Page 68 of Goldrage
Then she starts pushing up my shirt. I laugh, or thinkI do, but it comes out as a groan. Her hair spills forward, obscuring her face. The red is too red, like something from a fever dream. It’s almost cartoonish.
She peels the fabric away from my chest and traces her fingers over the bruises and bandages. Her touch is soft, lighter than breath, but every contact sends a shock through me, an electric jolt that pools heat in my abdomen.
My Aurelia.
She’s talking again, almost chanting. “You don’t have to do anything. I want to make you feel good. You deserve it. You deserve so many women.”
So many… what?
She pulls down the top of my sweats. Cool air kisses my skin, and I realize that I’m half-hard already. I can’t deny how much I want her. She’s all I think about.
Her hair sweeps across my stomach, tickling. Then her hand grips me. The touch is so gentle, so deliberate. She strokes once, twice, and I grow harder beneath her palm.
I can’t move. I can’t do anything but yield.
She hums, as if pleased. Then, with a flourish, she undoes the top button of her blouse. Her breasts spill out, pale in the half-light, and I can’t look away. The sight alone sends a jolt through me, a pulse of need so strong my hips twitch of their own accord.
“You’re doing so well,” she says, milking my cock with slow, steady precision. “You’re always so serious. Let yourself be taken care of.”
My thoughts scatter. I want to say her name, but I can’t even manage a syllable. The pleasure builds, sharpand insistent, until my body is nothing but a desperate ache.
Her lips close around my length, warm and slick, and I moan. Not a word, just a raw sound torn from somewhere deep. I’d give anything to be inside her but I can’t voice that desire, I can only moan helplessly as she pleasures me.
She bobs her head, hair brushing my thighs, hands stroking in time with her mouth. I’m delirious. Every sensation is multiplied by the fever in my blood, the fire in my groin as my balls tighten for release.
She pulls back, squeezing and pumping with expert rhythm. “You’re close, aren’t you?” Her voice thickens, turning guttural, almost feral. “Let go for me. I want all of it. All of you. Give me a big load.”
Something about her tone, the greedy drawl, makes my stomach flutter with confusion. It isn’t how Aurelia speaks, but the pleasure’s too consuming for doubt to take root.
I come, shuddering, and my mind is wiped clean. She cups the head, catching every drop in her hand. For a moment, I swear she’s holding a plastic container, but my vision blurs and it dissolves into nothing.
She wipes me down, cleans the mess with a folded cloth that smells faintly of bleach. I try to reach for her, to speak of my love, to ask her to stay so I can hold her, but my arms won’t lift. My eyelids close and refuse to open again.
I fall backward into sleep so deep it feels like dying.
Consciousness returns in fragments. Birds chirp outside the window. Cool air from the AC ghosts across my exposed chest. Cotton fills my mouth, thick and stale. My head pounds in rhythm with my heartbeat, each pulse sending spikes of pain through my skull. Morning light filters through curtains I don’t remember drawing.
But that’s not what makes my breath catch.
Her scent lingers in the air—vanilla. It’s not my imagination or wishful thinking, but real. And I’m laying here with my shirt pulled up, something I didn’t do. She was here. The certainty of it sets my pulse racing even as my foggy mind struggles to piece together memories.
Darkness. Dizzy, disconnected floating. Then?—
Red hair spilling across my chest. Soft lips around my cock. Gentle hands pulling moans from my throat. Everything hazy and dreamlike, my body too heavy to respond.
But I did finish. I remember that.
The memories feel more like a dream, but her scent doesn’t lie. Neither does the slight indentation on the mattress beside me or the way my shirt is pushed up.
Valentine must have disabled the cameras again. There’s no other explanation for how she could have risked coming here. My chest tightens with equal parts gratitude and fear. We promised to stay apart. Promised to be patient. The danger?—
God, the danger she put herself in just trying to “repay” me forthe other day.
I needed no such repayment; my desire can wait until we’re free of this suffocating estate.
I force myself upright despite my body’s protests. Every movement feels like swimming through tar, but I need clarity. I need to think. If Julian discovers she came to my room…
The thought chills me more effectively than any cold shower. I must talk to her. I must make her understand that no matter how much we crave each other’s touch, we can’t risk exposure. Not yet. Not when we’re so close to escape.
