Chapter 38: Favourite Pillow
Steam clouded the bathroom mirror as Alexey emerged, a towel slung low on his hips. The scent of his cedar soap mixed with the lingering jasmine from the bedroom candle. He blinked, pushing damp strands of light brown hair from his forehead. Across the room, Sharon lay sprawled on her stomach atop the plush comforter.
Her vibrant dark hair fanned out on a pillow. She was utterly absorbed in her phone, the screen's glow reflecting in her dark, focused eyes and playing on the faint dimple in her cheek. Her legs were bent slightly at the knees, feet waving idly in the air. The sight of her, relaxed and oblivious, ignited a spark in him – playful possessiveness mixed with the ever-present, simmering heat of the past few days. That perfect, rounded ass, deliciously showcased in thin cotton shorts, was an irresistible beacon.
He didn’t hesitate. With two silent strides he crossed the room and pounced. Landing half beside her, half on her, he buried his face between the soft, resilient cheeks, his nose pressed against the warm fabric. He inhaled deeply – the clean scent of her skin, the lingering hint of her shower gel – and then he motorboated.
"Pbbbbbbbbbbbt! Pbbbbbbbbbbbbt!" The sound was ridiculous, wet and vibrating against her skin through the thin material.
Sharon shrieked, a startled gasp dissolving into uncontrollable giggles. Her body jerked, wriggling beneath him. "Alex! You animal!" she laughed, trying to squirm away, but his strong arms wrapped around her hips, holding her firm.
"Just appreciating the view," he mumbled, his voice muffled against her ass. He nuzzled deeper, planting noisy, appreciative kisses on each cheek through the fabric. "Best pillow in the house."
She wriggled again, laughter subsiding into breathless chuckles. "Your favorite pillow, you mean," she teased, her voice laced with affectionate sarcasm. "Seriously, Leshka, get off! You're crushing me!" But she made no real effort to dislodge him, arching her back slightly instead, pressing herself more firmly against his face.
Alexey grinned against her skin, feeling a surge of warm affection and possessive desire. This. This easy intimacy, this playful connection. He slowed, trading the motorboat for slower, deeper nuzzles, inhaling her scent, pressing his lips in languid kisses against the curve of her ass. His hands slid up her sides, tracing the dip of her waist beneath her thin camisole. He could feel himself stirring, the towel tenting. Forget Mark, forget Friday, forget the confusing cocktail of arousal and shame. This was just them.
He shifted, sliding further up the bed to kiss the small of her back, the knobs of her spine. Her skin was so soft. He kissed the back of her shoulder, working his way up towards her neck, the spot that always made her shiver. He found it, pressing his lips softly just below her hairline.
"Mm, that's nice," she murmured, but her voice was distracted. Distant. Her body had stilled beneath his attentions. He lifted his head slightly.
She was still looking at her phone. Her thumbs were moving quickly over the screen, a small, secretive smile playing on her lips. The glow illuminated the focused intensity in her eyes. She hadn't even turned her head towards him.
The warm bubble of intimacy popped. That familiar, sharp twist – part jealousy, part dark thrill – knotted in Alexey’s gut. He froze, his lips still hovering near her neck. "Sharon?" His voice was rougher than he intended.
"Hmm?" She hummed, noncommittal, still typing.
"What's so engrossing?" He tried to keep his tone light, casual, but it felt brittle.
"Just chatting," she said airily, finally glancing sideways at him. Her dimple deepened. "Someone's eager."
He didn't return the smile. "With?"
Her eyes flicked back to the screen, that secretive smile widening. "Who do you think, Cucky?" The nickname, still new, still electric, landed like a spark on dry tinder. "Mark."
Alexey felt his jaw tighten. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, hovering over her, trying to see the screen. "What about?"
Sharon tilted the phone away playfully, shielding it with her hand. "Wouldn't you like to know?" She giggled, but there was an edge to it now. "He was just confirming Friday. Wanted to know what I'm planning to wear." She tapped the screen again. "I told him about the deep green wrap dress. The one you liked." She shot him a look, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "He liked the sound of it too. Said it sounded perfect for... easy access." She emphasized the words, letting them hang.
Alexey’s breath hitched. The image slammed into his mind: the green silk parting, Sharon’s full breasts spilling out, Mark’s large hands guiding his thick cock between them. His own cock, despite the plummeting feeling in his chest, throbbed insistently against her thigh. The towel felt constricting. Humiliation warred with visceral arousal. He wanted to grab the phone and throw it across the room. He wanted her to describe every word Mark said.
He settled for tracing his finger slowly down her spine again, a silent plea for her attention. "Easy access," he repeated, his voice low.
"Mmhmm." Sharon was typing again, completely absorbed. "He's sending pictures... ideas... of poses he thinks would be hot." A soft, breathy laugh escaped her. "Oh wow."
The casual dismissal was worse than the words. The fact that Mark, miles away, was commanding her focus while Alexey was right here, touching her, wanting her, felt like a physical blow. He felt small. Insignificant. Just... background noise. The hot shame intensified, but it was tangled now with a dark, undeniable pulse of excitement. She’s thinking about his cock. Planning for it. Right now. While you’re lying beside her.
He leaned down, pressing another kiss to her shoulder blade, trying to recapture her. "Show me?" The request slipped out, raw and needy.
She finally paused, looking back at him fully. Her gaze was soft, perceptive, seeing right through him. "Jealous?" she teased gently, reaching up to brush a damp strand of hair from his forehead.
"No," he lied, the word thick in his throat. He forced a small, unconvincing smile. "Just... curious."
She studied him for a long moment, her thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone. That knowing look was back, the therapist seeing the tangled mess inside him. She understood the conflict, the arousal feeding off the humiliation. "Later, maybe," she murmured, her voice dropping, becoming intimate despite the phone still in her hand. "Right now... he's being very... descriptive." Her eyes flickered down to the distinct bulge straining against his towel, then back up to meet his conflicted gaze. "And it seems you're getting off on it too, aren't you?"
Before he could answer – deny it, confirm it, anything – her phone buzzed loudly, a new message flashing. Her attention snapped back to it instantly. "Ooh," she breathed, her eyes widening slightly as she read. A genuine, intrigued smile spread across her face. "He is feeling creative tonight."
Alexey felt utterly dismissed. The warmth of the bed, the scent of jasmine, the feel of her skin beneath his hands – it all receded. The space was filled only by the relentless buzz of the phone, the glow of the screen Sharon was completely captivated by, and the image of Mark's unseen, arrogant smirk as he dictated fantasies into her ear from afar. That potent cocktail of shame and arousal churned violently inside him, settling like a heavy, hot stone in his gut and an insistent throb between his legs. He stayed frozen over her, face inches from the skin he craved but couldn't truly touch, trapped in the electric silence she shared with someone else.
He didn't move away. He couldn't. The humiliation was a brand. The arousal was an anchor. He watched the play of light on her absorbed face, heard the faint tap of her thumbs, and felt himself hardening further, painfully, against her hip. Mark’s phantom presence, conjured by buzzing plastic and glowing pixels, filled the warm, intimate space of their bedroom. Alexey closed his eyes, inhaling the jasmine and her scent, trying to banish the image of thick cock sliding between green silk and pale flesh, and failing utterly. The phone buzzed again. Sharon shifted slightly, angling the screen away from his view, a low, interested hum escaping her lips. Alexey opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling, the conflicting currents inside him pulling him deeper into the dark, thrilling undertow. His hand, resting near her waist, clenched into a fist against the soft comforter, knuckles white.
His fist remained clenched, knuckles pale islands on the deep blue comforter, the tendons in his forearm rigid cables. The soft tap-tap-tap of Sharon’s thumbs on the glass screen was the only sound beyond the frantic drumming of his own heart against his ribs. Mark’s phantom presence, conjured by buzzing plastic and glowing pixels, filled the warm, intimate space of their bedroom, thick as cigar smoke.
Alexey closed his eyes, inhaling the jasmine and the deeper, warmer scent of Sharon’s skin. He tried to banish the image: thick, veined flesh sliding obscenely between soft, pale breasts sheathed in green silk, a hand that wasn't his guiding it. Impossible. The phone buzzed again, a sharp, insistent vibration against the mattress. Sharon shifted slightly, angling the screen decisively away from his view, a low, intrigued hum escaping her lips – a sound that wasn’t meant for him.
He opened his eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling’s textured plaster, the conflicting currents – hot shame, sharper arousal – pulling him deeper into a dark, thrilling undertow. His own traitorous cock strained painfully against the towel, a stark counterpoint to the plummeting feeling in his chest. Tap-tap. Another buzz. Another soft, breathy exhalation from Sharon.
A wave of something washed over him – resignation, maybe, or a deeper, more perverse acceptance. The tension bled slowly from his clenched fist. The rigid line of his shoulders softened. Instead of pulling away, seeking distance, or demanding her attention, he did the opposite. Gently, deliberately, he lowered his head back down onto the warm, yielding curve of her ass. He pressed his cheek firmly against the thin cotton of her shorts, nuzzling slightly.
He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with her unique scent – clean skin, faint floral soap, a trace of something utterly, comfortingly her. The tension seeped further from his muscles. Let her text with her lover, he thought, the words forming with startling clarity amidst the turmoil. She deserves it. She deserves... everything. The fierce possessiveness that had driven his playful assault moments ago morphed, twisting into a different kind of intensity. This felt like surrender, but it wasn’t defeat. It was... permission. Acknowledgement.
His lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile against the soft fabric. The rhythmic tap-tap of her texting, the occasional buzz, the soft sounds of her engagement with another man – they became a strange, lulling soundtrack. It was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Deep in the hidden, shameful corners he was only beginning to explore? Proof of her desirability. Proof of his insignificance within this specific, electrifying frame.
He nestled his head more comfortably, the firm, smooth warmth of her flesh beneath his cheek a profound comfort. His breath eased out in a long, slow sigh, fogging the cotton. The frantic thudding of his heart began to slow, settling into a steadier, calmer rhythm. Contentment, thick and unexpected, wrapped around him, warm as the comforter. A low, soft hum vibrated in his chest, muffled by the pillow of her ass. Hmmmmm. The scent of jasmine and Sharon filled his senses, pushing Mark’s phantom image further back, blurring its edges. She deserves it. This is right.
Sharon shifted her weight minutely, adjusting her position on her elbows, still engrossed in the glowing screen. She absently patted the crown of his head with her free hand, a distracted, affectionate gesture, like soothing a large, resting dog. "Good boy," she murmured, her voice distant, focused entirely on the conversation flowing across the miles. Her thumb resumed its rapid dance over the glass. Tap-tap-tap.
Alexey closed his eyes again. The hum deepened, resonating quietly against her skin. He didn’t need her attention right now. He had this. The warmth. The scent. The soft sounds of her pleasure, however directed. The knowledge thrumming low in his belly. Friday was coming. For now, he rested. Content.
The scent of jasmine and Sharon’s warm skin filled his senses, a comforting blanket. The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of her texting became a distant metronome. The firm, yielding softness of her ass beneath his cheek was his anchor. Contentment, unexpected and profound, pulled him deeper. His breathing slowed, evening out, the frantic pulse in his throat calming. The low hum in his chest faded into the quiet. Sleep, thick and warm, claimed him effortlessly.
Cool air brushed Alexey’s cheek. He stirred, blinking slowly against the dim light filtering through the curtains. The room was quiet now, the only sound Sharon’s soft, steady breathing beside him. His face was still pressed firmly against her shorts-clad ass. He lifted his head slightly, a crick in his neck protesting. The bedside clock glowed softly: just over an hour had passed.
He nuzzled back into the warmth, his voice thick with sleep, muffled against the cotton. "Are you still texting with your lover?" The word felt clumsy, foreign on his tongue, yet charged.
Sharon shifted beneath him. A soft giggle bubbled up, warm and musical. She turned her head, peering over her shoulder at him. Her dark eyes sparkled with amusement in the low light. "Lover?" she echoed, her dimples deepening into playful crescents. "Look at your face!" She reached back, her fingertips gently tracing his cheekbone. "Full-on shorts imprint, Leshka. Like a waffle iron kissed you." She giggled again, the sound vibrating through her body against his face. "Adorable."
He rubbed his cheek, feeling the faint, ridged pattern etched into his skin. A sleepy smile touched his lips. "So?" he mumbled, nuzzling her again. "Who were you texting?"
She shifted fully onto her side now, facing him, her expression softening. The playful glint remained, but layered with something earnest, thoughtful. "Wasn't texting Mark," she clarified, her voice gentle. She brushed a stray strand of hair from his forehead. "I was reading." She paused, searching his sleepy grey-blue eyes. "About... your thing. The cuckold thing. And open relationships." Her thumb stroked his cheek where the shorts had left their mark. "Articles. Forums. Trying to understand it better." Her gaze held his, warm and serious. "So I can be the best girlfriend for my loving boyfriend."
Alexey’s breath caught. The sleepy fog lifted instantly, replaced by a surge of warmth that spread through his chest, chasing away the last remnants of drowsiness. She wasn't just playing along; she was trying to understand. To navigate the dark, tangled currents inside him he barely comprehended himself. Gratitude, fierce and tender, washed over him. He leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the curve of her ass, right where his face had rested. His lips lingered on the warm cotton.
He hummed softly, the vibration traveling through the fabric into her skin. "Mmm," the sound was low, intimate, filled with a depth of feeling words couldn't capture. He lifted his head slightly, his lips still hovering near her skin. "Is that so?" The question was murmured against her, rough with sleep and emotion. His hand slid up her hip, resting possessively on her waist.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of her thin cotton shorts, sliding them down over the swell of her hips. Cool air kissed newly exposed skin as the fabric pooled at her knees. He pressed his lips to the warm curve of her bare ass, a slow, deliberate kiss on the perfect, pale globe. Another followed just below, then another tracing the crease where thigh met cheek.
"Mmm," Sharon sighed, arching slightly, pressing back against his mouth. Her voice was low, lazy with pleasure. "That research? Turns out your little kink isn't so little." She shifted, making space for him. "Lots of guys get off on it. Open relationships, sharing... the denial."
Alexey hummed against her skin, the vibration making her shiver. His tongue traced the dimpled flesh, savoring the salt-sweet taste. He moved lower, towards the hidden cleft. "Denial?" he murmured, lips brushing the sensitive furrow.
"Yeah," she breathed, a hitch in her voice as his tongue flickered lower, tentative. "Like when I ruined your orgasm." Her hand reached back, fingers tangling in his damp hair, guiding him. "Part of the thrill. The waiting." His tongue delved deeper, finding the tight, forbidden knot of her asshole. She gasped, hips lifting. "Oh god, Lesha."
He licked her there, slow circles then firm, flat strokes, wholly focused. Her moans deepened, became breathy whimpers. "So..." she managed, voice thick, "I think... you shouldn't come. Not until Friday. Not until after my date with Mark." His tongue didn’t stop, a low growl vibrating against her skin – agreement, need. "Hold it all in."
Suddenly, her legs snapped shut. She crossed them firmly over his back, powerful thighs locking his head in place, his face buried deep between her cheeks. The world narrowed to heat, scent, pressure. "And that," she commanded, voice husky but clear, squeezing her thighs tighter, "doesn’t mean I shouldn’t cum. Don’t you agree, kotik?"
He grunted, muffled, desperate. Agreement. Enthusiastic agreement. Licking her perfect ass, tasting her pussy when he angled lower – it was one of his favourite things in the world. He showed her. His tongue plunged lower, finding her slick, swollen folds. He lapped at her entrance, then focused on her clit, sucking hard, flicking fast.
Sharon cried out, fingers tightening painfully in his hair. "Yes! Fuck!" Her hips ground against his face. He drove her relentlessly, tongue working magic, feeling her clench, flutter. Her first orgasm hit like a wave, sharp and sudden. She bucked, gasping his name. He didn’t stop. Before she could fully come down, his tongue was circling again, building the pressure once more.
Her hand slid from his hair to his throat. As the second peak built, trembling through her, her fingers clamped down. Hard. Air cut off. His vision sparked, head roaring, pinned by her thighs, suffocating. Bliss. Ecstasy. Pure surrender. She released him just as he started seeing stars, gasping. "You like that?" she panted, voice shaking. "My good boy."
He rasped for air, nodding against her slick heat, diving back in. Tongue relentless. Hips pinned. He built her up again, slower this time, deep, rhythmic strokes driving her wild. Her hand rested lightly on his neck, a promise. "Don’t stop," she begged. "Don’t you dare." He felt her tighten, the tremors starting deep inside. Her fingers dug into his throat again, crushing. Darkness crowded the edges. He licked harder, riding the edge of consciousness just as her third orgasm shattered her, her cry muffled by the pillow, her thighs clamping like vices around his head.
She went limp, hand falling away. He gulped air, dizzy, face still buried. "One more," she whispered, exhausted but demanding. "Make me." Her hand found his head, pressing him in deeper. "Earn it." He did. Tongue and lips and sheer, focused worship. He pushed her slowly, exquisitely, to that final, gasping crest. When she came the fourth time, it was silent, a full-body convulsion, her legs trembling around him, her fingers weakly stroking his damp hair.
Eventually, her legs loosened, sliding off his back. He lifted his head, face soaked, breathing ragged. Sharon lay utterly spent, eyes closed, a faint smile on her lips. He collapsed beside her, spent, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. She turned, curling into him, her head finding his chest. He wrapped an arm around her, sticky face pressed against her hair. Jasmine scent. Warm skin. Deep, sated silence.
Within minutes, her breathing deepened into sleep. He held her, listening, his own exhaustion pulling him under. They drifted off tangled together, his face still nestled against the warm, damp curve of her thigh, the dark promise of Friday humming softly beneath the surface.