Page 44 of Ted's Temerity
I smile and kiss the top of his head. “It’s not my first dance, darling…but I am a bit rusty.”
His giggle is light and tinkling. “I wasn’t gonna say anything.”
I lower the hand on his waist and pinch his ass, making him squeal. “Cheeky.”
We waltz together for a little while longer, until the song fades out and a new one begins. Zephyr pulls away and curtsies, pulling the hem of his skirt out widely on either side of him. “Thank you for the dance, good sir.”
Chuckling, I bow. “And thank you, tiny dancer.”
He claps his hands together. “Okay, tidy up time!”
I love that he still follows the rules and routine that we discussed that very first night together. In hindsight, I can’t believe that I suspected he’d be bratty and naughty. Yes, he’s sassy and cheeky, but my boy has a praise kink a mile wide: being a good boy is far more enjoyable for him.
Together we pack up the dolls, teddies and the tea set, setting aside the two cups we drank from, as well as the teapot itself, to be washed downstairs. Then, once the space is orderly again, Zephyr tugs his dress over his head. He carefully puts it on a hanger and ducks into the walk-in robe to hang it with care. This leaves him in the lacy white thong he arrived in (which he’d been wearing beneath his jeans until playtime: a very welcome surprise for me) and nothing else.
I swallow reflexively as he saunters back out of the walk-in, swinging his hips and stalking towards me like I’m his prey.
“We should go dancing for real sometime,” he tells me, his dark eyes smoldering, no hint of his Little persona to be found.
At this point, I’d agree to almost anything he says. “Sounds good,” I tell him, my voice having taken on a husky bite.
Zephyr’s lips quirk upwards, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. And, hell, he probably does.
Chapter Eighteen – Zephyr
Ted laughs as we tumble into his bed, and the sound is music to my ears. I haven’t seen or heard him feel so free in weeks. I’m not deluded enough to think that his issues have all been resolved, because mental health doesnotwork that way, but between talking things out at his own pace and seeing his therapist, he seems genuinely happier again. Closer to the man I met at Asher’s wedding.
I can’t properly express just how excited I was to see that he had commented playfully in the group chat earlier today. If nothing else, that was the biggest sign that he’s starting to heal again. And I was immensely grateful to the rest of the guys for playing it cool and treating him the same way they always have. Even though both Matt and Ash told me they would, seeing it in action was far more reassuring.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Ted complains lightly, nipping at my bottom lip, “which means I’m not doing my job right.”
“Speaking of too hard…” Snickering, I arch my body into his, rubbing our lengths together. He’s still way overdressed in comparison to me, seeing as I’m only wearing a lacy thong and he’s in his jeans. We discarded his shirt somewhere on the way to the bedroom.
Ted groans against my mouth. “God, I feel like a fucking teenager when I’m with you.”
“I mean, I’m in my thirties, sothat’sdisturbing.”
“Brat.”
“You love it.”
His gaze softens and he ghosts his lips over mine, whispering, “I loveyou.”
Every time he says those words, I feel like I could just float away. “I love you, too.”
When we kiss again, it’s slow and sweet. Our tongues intertwine almost lazily while Ted’s hands traverse my body, igniting fire beneath my skin. Our hips rock together and I sigh into his mouth.
“Your jeans have to come off,” I tell him, keeping my voice low and gentle, not wanting to break the mood.
“Mmm,” he agrees, but makes no move to put the acknowledgment into action.
I giggle and attempt to undo his fly, distracted by the way he’s now nuzzling at the crook of my neck, licking and sucking the path his hands only just traveled.
“Oh, fuck, Ted,” I gasp when he gets to my nipple, arching my back when he rolls the little nub of flesh between his teeth. It’s almost like there’s a direct line between my nipples and my cock, because jolts of pleasure seem to shoot straight down to my already hard and aching length. “Yes,” I breathe, the ‘s’ sibilant as I draw the word out, “more.”
He shuffles us around until I’m flat on my back and he’s replaced his teeth with his thumb and index finger, moving his mouth to my other nipple.
“Jesus…fuck…” It’s like my pleasure receptors have all lit up, synapses firing through all my nerve endings.
