Page 53 of Chasing the Flame
There’s a tall mirror in the corner of the room, and I’ve been staring at my naked body for the last half hour. There are cuts and bruises, remnants of a life no longer mine. But, the rest?
It’s beautiful. My fingers follow the path Jettson’s hands took, and my cheeks flush with desire all over again. I’ve never felt so insatiable before, not when it comes to intimacy.
Jettson has unraveled my psyche, my brain now forever chemically changed. I don’t think another man will ever come close to him.
He’s ruined me from ever wanting anyone else.
It’s like he was the missing piece of the puzzle that is my life. Even now, as he draws a bath in the oversized tub, there’s a tether between us. I can feel him before I see his reflection in the mirror.
He slides up behind me, his palms sliding down my body, caressing and teasing. He leans in, and nips at my ear, sending my pulse skyrocketing. Wetness slides down my thighs, delicious heat pooling in my belly that makes me ache with desire.
“Your bath has been drawn, and I filled the tub with some epsom salt. Come on, before it gets too cold.” His hot breath at my ear sends a shiver down my spine. I’m already wanting him, needing him again.
He leads me away from the mirror, and across the room to a spacious bathroom. Dark and moody is apparently Jettson’s theme, because the walls are painted black, and the decor screams rustic gothic and I’m here for it. There’s a jacuzzi style tub, lined with black tile, and a shower with a dark green curtain.
A beautiful taxidermy piece hangs on the wall over the tub. It’s fitted with black swirls around the edges, and two ravens are perched, facing each other as if in an embrace. There’s mushrooms, and moss, and the artist has painted the back to look like the night sky. It’s one of the biggest I’ve ever seen, and it is absolutely breathtaking.
A dark green shaggy rug rests at the foot of the tub and the smell of jasmine and citrus lingers in the air. I sigh, inhaling the saccharine aroma as Jettson guides me to the tub. He gets in, then takes my hand and helps me into the tub, settling me between his legs.
I blush, heat flicking up my neck. “I’ve uhm…well. I’ve never done this before,” I admit, letting my hands float in the water. I smile, noticing the jasmine and rose petals floating around us.
I feel his chuckle against my back, the deep baritone of his laugh making my blood sing. “It’s okay, I don’t bite.” To my laugh he adds, “Well, I don’t bite too hard. Besides,I can be…useful.”
He demonstrates this by running a hand down my chest and cupping a breast. His fingers teasing my sensitive nipple. “More like… distracting,” I grumble, groaning when he pinches my left breast.
He cluck’s his tongue at me, removing his hands and replacing them with a washcloth. I pout, jutting my lip out, and sigh dramatically. He chuckles again, adding a divine smelling soap to the cloth, and lavishes it against my arms and chest. It smells like all the best types of citrus, my favorite hints of lemon and orange with a twist of grapefruit.
Then, his hand moves down to my stomach, the cloth moving at a maddeningly slow pace. Something shifts, and it’s like he loses restraint. He ditches the cloth, and lifts me up, turning my body so that my pussy is directly in front of his face. I flush again, this time because his gaze is so hot that I think I might actually burst into flames.
His hands grip my ass and in a flash he’s guiding a leg over his shoulder and shoving his face in my pussy. I moan loudly, crying out when his teeth graze my clit. “God, to hear you moan like that… you taste so fucking sweet. I could eat your pretty pussy all day and still never get enough,” Jettson groans, licking my swollen bud of nerves slowly and feather light.
I buck my hips forward, seeking the friction his touch will bring. He pulls his face back slightly, and I shiver when he blows against my cunt. I tremble, my legs quaking as he resumes that infuriatingly slow pace. “That’s it,” he coos. “Let me hear you.”
His praise is all the motivation I need, I grind my face against his tongue, threading my fingers in his hair to steady my balance. The trembling starts again, and my moans are loud enough to shake the walls. He inserts a finger, then another, curling deliciously and fucking me in time with the flicks of his tongue.
In seconds I unravel, my screams echoing against the wall, stars bursting behind my eyes. My chest is heaving, and I’m panting, completely spent and out of breath. I’m shaking again, my legs feeling like jelly. That was fucking…amazing.
Jettson gently lowers my leg from his shoulder, his hands never leaving my waist for too long. He guides me back down in the water, making sure I’m tucked in against him. Then he turns to adjust the jets, and sticks a finger in the water. In seconds the bathtub is heating up to the perfect temperature.
Steam coils up around us, drifting in the air like shadows. “Perks of magic, I guess,” I tease. He chuckles at me, before kissing the side of my head and tenderly brushing my hair over my shoulder.
“You could say that,” he murmurs, and I turn to look at him.
He’s still cut up and bruised from the showdown with Luke, dark shadows under his eyes that show just how exhausted he really is. I shake my head, internally fussing at myself for not taking care of him, too.
“Don’t you dare,” he says, his voice quiet and firm. “You’ve spent most of your marriage taking care of someone else. Let me take care of you.”
“Get out of my head,” I hiss, swatting at his arm playfully.
“I’m serious.” He grabs hold of my hands, wrapping his arms around me and threading his fingers through mine. “I’m a big boy, Averie. I can handle a broken nose.”
I slip out of his grasp, turning so that I’m facing him. I cup his face between my hands, staring at him intently. “The difference is that you give me space to be myself. You don’t hold me back, and you give without expecting anything in return. Let me at least tend to that scrape on your head.”
He sighs, but relents, climbing out of the tub. I follow him, taking his outstretched hand and have him sit on the toilet. “Where’s the first aid kit?”
“Under the sink. You know you really don’t have to do this, it’s just a scratch,” he grumbles.
I find what I’m looking for, quickly grabbing the small tube of antibiotic ointment and several bandages. I get to work, cleaning the area with warm soapy water, then gently pat it down to dry. After that I apply a thin layer of ointment, spreading it over the cut. As I put the bandaid on it, Jettson hands slide to my waist.
