Chapter 3: The Feast
Theo’s brain short-circuited. Her words, “Gimme it,” echoed in the silent, cookie-scented room, clashing with the orchestral soundtrack still playing from the kitchen. The movie’s explosions were meaningless background noise.
Before he could form a syllable of protest, Bex moved. Her hands, surprisingly deft, were on his belt. The metallic scrape-rip of the buckle opening was deafening. His hands fluttered uselessly in the air, unsure where to land.
“Wait,” he finally croaked.
She didn’t even look up. She popped the button of his jeans, grabbed his zipper, and yanked it down in one fierce motion. The sound was brutally loud. She hooked her thick fingers into the waistband of his jeans and his boxers and pulled everything down to his thighs in one rough tug.
The cool air of the room hit his skin. And then there he was, fully exposed, jutting up thick and heavy and already glistening at the tip. His secret, absurdly out in the open, in Bex Matthews’ pristine living room.
Her breath hitched. She stared, her lips slightly parted. For a second, the usual hardness in her face was gone, replaced by something like awe. Then it vanished, replaced by a hungry, predatory grin. She wrapped her hand around him, her fingers not even meeting. A low whistle escaped her.
“Fuck,” she breathed, her voice husky. “You’re built like a fucking breeding bull.”
The crude comparison should have been humiliating. Instead, it sent a jolt of pure, electric heat straight to his core. He watched, mesmerized and terrified, as she leaned forward, her buzzcut blonde hair tickling his thighs. She didn’t tease. She didn’t start slow. She opened her mouth, leaned down, and took him in, swallowing him to the root in one wet, deep, sloppy motion.
Theo’s head slammed back against the couch cushions, a choked gasp tearing from his throat. The heat was absolute, the pressure incredible. She made a guttural, satisfied sound around him, the vibration traveling straight up his spine. Her tongue worked relentlessly, and her hand cupped and squeezed what her mouth couldn’t cover.
It was too much. It was overwhelming. Her aggression, the sheer physical shock of it—his hips bucked involuntarily. She didn’t slow down. She set a brutal, devastating pace, her head bobbing, her other hand gripping his thigh hard enough to leave marks. The classical music swelled in the background, a bizarrely beautiful soundtrack to the raw, wet sounds filling the space between them.
After a minute—or an hour, he couldn’t tell—she pulled off with an obscene pop. She looked up at him, her lips swollen, her eyes glazed and wild. “Nope,” she panted. “Not like this. Need more.”
In one fluid, powerful motion, she got to her feet. She grabbed the hem of her thin tank top and ripped it over her head, tossing it aside. She stood before him, topless, her massive breasts heavy and pierced with silver barbells, tattoos swirling over her ribs and across one shoulder. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her tiny sleep shorts and pushed them and her underwear down, stepping out of them.
She was entirely naked, tall and muscular and imposing, every curve and line of her body on display. She was a completely different person from the girl in the family photos. She climbed onto the couch, her knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips, looming over him.
“Look at you,” she murmured, her voice a mix of mean and strangely tender. She ran a hand down his chest. “All scared and hard. My good nerd.”
She reached between them, guided him with a firm, sure hand, and sank down onto him in one slow, inexorable drop.
Theo saw stars. The tight, hot clasp of her was unlike anything he could have imagined. She was so deep he couldn’t breathe. She let out a long, shuddering moan, her head falling back, the cords of her neck standing out.
Then she started to move.
It wasn’t rhythmic or gentle. It was a brutal, demanding ride, each rise and fall a claim. She set a punishing pace almost immediately, using her strong thighs to drive him impossibly deep. One of her hands braced against the back of the couch, the other tangled in his hair, pulling his head back.
She leaned down, her breasts pressing against his chest, and licked a stripe up the side of his neck to his jaw. She was panting, her breath hot in his ear.
“You’re mine,” she growled, biting his earlobe not quite gently. “All this. Mine.” She kissed his cheek, his temple, a messy, possessive barrage. “Fuck, you feel so good stuffed inside me.”
She was talking nonstop, a stream of filthy, adoring, aggressive praise. “Yes… fuck… give it to me… my good boy… my secret bull…” Her voice would swing from a low, mean growl to a high, bubbly giggle in the same sentence. She was overwhelming every one of his senses. The smell of her sweat and his skin, the sound of her slapping against him and her relentless voice, the sight of her muscular body working above him, the taste of salt on his lips from her skin.
Theo was completely passive, utterly taken over. His hands found her hips, holding on just to anchor himself in the storm. His climax built quickly, a terrifying pressure coiling in his gut. He tried to warn her, a stuttered, “Bex, I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” she commanded, slamming down harder. “Give it to me. Now.”
It broke over him like a wave, violent and emptying. He cried out, a sound he didn’t recognize, his body arching under hers. She rode him through it, milking every pulse, watching his face with a look of intense, victorious satisfaction.
As he shuddered into stillness, she didn’t stop. She kept moving, her own rhythm becoming more frantic, chasing her own finish. She ground down against him, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her breaths coming in sharp, punctuated grunts.
The doorbell rang.
A bright, cheerful chime echoed through the house.
Bex froze mid-grind, her body taut above him. Her eyes, which had been squeezed shut in concentration, flew open. They locked with Theo’s, wide with a sudden, insane clarity.
“Shit,” she whispered. “Pizza.”
The bell rang again.
Without missing a beat, without pulling off him, Bex’s expression shifted from stunned to mischievous. A huge, wicked grin spread across her face.
“Fuck it,” she said, and in one smooth motion, she lifted herself off him. She stood up, completely naked, glistening with sweat, and strode across the living room carpet towards the front hallway.
Theo could only watch, dumbfounded, as she grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door open.
He heard the muffled, teenage male voice from outside. “Uh, hey, pizza for Matthews—”
The voice cut off. Theo imagined the delivery kid’s view: a six-foot-two, naked, tattooed, incredibly built woman with a buzzcut, standing in the doorway of a nice suburban home, the smell of sex and cookies wafting out.
Bex’s voice was cheerful, loud, and completely unbothered. “Hey! Awesome. Hold on.” She turned and walked back into the living room, her bare ass—which was, Theo noticed with a distant, hysterical part of his mind, indeed wider than his waist—swaying. She scooped a folded wad of cash from the pocket of her discarded shorts off the floor.
She walked back to the door, the money held out. “Keep the change,” she said brightly, taking the pizza box.
A strangled, “Th-thanks,” floated in before the door closed.
Bex locked it, turned, and placed the pizza box on the small table by the door. She turned back to face Theo, who was still splayed on the couch, exposed and speechless.
She walked towards him, her grin softening into something that looked almost affectionate. She picked up his jeans from the floor and tossed them at him.
“Get dressed, dummy,” she said, her voice suddenly normal, almost sweet. “You’re letting all the heat out. And I’m fucking starving.” She padded towards the kitchen. “You want a plate or are we eating this right out of the box like animals?”