at the same time. For inserting himself into my life, for blackmailing me into marriage, for eating me out just as good—no, girl, if we’re talking for real—even better than he promised.
At least I want to hate him.
But as I come down from my almost painful first oral orgasm, I find myself more curious than annoyed.
I think there’s something honestly wrong with you. Something I’m not seeing. What are you hiding from me?
Despite my many promises to myself, I start to open a mental case file on him…
But then, as if shoving me back toward my vow not to case work him, Stone asks, “You good? I want to brush my teeth.”
I sit up on bent arms, feeling the opposite of desired. “Yes, of course. Go brush your teeth. And, um, thank you, I guess.”
Stone just shrugs as if of all the no big deals in his life, making me come like a frickin’ tornado is the least big deal of them all. Then he disappears into the bathroom.
What…the…heck?
Do not case file him….do not case file him… I practically chant to myself as I put back on my sleep shirt, then hop under the covers, before he comes back out in a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else.
No awkward post-coital small talk for my husband. Stone deposits his watch and a couple of rings onto a little jewelry tray on top of his dresser. Only their clinks break up the total silence, before he crawls into bed.
Man, he moves quietly for such a big guy. I can only imagine how lethal he must be when he’s working.
His work as the Ferraro family’s most ruthless enforcer… that’s what I should concentrate on instead of going all Nancy Drew on his mental state.
As the orgasm fades away, I try to remember him at my kitchen table, threatening me with his gun. Treating me like a speck of dust he’d gladly wipe out.
I think about that.
Then I reach across the bed and squeeze his junk.
He catches my hand almost immediately and pushes it away. But not so fast that I can’t feel he’s totally soft.
“Is it me or is it ED?” I ask in the dark.
No answer.
“I’m talking about erectile dysfunction,” I say just in case he doesn’t understand.
More silence. Not even an irritated grunt of acknowledgement.
“Because if it’s ED, there are things we can try.”
I keep my tone light and helpful, judgement free. But still no answer.
“If it’s me…” I start to say.
“Let me know the next time you need wifeing. Until then, shut up.” Stone’s voice slices through the dark. Slices through me.
Then he turns over and gives me his back. Leaving me and my mind spinning.
Well, Keane was right about one thing. Stone definitely surprised me tonight.