Chapter 12: Wake Up, Sweety!
Alexey swam up from the depths of a dreamless sleep into a different kind of dream. The first thing he registered was weight, a pleasant, crushing pressure on his chest and face. The second was scent, the intimate musk of her skin and something cleaner, like jasmine soap. The third was the faint, pre-dawn light filtering through his eyelids, painting everything a soft, hazy grey.
He opened his eyes.
The world was a landscape of warm, golden-brown skin and the powerful, smooth curves of Jess’s thighs framing his vision. She was straddling his face, sitting back on his chest, completely naked. And she was hard, her cock resting heavily against his cheek, the tip nudging his temple.
“There he is,” she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep. She shifted her hips, a subtle, claiming movement. “You were just so adorable, all peaceful and quiet. I couldn’t help myself.”
Her hands smoothed over her own thighs, drawing his gaze. The muscle there was defined, strong. He felt a familiar, dizzying pull of desire. His own body responded instantly, a sharp, aching throb of need.
She leaned forward slightly, just enough for him to see her face upside down, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Wake up, sweety,” she cooed. “Say ‘Aaa’ for me.”
It was absurd. It was perfect. His jaw, still tender from the day before, protested at the mere thought, but his mind was already yielding. He trusted her. He wanted this.
He parted his lips. “Aaa—”
It was all the invitation she needed.
She guided herself into his mouth, not with a violent thrust, but with a slow, inexorable pressure that stole his breath. The thick head pushed past his lips, his tongue flattening beneath the weight. He groaned, a muffled, desperate sound, as she filled him.
“That’s it,” she whispered, her hands now braced on the headboard behind him. “Just take it. Morning throat is the best throat.”
She began to move, a deep, languid rhythm that was somehow more overwhelming than her previous roughness. There was no hurry, no frantic race to her finish. This was a leisurely claiming, a slow-motion possession. Each withdrawal was a tease, each thrust a deliberate, stretching invasion.
He gagged, his body convulsing. Tears sprang to his eyes, blurring the inverted image of her watching him, her expression one of focused pleasure.
“Shhh, I know,” she soothed, not stopping. “I know it’s a lot. But you can handle it. You handled seven inches yesterday. Let’s see if we can beat your record, huh?”
The mention of a measurement, a goal, sparked something in him. He forced himself to relax, to breathe through the burning in his throat, to accept the impossible depth. His hands, trapped at his sides under the sheets, clenched the mattress.
She picked up the pace just a fraction, her hips rolling with a fluid, practiced motion. The wet, rhythmic sounds were obscenely loud in the quiet room. He was drooling already, a messy, continuous stream that soaked the pillow beneath his head. He was a tool for her pleasure, a warm, living vessel, and the clarity of that purpose was intoxicating.
“So good,” she moaned, her head tilting back. “You’re taking me so deep, Alexey. Deeper than last time. I can feel it.”
He believed her. The pressure in his throat was immense, a constant, stretching fullness that bordered on pain. But the pain was a secondary thing, a distant signal compared to the roaring need to please her. His eyes, wide and streaming, remained locked on her face, watching every flicker of sensation that crossed her features.
Her rhythm became less controlled, more urgent. The slow, deep fucking became harder, more demanding. “That’s it, that’s it, right there,” she chanted, her voice tightening. “Don’t you dare stop. Don’t you dare.”
He couldn’t have if he tried. She held him captive, a beautiful, ruthless rider. The headboard tapped a gentle, persistent rhythm against the wall.
With a sharp, guttural cry, her body seized. He felt the violent pulsing at the back of his throat, the hot, salty release flooding his mouth. He swallowed convulsively, again and again, until there was nothing left.
She didn’t pull out.
She collapsed forward, her full weight settling onto him, her softening cock still buried deep in his mouth and throat. Her chest heaved against his, her breath hot on his stomach. She nuzzled into the space between his pectorals, a soft, exhausted sound escaping her.
“Eight,” she breathed into his skin, the word a puff of air. “You took eight inches, you incredible man.”
He lay perfectly still, immobilized by her weight and the profound intimacy of the moment. He could feel every inch of her, the sweat-slicked skin, the relaxed muscle, the slow, gentle softening inside him. It was more vulnerable than anything they had done. He closed his eyes, just feeling her, the taste of her lingering on his tongue, the smell of her and their sex filling his lungs.
After a long, quiet time, she finally, carefully, slid out of him with a soft, wet sigh. She rolled off his chest and collapsed beside him on the rumpled sheets, one arm flung across his stomach, her face buried in his shoulder.
They lay there in the growing light, tangled and spent, the only sound their slowing breath syncing together in the quiet room. Jess traced idle patterns on his stomach, her skin glowing in the soft dawn. “I could get used to this,” she murmured, her voice a contented rasp. “Waking you up like my own personal, very talented alarm clock.” She propped her head on her hand, looking down at him. “I’d love to start every single morning like this. Too bad we live separately.”
A low, surprised giggle escaped him, the sound rumbling through his chest. The sheer domestic absurdity of her statement, contrasted with the raw reality of what they’d just done, was overwhelmingly charming.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “You know what I also love?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I looooove that you don’t ever say I should make you cum in return.” She leaned closer, her breath warm on his ear. “It should be that way, obviously. Because I’m the dominant one.” Her gaze was playful but utterly certain. “And you are the bottom. Obviously.”
A profound, burning blush instantly consumed Alexey’s entire face and chest. He opened his mouth, but no denial came out. There was nothing to deny. The truth of it was a solid, accepted weight in his gut.
She watched the silent admission play out across his features and let out a delighted giggle. Her eyes flicked down to his erection, which had remained stubbornly, painfully hard throughout her entire morning use of him. “Obviously,” she repeated, her tone shifting from teasing to decisively sharp. With a quick, precise motion, she flicked her finger hard against the swollen head of his cock.
A sharp, electric jolt of pain shot through him, making him gasp and curl inward.
The gasp caught in his raw throat, a strangled sound of surprise and sharp sensation. He instinctively curled away from the source of the pain, his body tensing. Jess watched him, her head tilted, a flicker of concern quickly replacing her playful smirk.
"Okay, that was too much," she said, her voice softening. "I'm sorry, Alexey. That was mean."
She didn't let him dwell on the apology. Instead, she closed the distance between them and captured his mouth with hers. The kiss was not teasing or dominant, but deep and searching, a tender invasion that utterly disarmed him. All the tension, the sharp pain, the residual ache in his jaw, simply melted under the warmth of her lips.
He sank into the mattress, into her, his hands coming up to tentatively rest on her waist. She tasted of sleep and herself, a familiar, intimate flavor now. When she finally broke the kiss, she kept her forehead pressed against his, her breath mingling with his.
She whispered the words directly into his lips, her voice a low, thrilled hum. "Told you. You're bottom."
It wasn't a question or a taunt. It was a simple, devastating fact, and hearing it in that tender moment made his heart hammer against his ribs. He could only nod, a slight, helpless movement.
"Come on," she said, swinging her legs off the bed with effortless grace. She pulled him up, his body still humming from the kiss. "Let's get clean."
The shower was a steam-filled sanctuary. Hot water cascaded over them, washing away the sweat and the evidence of her morning claim. He watched, transfixed, as the water sluiced over the powerful curves of her shoulders, her back, the incredible, sculpted strength of her thighs. His gaze was a physical touch, and she basked in it.
She caught him staring as she soaped her legs. "See something you like?" she asked, a knowing smile playing on her lips.
"Da," he breathed, the Russian affirmation slipping out unbidden. "Very much."
She laughed, a bright, happy sound that echoed off the tiles. She turned, presenting the full, glorious view of her body to him, and his breath hitched. The confidence in her posture, the way she owned every inch of herself, was the most potent aphrodisiac he had ever encountered.
In the kitchen, with the morning sun now fully illuminating the loft, she moved with a dancer's economy. She pulled eggs and vegetables from the fridge, her naked body a study in motion against the cool stainless steel. He sat at the counter, a towel wrapped around his waist, unable to look away.
His eyes kept drifting back to her thighs, the memory of their weight on his chest, their strength framing his vision, making his skin flush. She cracked eggs into a bowl one-handed, her focus on the task, but a small, proud smile touched her lips. She knew. She felt the heat of his attention like a physical warmth, and she loved it.
He watched the shift of muscle under smooth skin as she reached for a whisk, utterly captivated. This, he realized, was its own kind of worship.
The sizzle of butter in the pan was a quiet counterpoint to the frantic beat of his heart. She moved with an effortless rhythm, cracking eggs, chopping chives, her bare feet silent on the cool floor. He watched the play of light along the muscles of her back, the shift of her shoulders, the way her body was both a weapon and a sanctuary.
He was still floating in the aftermath, his body a map of pleasant aches and raw sensitivity. The memory of her weight, her taste, the feeling of being so thoroughly used and then so tenderly kissed, left him unmoored. This, he realized, was its own kind of worship.
"Okay, come here," she said, her voice cutting through his reverie. She turned, holding two plates laden with fluffy scrambled eggs and perfectly golden toast. She nodded toward the large area rug in the living room. "Sit."
He obeyed, lowering himself onto the soft wool, his towel pooling around him. Instead of sitting across from him, she walked right over and settled herself directly onto his lap, her back to his chest. Her warmth seeped into him immediately, a solid, comforting pressure.
She wiggled her butt playfully, adjusting her position, and a soft, contented sigh escaped him. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her there. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and tilted her face up to his.
"Open up," she murmured, lifting a forkful of eggs to his lips.
He did, the flavors of egg, cheese, and chives bursting on his tongue. It was simple, perfect. She fed him another bite, then twisted to press a soft, quick kiss to his cheek. Her skin smelled like clean soap and sunshine.
"So," she said, giggling as she shifted again, making his breath hitch. "I was thinking. We could be total degenerates and just stay in bed all day." She fed him a piece of buttery toast. "Or we could go to that weird flea market over on Twelfth. I saw a sign for it."
She looked back at him, her eyes bright with possibilities. "We could find some hideous painting of a sad clown and buy it as our anniversary gift." Another kiss, this time to his jaw. "Or we could just walk. I don't know. What do you feel like doing?"
He swallowed the food, his arms tightening around her. In that moment, with the weight of her on his lap and the scent of her in his lungs, he couldn't imagine anything more perfect than this. "Anything," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "As long as it is with you."
Jess laughed, a warm, throaty sound that vibrated through his chest. "Smooth talker," she said, feeding him another forkful of eggs. "I like it."
"I like it." She settled more firmly against him, the warmth of her back seeping into his chest. They ate in a comfortable silence punctuated only by the city's distant hum and the soft sounds of their chewing. He felt the steady rise and fall of her breathing, a rhythm that slowly synced with his own.
He nuzzled the back of her neck, inhaling the clean scent of her skin. "This is nice," he murmured, his voice still a little rough.
"Told you you'd make a good pillow," she said, tilting her head to give him better access. She fed him the last bite of eggs from her plate. "And you eat so prettily for me. It's very satisfying."
They sat like that for a while, entangled on the floor, the empty plates forgotten. The morning sun climbed higher, painting long, bright rectangles across the hardwood. He traced idle patterns on her stomach with his fingertips, feeling the solid muscle there.
"I am really glad we met, Alexey," she said softly, her tone shifting from playful to genuinely sincere.
The simple admission struck him with unexpected force. He tightened his arms around her. "I am also," he said, the words feeling inadequate. "Very glad."
She twisted in his lap to face him, her eyes searching his. "Yeah?" A slow, wicked grin spread across her face. "You know, I should really text Nancy a thank you card. A fruit basket, maybe."
He blinked, confused by the non-sequitur. "Nancy?"
Jesse’s grin widening. “She basically served you to me on a silver platter," Jess continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. She leaned in, her nose almost touching his. "And I am so, so glad she did. Because where else was I going to find a boyfriend so perfectly submissive for my huuuuuuuge dick?"
The blush ignited across his face and chest instantly, a hot, prickling wave of heat. He tried to look away, but her gaze held him, sparkling with delight. A helpless, breathy giggle escaped him, and he ducked his head, burying his face in her shoulder.
"Agreed," he mumbled into her skin, his whole body shaking with a mixture of profound embarrassment and even more profound happiness.