Chapter 4: Afterglow Feast
Theo fumbled with his jeans, his hands shaking. The reality of what had just happened—the naked pizza payment, the entire ferocious encounter—crashed into him like a delayed wave. He could still feel the wet heat of her mouth, the brutal grip of her thighs.
By the time he’d zipped up, Bex was already in the kitchen. He followed the sound of a cardboard box being ripped open.
She stood at the counter, still gloriously naked, pulling a slice of pepperoni from the box. She took a huge bite, chewing thoughtfully as she looked him over. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. A really hot, really fucked ghost.” She grinned, cheese stretching from her lip.
“I… that was…”
“Insane? Yeah. For me too.” She took another bite, talking with her mouth full. “You’re like a jackpot I didn’t know I was playing.”
The aroma of garlic and baked dough mixed with the lingering scent of sex and her parents’ cookies. It was disorienting. Theo hovered in the doorway, unsure of the protocol. Should he sit? Should he leave?
Bex solved it for him. She wiped her hands on a dish towel, then pointed a greasy finger at the kitchen island. “Up. Now.”
“On the counter?”
“Yes, on the counter, nerd.” Her tone was a familiar edge of impatience, but her eyes were bright, almost playful.
He hoisted himself onto the cold granite, feeling ridiculous. She stepped between his legs, her naked hips aligning with his clothed ones. She was so much taller like this, even with him elevated. He had to look up to meet her gaze.
She picked up another slice, holding it to his lips. “Eat. You’ll need your strength.”
He took a bite. The pizza was good, hot and greasy. She watched him chew, a soft, unreadable expression on her face. Then she leaned in and kissed him, her lips slick with pepperoni oil. It was a slow, exploratory kiss, totally different from the frantic hunger from before. Her hands came up to cradle his face, her thumbs stroking his jaw.
When she pulled back, she was smiling a small, private smile. “You taste like pizza and panic.”
Before he could answer, she kissed him again. This one was deeper, messier. She tasted of tomato sauce and something uniquely her—a sharp, sweet vitality. One of her hands slid down to his crotch, palming him through his jeans. He was already hard again, a fact that made his face burn.
“There he is,” she murmured against his lips. She worked his fly open once more, freeing him. Then, still kissing him, she hitched her leg up over his hip, positioning herself. He felt her warmth, the wetness from before, against his bare skin.
She guided him inside her with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, sinking down until he was fully sheathed. A low, satisfied hum vibrated in her throat. She kept him there, not moving, just holding him deep inside her as she reached for another slice of pizza over his shoulder.
“This is so fucked up,” she said happily, taking a bite. She began to move, a lazy, grinding rhythm that was more about fullness than frenzy. “My parents made these cookies today. They’re at the Hilton now, probably watching pay-per-view and ordering room service. And I’ve got their good china in the cupboard and a breeding bull on my kitchen counter.”
Theo could only grip her hips, his head spinning. The contrast was unbearable. The cozy, wholesome kitchen. The vulgar, perfect paradise of her body taking his. She leaned her forehead against his, her breath mixing with his.
“They’re getting a hotel,” she whispered, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial growl. “So I want cock all night. Everywhere. Understand?”
He nodded, a mute bob of his head.
“Good.” She kissed him, a quick, hard peck. Then, in a move that stole the air from his lungs, she slid off him, turned, and bent over the kitchen island, presenting the immense, breathtaking curve of her ass to him. It was a landscape, pale and marked faintly by the seams of the couch from earlier. “Do me doggy. Right here.”
Theo slid off the counter, his legs unsteady. He moved behind her, his hands hovering over her skin. He’d never felt so inadequate, so small next to someone. He entered her from behind, the angle deeper, more consuming. She braced herself on the counter, pushing back against him with a force that made the plates in the cupboard rattle.
“Harder,” she grunted. “C’mon, you can do better than that.”
He tried, driving into her, the slap of skin echoing off the tile. A wild, unfamiliar boldness flashed through him. His hand, moving almost of its own volition, came down in a sharp smack on the meat of her ass.
The sound cracked through the kitchen.
He froze, horrified. He expected her to whirl around, to pin him to the floor and break his arm.
Instead, she let out a shocked, delighted laugh. “Oh, fuck yes!” She pushed back against him harder, meeting his thrusts. “Do it again!”
Tentatively, he did. Then again, harder. Her skin bloomed pink under his palm. Each spank made her clench around him, a tight, rhythmic pulse that drove him closer to the edge. She started moving her hips in a circular, twerking motion, working him with a skill that left him mindless.
“Yeah,” she chanted, her voice rising. “Yeah, just like that, my fucking nerd. Give it to me. All night! ALL NIGHT!”
Her shriek of climax shook the vase on the table. Theo followed, his vision whiting out as he emptied into her, his hands gripping the monumental swell of her hips to keep from collapsing.
For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing and the hum of the fridge. Then Bex straightened up, turned, and looked at him. Her face was flushed, her eyes sparkling with a fierce joy.
Without a word, she scooped his jeans from the floor where he’d dropped them and tossed them at him. Then, in one fluid motion, she bent, hooked her arms under his knees and back, and lifted him clean off his feet.
Theo yelped, clinging to her neck. She was carrying him, bridal style, as if he weighed nothing. She was carrying him down the hallway, her bare feet padding on the hardwood.
“Bex—I can walk—”
“Shut up,” she said, not unkindly. She adjusted her grip, then, still walking, leaned her head down and took the tip of him into her mouth, suckling gently as she carried him. The sensation—the tender pressure, the absurdity of it all—made him groan.
She shouldered open a door and dumped him unceremoniously onto a queen-sized bed covered in a rumpled purple comforter. Her room was exactly as she’d described: band posters, a shelf of trophies, a cluster of stuffed animals in the corner looking on with blank, judgmental eyes.
She stood over him, hands on her hips, a giantess in her own domain. “Okay. Round… whatever. We’re just getting started.” She crawled onto the bed, a predatory gleam in her eye. The worn springs creaked in protest. “My turn on top. For real this time.”