Chapter 30: The Final Morning
The pale, pre-dawn light seeped around the edges of the blinds, painting the room in shades of charcoal and slate. Channah woke to the solid heat of Ryan’s body curled behind her, his arm thrown possessively over her waist. The ache was a deep, satisfying throb between her legs, a soreness in her ass that made her shift slightly, a reminder stamped into her flesh. She felt him, hard already against the back of her thigh, even in sleep.She didn’t hesitate. She slid down, the silk sheets whispering against her skin, and disappeared under the heavy duvet. The world narrowed to the intimate dark, the scent of sex and sleep, the salt-tang of his skin. She took him into her mouth, slowly, her tongue tracing the veined length of him. He tasted of her—of her ass from the night before, a musky, intimate flavor that made her moan around him. She sucked, lazy and deep, feeling him swell and harden completely against her palate.
A groan rumbled above her, his hand coming down to tangle in her hair. “Fuck, Channah…”
She worked him until his hips began to jerk, then she slid back up, her lips glossy. He pulled her up, his mouth finding hers in a hungry, desperate kiss. Then he rolled onto his back, guiding her over him.“Your turn,” he breathed, his voice graveled with sleep and want.
She understood. She straddled his face, lowering herself until her wet, swollen cunt hovered just above his mouth.At the same time, she bent forward, taking his cock back into her throat. The angle was intense, deep, her nose pressed into his pubic bone. He didn’t make her wait. His tongue lashed her clit, then delved lower, pushing past her folds to lap at her entrance before circling back to press against her asshole. He probed it with a blunt, wet insistence.She cried out, the sound muffled around his cock. He added fingers, two sliding deep into her pussy, curling, scissoring, while his tongue worked her ass. The dual sensation, the filthiness of it, the sheer animal yielding, coiled the pleasure in her belly tight. She came suddenly, violently, her thighs clamping around his head as she convulsed, her throat contracting around him as she swallowed again and again.
When the tremors subsided, she pulled off him, gasping.She turned, presenting herself to him once more. She guided the head of his cock to her tight, already-used hole. “Here,” she whispered, and sank down onto him.
It was a smoother entry this time, a burning stretch she now craved. She rode him with a slow, desperate rhythm, her back arched, her hands braced on his thighs.She watched his face, watched his control fray. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her, then moved to her breasts, pinching her nipples hard.
“I’m close,” he warned, his voice tight.She lifted off him, his cock slick and gleaming. She dropped to her knees beside the bed, took him back into her mouth without a second’s pause. The taste was overwhelmingly her own, a bitter, salty tang from her ass. She sucked him fiercely, her hand working the base.“Open,” he commanded, pulling himself from her lips.
She obeyed, tilting her head back, opening her mouth wide, her tongue extended. He fisted himself, his strokes short and frantic.The first jet hit the back of her throat. The second splashed across her tongue. The third, a thick, hot rope, landed on her cheek and dribbled toward her lips. He kept going, painting her face, her chin, her neck, until he was spent.
She stayed there, mouth open, swallowing what had landed inside, then licking her lips, catching the streaks on her face with her tongue. She crawled up the bed, her face glistening, and kissed him deeply, letting him taste the cocktail of their pleasure.
The alarm on her bedside table blared, a harsh electronic shatter. She reached over, her movements languid, and silenced it.“I’m not going to work today,” she whispered against his mouth.
He laughed, a low, incredulous sound. “What’s the plan, then?”
“My reading chair broke.The leg’s unstable. I need a new one.” She traced the line of his jaw.“Come with me. We’ll go to that big design place in SoHo.”
A few hours later, they stood in the cavernous, brightly lit showroom of a high-end furniture store.Racks of chairs, sofas, and tables stretched under fluorescent lights. The air smelled of new fabric and warehouse dust. It was oddly sterile after the organic mess of her bedroom.They found a secluded corner, a model bedroom display behind a half-wall. A large, faux-mink blanket was draped artfully over a low platform bed.Ryan glanced around. The store was quiet, a weekday morning lull.
He pulled her behind the display, his hand snaking under her simple cotton dress.He found her bare, no underwear, still tender from the morning. “You’re soaked,” he murmured, his fingers sliding through her folds.
“I’ve been thinking about it all morning,” she breathed. “About tasting it again.”
He turned her around, bending her over the edge of the platform bed. He unzipped his jeans, his cock springing out, already hard. He spit into his hand, slicked himself, and guided the head to her asshole. He pushed in with a single, smooth thrust, burying himself in the public, fluorescent-lit silence.
He fucked her there, his thrusts measured and deep, one hand clapped over her mouth to stifle her cries.Her fingers clawed at the fake mink. She could hear the distant echo of a salesperson talking to another customer, the squeak of a trolley wheel.When he was close, he pulled out. He turned her, knelt her before him on the industrial carpet.“Open,” he said again, his voice a low command.
She took him into her mouth, her ass still pulsing, the direct transition from one hole to the other a depravity that made her eyes roll back. She sucked him clean, tasting herself profoundly, the act a visceral circuit of possession.He groaned, tangling his hands in her red hair.
Then he pulled out, jerking himself fast.“This one’s for you to drink,” he growled.
He came in a torrent, not aimed at her face, but directly into her open, waiting mouth. She kept her eyes locked on his as he poured himself into her, swallowing convulsively, drinking him down until he was empty.
She stood on shaky legs, wiping a stray drop from her chin with her finger, which she then sucked clean.Her face was flushed, but composed.She smoothed her dress.
“I think I like that chair,” Ryan said hoarsely, nodding toward a sleek armchair a few yards away, as if commenting on the weather.
“The leather one?” Her voice was surprisingly steady.“It’s nice. But let’s check the price.”
They walked out of the display area, her hand finding his.The salesperson approached, offering a polite smile. Channah smiled back, a therapist’s perfect, calm mask. “We’re just browsing,” she said.“Thank you.”
In the taxi back to Brooklyn, she leaned her head against his shoulder. His watch, now back on his wrist, gleamed in the midday sun. She didn’t speak. She just let the taste of him, and of herself, linger on her tongue, a secret she’d carry through the empty, ordinary day ahead.