Chapter 36: Yum
The first thing Svet became aware of was the sound of the waves, a constant, breathing presence. The second was the heat. Joe was a furnace, his big body curled around her, one heavy arm slung across her waist, his face buried in the tangled mess of her hair. Early morning light, thin and watery, filtered through the salt-crusted window.
She was sore in the most delicious way. A deep, internal ache that felt like a brand. The memories of the night before washed over her in a hot tide—the frantic coupling against the door, the slower, more devastating ruin he’d wrought upon her in this bed hours later. The screaming. Diego’s applause. A flush crept up her neck, but it was accompanied by a curl of pure, feminine pride.
She shifted slightly, and the arm around her tightened. A low, sleepy grumble vibrated against her back. “M’awake,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. His lips found her shoulder, planting a soft, absent kiss.
“Liar,” she whispered, a smile in her voice.
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through her. His hand slid from her waist, splaying across her lower belly, his fingers spanning almost the entire width of her torso. He traced idle patterns on her skin. “You okay?” he asked, the sleep fading, replaced by his usual tender concern.
“More than okay.” She turned in his arms to face him. In the soft morning light, he looked younger, the harsh lines of his face relaxed. His brown eyes were warm, liquid. “You?”
He didn’t answer with words. He kissed her, slow and deep, a languid exploration that tasted of sleep and salt and him. When he pulled back, he brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I love you,” he said, the words so simple, so direct, they still sent a shockwave through her system.
She’d only said it once, last night in the dark, a fragile confession whispered as she drifted off. He’d said it multiple times, like he was trying to carve the truth of it into the air between them.
“I know,” she said, pressing her forehead to his. It was a coward’s answer, but she wasn’t ready to offer the words again. They felt too big, too volatile. Instead, she let her hand trail down the hard plane of his stomach, over the crisp line of hair that led downward. He was already half-hard, the thick length of him stirring against her thigh.
She felt his breath catch. His eyes darkened.
“Svet,” he said, a warning and a plea.
“I want to,” she whispered, meeting his gaze. She’d never done this before. The thought was a flutter of nervousness in her throat. But the need to taste him, to reduce this massive, controlled man to whimpers, was a sudden, consuming fire. “Show me what you like.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw. He swallowed hard. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” she repeated, more firmly this time. She pushed gently at his shoulder until he rolled onto his back. She propped herself up on one elbow beside him, looking down the magnificent length of him. In the grey morning light, he was a sculpture of muscle and tendon. And there, rising from the thatch of dark hair, was his cock, fully erect now, thick and heavy against his stomach, the head a flushed, ruddy purple. A bead of clear fluid had gathered at the tip.
Her mouth went dry. She leaned down, her hair falling in a curtain around them, and swiped her tongue over that droplet. The taste was sharp, salty, uniquely him. He jerked, a sharp intake of air hissing between his teeth.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
Encouraged, she opened her mouth wider, taking just the head inside. She swirled her tongue around the sensitive ridge, mimicking what she liked when he went down on her. His hand came up, his fingers threading through her hair, not pushing, just holding.
“Just like that,” he groaned, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary thrust.
She took more of him, slowly, letting her saliva slick the way. It was an awkward stretch, a testing of limits. She focused on the texture of him, the silken skin over iron-hard core, the heavy weight on her tongue. She used her hand to stroke what she couldn’t take, establishing a rhythm. Up and down. Twist of her wrist. Swirl of her tongue.
His breathing grew ragged. The hand in her hair tightened, then relaxed, his touch reverent. “Jesus Christ, baby. Your mouth.”
She hummed in response, the vibration making him curse again, a raw, broken sound. She picked up the pace, losing her self-consciousness in the sheer physicality of it, in the sounds she was pulling from him. She sucked harder, hollowing her cheeks, and felt him swell further, the veins standing out.
“I’m close,” he warned, his voice strained. “Svet, I’m gonna…”
She didn’t pull away. She looked up, meeting his dark, desperate gaze as she took him as deep as she could, until her nose pressed into his skin. The eye contact seemed to detonate him.
With a ragged shout that echoed off the wooden ceiling, he came. Hot, salty bursts flooded her mouth, more than she expected, a pulsing rhythm that matched his choked cries. She swallowed, once, twice, the act intimate and strangely powerful. She kept moving, milking him with her mouth and hand until he was twitching and oversensitive, trying to gently push her head away.
“Stop, stop, fuck, too much,” he gasped, his body sheened with a fresh layer of sweat.
She released him with a soft, wet pop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She felt a surge of exhilaration. She’d done that. She’d made him lose control.
But she wasn’t finished.
She kissed her way back up his body, her tongue tracing the line of his abs, his sternum, the hollow of his throat. He was panting, utterly spent beneath her. She settled herself over his hips, her own slickness smearing against his softened cock. She ground down gently, watching his face.
His eyes were closed, his face a mask of exhausted bliss. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“You said you were mine,” she whispered, leaning down to nibble his earlobe. “I’m just making sure.”
She reached between them, wrapping her fingers around him. He was still semi-hard, impossibly, already thickening again under her touch. She stroked him, slow and firm, using her own wetness from her thighs as lubrication. He moaned, a pained, pleasured sound.
“Svet… I can’t… it’s too soon.”
“You can,” she murmured, her lips trailing down his neck. She focused entirely on him, on the reactions she could draw out. She licked his nipples, bit gently at the hard muscles of his chest, all while her hand worked his cock with a relentless, knowing rhythm. Within minutes, he was fully hard again, thicker than before, leaking against her palm.
“You’re a fucking sorceress,” he breathed, his hands coming up to grip her hips.
She shifted, positioning him at her entrance, and sank down onto him in one slow, deliberate motion. He filled her completely, the stretch a sweet, familiar burn. She rode him slowly, deeply, using the muscles inside her to clench and release around him in a steady, squeezing pulse.
“Oh, god, what are you doing to me?” he choked out, his head thrashing back on the pillow. His big hands were helpless on her body, caressing her thighs, her waist, her breasts.
“Torturing you,” she said, her voice steady even as pleasure coiled tight in her own core. “Just like you torture me.”
She leaned forward, changing the angle, and began to move faster. The slap of skin, their mingled wetness, the creak of the bed—it was a lewd, beautiful music. His composure was gone. He was a writhing, moaning mess beneath her, his eyes glazed, his mouth open as he panted her name.
When she felt his muscles lock, felt him swell even larger inside her, she clenched down viciously. “Come for me again, Joe.”
He did, with a hoarse, shattered cry that was almost a sob. This orgasm was different—deeper, drawn out, a seismic tremor that shook his entire frame. She felt the hot rush inside her, and she kept moving, milking every last drop until he was limp and shaking, utterly spent.
She collapsed forward onto his chest, both of them slick and breathless. He held her, his arms like warm steel bands. His heart thundered against her ear.
“Three,” he finally gasped, his voice utterly wrecked. “You got me three times.”
She smiled against his skin. “I lost count.”
A weak laugh shook his chest. “Liar.” He kissed the top of her head. “I love you. So fucking much.”
Before she could formulate any response, a loud, rapid knocking shook the bedroom door.
“Yo! Lovebirds!” Alexa’s voice, bright and merciless, pierced the quiet. “I’m coming in for a survivor check! And I brought coffee, so don’t be doing anything I can’t unsee!”
Joe groaned, a sound of pure exasperation. Svet just buried her face deeper into his neck, the real world crashing back in with the sound of her best friend’s laughter on the other side of the door.