Page 52 of The Player + The Pact = I Do

Shit. What’s the matter with me?

A rumble of thunder passes above us, or maybe it’s from my chest. I groan as I fuck and fuck and fuck, as she quivers and shakes beneath me.

Her knees buckle, and I only just catch her before she collapses. I don’t know if I’ll ever have the energy to move. But I don’t think I’ll ever want to break the spell cast on us this evening.

My breath settles back into a normal pattern and the pulsing in my neck returns to normal. We shift and she turns in my arms.

“That was…”

She wraps her arms around my waist and rests her head on my chest as we stand in satiated silence. Rain continues to fall and it’s impossible to get wetter, but it feels good. Like we’ve stepped out of reality for a while.

Neither of us moves until Jules reaches around me and grabs a sodden cushion from one of the chairs on theterrace. I take off the condom as she drops it at my feet and it lands with a splat. She looks at me, her face wet from the rain, and the corner of her mouth turns up.

She sinks to her knees and grabs my thighs. I gaze down as she glances up at me before taking the crown of my cock in her mouth.

I’m not sure what’s hotter: the feel of her mouth on me or the visual of her at me feet, taking my cock inch by inch. She reaches up and takes my hands, putting one under her chin. Another on her head.

I’m as hard as fucking glass as I realize she wants me to set the tone, the rhythm, the pace.

I freeze, all the possibilities scrolling through my head. She swallows around me, bringing me back to the moment.

I increase the pressure in my hands, an indictor to her that I’m taking over. Holding her still, I move slowly at first. Her eyes flutter shut at the realization that I’m now in control. I slide out and then push back in, taking things carefully, wanting to make sure I don’t find her limits too quickly.

She opens her knees and her fingers find her clit.

My heart hits my breastbone, it’s beating so fast. She really is trying to kill me. But if she comes with my cock in her mouth, I will die a happy man.

She groans and the vibrations connect to my cock, making it buzz as I push into her. I’m not sure how long I’m going to be able to keep being as considerate and gentle. She tips her head back like she wants more of me, like she wants me to fuck her mouth so hard she’ll choke.

Something snaps within me and all my most base instincts take over. Ineedto give her what she seems to be craving.

I push into her, pressing against the back of her throat,the smooth wetness of her tongue. And my hands hold her still so I can get deeper and deeper. My vision drops to her fingers on her clit, then back to my cock sliding into her mouth, and I cry out, “Jules. Fuck.”

My legs weaken and I anchor myself to the ground. She’s going to have to come to me. I tighten my grip and guide her deeper onto me, pulling her forward, my cock disappearing into her mouth.

Her eyes open and I see the flicker of vulnerability I’ve noticed before. She’s worried. Worried that she’s going to let me down. She’s about to come again.

The thought of her being so turned on right now drops me down the well of my climax. I fall and fall and fall. I don’t even try to be polite and pull out. I erupt in her mouth, coming, coming, coming on her tongue, down her throat, across her lips.

I step back and try to catch my breath, but seeing her on her knees, her legs spread, her fingers circling her clit, keeps me weak. Her tongue sweeps over her mouth, taking in the drops of come smeared on her skin. The action gives me the strength to scoop her off the floor and take her inside.

I take her straight to my shower. I set her on the built-in bench and turn on the handheld spray. Neither of us speaks as I get to work, warming her, trailing the water up and down each limb, soaking her damp hair. I take the shampoo, wash her hair, then rinse it. Then I soap her entire body. I use a sponge and work fastidiously to clean her. She’s spent and exhausted, and I move her limbs like she’s a doll. I work down her body, over her shoulders, down her back, her breasts, stopping to drop kisses intermittently, wanting to resuscitate her, to care for her.

I help her to her feet and I work down over her hips, between her thighs, over her arse, down her legs and finallyher feet. I wash myself quickly, and after wrapping a towel around my waist, I bundle her in a huge white towel and carry her to my bedroom.

I set her on the stool opposite a full-length mirror and kneel at her feet to pat her dry. She goes to help and I shake my head. “Let me,” I say.

She doesn’t put up a fight. I like the fact that she lets me care for her. Doing this unlocks something in me I didn’t know was hiding.

I comb her hair, then grab a white t-shirt of mine and help her into it. Then I find a hair dryer in the bottom of my closet and proceed to dry her hair. The long, dark, silky strands change as they dry, becoming softer. I can’t stop touching her. I’m behind her and she’s watching me in the mirror. Every now and then we lock eyes and there’s an intimacy between us I’ve never experienced before.

When her hair is finally dry, I lift her into my bed, discard my towel and climb in next to her.

My housekeeper always keeps my nightstand stocked with a water bottle, which I grab and twist open.

“Thank you,” she says as I hand it to her. “For the shower too. No one’s ever… done that.”

I don’t tell her that I’ve never done it before, never even considered it. But for her it’s different. I want her to be warm and safe and comfortable. “You were cold and wet and tired and… I wanted to.”

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