Restraint (Xcite Romance) (5 page)

Chapter Five

I DO MY BEST to prove myself wrong on the “no restraint” front. Of course I do. I have no choice – otherwise I’m just a sex maniac who’s somehow become obsessed with my worst enemy. And yeah, I know, I know. He’s hardly my worst enemy, any more.

Yet even so, this whole thing is actually kind of embarrassing for me, socially. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t before, but that’s only because I’m an idiot. It’s obvious once I’m looking at it plainly, that I’m going to have to answer for some largely silly things I’ve said and done – even if they didn’t seem silly at the time.

I mean, for example: I once told Lucy that Artie might well be the most awful person in the universe. I started off this vacation by telling James that I wanted to kill him, because he’d invited the man I just sucked off, in the backseat of a car.

When all of this gets out, I’m going to look pretty stupid. I’m going to look like a foolish, shallow woman who throws away all her principles for a lovely face and a nice ass and a big cock, even if I’m starting to suspect that those things have absolutely nothing to do with my behaviour. I mean, Artie was the most handsome man I’ve ever met in real life before all of this happened. He was handsome when he told me to get a hold of myself and handsome when he called my date a troglodyte.

He’s handsome right now, as he stands over my bed and asks if I’d like eggs, for breakfast.

But it’s not his handsomeness I’m thinking about. Instead, I find myself wondering exactly what he’d do, if I told him that I have my hand between my legs right now, beneath the covers. That I’ve been trying not to masturbate for the past hour, just thinking about him actually using the words suck my cock, then being so excited by it that he couldn’t help coming all over my hands and my face.

Of course he’d seemed mortified, afterwards. He’d even apologised for getting some in my mouth, but here’s the problem: him doing so hadn’t made me think oh, what a pleasant fellow. Nor does it put me off in some way, as though him being polite makes him less of a man, or something.

No no no.

It excites me. It more than excites me, in fact. It makes me wild in a way I can’t even really process, while he’s stood over me talking casually about eggs. I mean, rationally I know he’s trying to discuss breakfast goods with me. But this other part of me – this other part that finds his restraint utterly fascinating – can’t help seeing it very differently.

He’s trying not to look at my body, I think. His gaze wants to travel down over the curves and dips I’m making beneath the sheets, but he’s forcing it to stay on my face. And all of those things he’s saying about poaching and frying and scrambling and whatever else?

It’s all just fake casualness. I know it is, because the second he cottons on to what I’m doing all of those words just die down inside his mouth. They turn to dust and blow away, along with that strained smile he’s trying to give me.

‘Are you … seriously doing that?’ he finally manages to get out, but I can see it takes some effort. And once I’ve stretched my arm up and around my head, it starts taking an effort for him to continue breathing and behaving like a human being.

Though in all fairness to him, when I move my arm it does make the covers slide down, somewhat. And underneath said covers it’s entirely possible that I’m just a tiny bit naked.

‘And what is it that you think I’m doing, exactly?’

‘I think you’re trying to get me back for what I was doing, the other night.’

I can’t help laughing – man his mind works in weird ways. I mean he’s obviously half joking, but even so. Where on earth does he get this stuff?

‘So this is revenge masturbation.’

His hand goes over his eyes and he lets out a little Christ – though of course I know why. It’s because I said the actual word and made the whole thing completely real, instead of something he can just hold at arm’s length.

‘Listen, Mallory,’ he starts, but it takes a big breath and some bridge of the nose pinching, before he can launch into whatever sort of speech this is going to be. And judging by his Deadly Serious expression, it’s going to be doozy. “I like you. I like you so much that I … I think about you an inadvisable amount. But I really need there to be some more … dating in what we’re doing. Can we not just go out some time, have drinks, walk home, kiss goodnight?”

Or you know, maybe his speech is just going to be all weirdly romantic and like he has actual and real feelings for me. Yeah, maybe that’s what’s going to happen. And then afterwards my insides can do this weird up and down thing, until I have to tease him just to make them go straight and normal again.

‘So you’re saying that I shouldn’t be masturbating. It’s terrible, that I am,’ I say, in a way that’s obviously intended to be humorous. Which makes it a surprise, when he protests as vociferously as he then does.

‘What? No. No, I’m not saying –’

‘There’s something wrong with masturbation. It’s bad for me, and will probably make me go blind.’

‘God no. Mallory, I would never –’ He halts, mid-sentence. Straightens and gives me a look. ‘You’re teasing me, aren’t you.’

I hold my finger and thumb about an inch apart, just for him.

‘Little bit.’

‘I guess I’m pretty easy to tease, now,’ he says, and then I don’t know what happens. This odd feeling just starts blooming in my chest, all warm and ache-y and full of something like guilt. He’s revealed all of this new and raw stuff to me, and what am I doing?

I’m teasing him about it.

‘Yeah, but I like this guy much more than I liked the other one,’ I say, and once I’ve done it I have to take a big breath. I have to, because I know what I’m going to say next and it’s fucking terrifying. ‘I’d love to go on a date with him.’

He doesn’t make me regret it, however. He actually asks the word really, as though it’s absolutely incredible that I might want to sit at a dinner table with him and order the menu for two.

‘Yeah. Really,’ I say, and when I do I reach out with my free hand and take hold of one of his. Just as a little reassuring sort of thing, maybe, all nice and warm and friendly.

And the kiss he then gives me … that feels nice and warm and friendly, too. He just leans down and presses his lips to mine, as chaste and closed-mouthed as something your grandmother might give you. One hand on the side of my face, that big body of his just hovering politely over mine.

I honestly don’t know how it goes the way it then does. I don’t know what happens. One second we’re holding hands and talking about dates, the next I have my arms buried elbow deep in his glorious hair and my tongue is in his mouth – though I swear I don’t know how it got there.

And I don’t know when the covers just kind of … slid down off my body, either. I only know that they have, because I’m extremely naked and the cold air is all over my skin and I think … I think he’s actually trying to kiss me somewhere other than my mouth.

Like maybe my breasts, which feel too heavy and too sensitive and ohhhh especially so, when he trails those soft lips over one stiff nipple. It’s not even something I can safely call an accident, either, because once he’s finished kissing one tight little point, he makes his way over to the other.

And then he licks it.

I can’t even pretend I want to be restrained and calm and sensible of his feelings, after that. It’s like he presses a button that sends an electric charge straight down to my clit, and though my head is still full of nice thoughts about hand-holding, my body’s just ready and waiting for that orgasm I didn’t give it.

So I simply go ahead and say what it wants me to most.

‘Yeah, lick me like that. Just like that – God, that gets me so wet.’

Because … well … it does. And if me saying so makes him sort of halt in his tracks, a little, there’s nothing I can do about that. I don’t want to do anything about that. I want him to get all flustered and flushed, because apparently him doing so makes me wet, too.

It makes me so wet that he definitely hears it, when I start rubbing over my clit again. He even sort of pulls away a little, as though he’s going to check between my legs but then can’t quite bring himself to. Instead he gives me a little questioning look, completely with crinkle just above his nose. Pushes out some stumbling words, that don’t seem to make any sense.

‘Oh, are you … do you want to just …’ he tries, and it’s actually kind of nice that I understand him completely. I never used to be able to read Artie, but it’s almost easy, now – he’s asking me if I want to have some alone time, clearly.

Which I don’t.

‘I just really need to come,’ I tell him, because that’s true. It’s almost like a physical pain, now, to the point where I can’t actually stroke over my clit. I have to just kind of rub at the side of it, so that the pleasure feels a little dulled instead of this immense, ravenous thing that wants to eat me.

But he doesn’t react as though that’s what I mean. He reacts like I’ve just told him the horniest thing in the world. His eyes drift closed, his body jerks towards me … for a second I actually think he might pull down his sweatpants and just fuck right into me, which doesn’t help the state I’m in.

I’m really close and I tell him so, though I think it’s fairly obvious that I’ve got an ulterior motive for saying the words ohhh I’m going to come all over my hand. They have almost the exact same effect as the other ones did – only this time he has something to say, once he’s finished processing them.

‘Let me,’ he says, which makes almost no sense at all. I mean, what is it exactly that he wants me to let him do? He’s just never specific enough about this stuff; he’s just never clear, and though it’s exciting to me in some ways I just wish – 

‘Let me go down on you.’

God, I think I laugh a little, when he actually says the words. Not out of spite, or anything – just out of shock. Of course he almost immediately pulls away the moment I make that stupid noise, but it’s OK, it’s OK.

A second later I make another sort of noise, accompanied by words he seems to appreciate very much.

‘Oh baby, say it again. Say it again for me.’

He gives me a rueful little smile that’s almost as arousing as the thing he just said.

‘I think I just about hit my limit with that last one,’ he tells me, but he’s lying, he’s lying. He’s got it in him, and I know it now. All I have to do is just …

‘Please. Please, I’m so close … feels so good when you talk dirty to me.’

He’s breathing hard, I notice, and he breathes harder on the word dirty. But he gets something out for me, all the same.

‘I want to … lick you there.’

‘Where?’ I ask, because half-hearted suggestions aren’t enough. I want specifics, beautiful, glorious specifics.

‘Between your legs.’

‘So you want to kiss my inner thighs?’

He shakes his head, but it’s much more like a hint at some internal wrestling match than a small gesture.

‘No. You know what I want to do.’

‘I don’t, and if you don’t tell me soon you’re not going to get a chance to. I think I’m about 30 seconds away from coming.’

He glances between my legs, so I put on a good show for him. Thumb on my clit, two fingers just easing into my slick as anything pussy. Everything all nice and spread for him, in a way I’m hoping will do the trick.

Of course, I don’t really expect it to. It almost jolts me, when he quite suddenly bursts out with the words, all raw and desperate and oh so arousing. 

‘God I just want to lick your clit,’ he tells me, and he doesn’t stop there. He presses on into other stuff about my pussy and how wet I am and how much he wants to taste me, before actually doing that very thing.

He shoves my hand away, and then just pushes his face between my legs. Just like that, no big deal – though I swear, it is a big deal when he finds my clit with his tongue. I think I actually bow right off the bed, and it’s only his hands on my hips that keeps the contact between us. Otherwise I’d be all the way off and probably somewhere down the hall, because dear God.

He doesn’t do it the way other men have done it to me, in the past. He doesn’t just stick out his tongue and kind of … flick it around. Instead he spreads the whole surface area of that wet, slippery thing all over my clit, until I feel like I’m being punched repeatedly with pleasure. I can’t even take the sensation it prompts, and I tell him so.

But he’s not listening to me any more.

‘Seriously, Artie,’ I think I say, because the tongue thing is way too much, it is … but Lord, when he actually sucks my clit into his mouth … ‘Don’t, don’t – I’m gonna come.’

‘Isn’t that the idea?’ he asks, but once he’s done being funny he just goes right back to licking and licking at me, that mouth of his so hot and greedy. Hands tight on my hips – which of course means I can’t even squirm away from that too-intense contact.

Though God knows I try. I think I go to climb up the nearest wall, but when my orgasm finally breaks I’m grateful that he anchors me on the bed. I’m glad of his hands on me, holding me, as the pleasure pulses through my sex – I don’t think I could take it, otherwise. 

I can’t take him, being like this. I don’t even know what to say once it’s over, but that’s OK. For the second time this morning, he does the honours.

‘I’m going to fuck you now,’ he says, and I just lie there, boneless, watching him doing something awesome, like taking off all of his clothes. Apparently he’s shy about words and weird around girls he likes, but once all of that’s out of the way he has absolutely no problems getting incredibly naked.

Because it is incredibly. He’s so big and hairy and solid that for a moment I can’t do anything but look. His shoulders are like those yoke things people used to carry milk on. His thighs are longer than the entirety of my legs, and I know this even though I’ve never actually thought about something as weird as thigh length.

Usually I busy myself with the rude parts, at times like this, but he makes it hard. There’s just so much of him to marvel at, to the point where I’m still marvelling long after he’s done with the clothes. In fact, after a second he starts to look a little self-conscious – as though he’s grown a boil somewhere that he didn’t know about. He even glances down at his fabulous body to check where exactly this boil might be, before I manage to make my dry mouth work.