Page 59 of Pick Six
I do as he asks, and he grins. “Such a good fucking girl for me. Now the bra.”
I reach for the clasps and undo the hooks and eyes slowly, one at a time, trying to steady my breathing, focusing on the dark tattooed lines in the center of his chest.
“Take your time.” A wisp of a smile washes over his lips. “Linger like you fucking used to when you’d bring me something. Lean forward a little while you do it. Used to tease me every fucking time. Fuck… Yes. Just like that.” He runs his hand over the front of his pants, shifting as I cradle the bra against my chest.
I’ve had some dirty dreams about Alex in the past, but nothing compares to how the real version looks and sounds. His hands run up my thighs and just that little touch, the sight of how it looks to have his hands on me again makes me desperate for him.
“Drop it. I want to see how gorgeous you look on this table naked for me. Ready to fucking eat.”
I let the bra drop to the floor and I lean back, resting my palms on the table to support myself. His words giving me confidence I don’t usually feel.
“Fuck yes. So-fucking-perfect. This is how it should have always been.” His thumb drifts tentatively over my clit as he talks, and I close my eyes.
“You still have that red apron I bought you that one Christmas?”
I frown for a moment and then remember what he’s talking about. It was a strange gift, especially from a guy like him but I’d thanked him all the same. I remember now the sly little smile he’d given me in return.
“Yes. Somewhere. In the pantry.”
“Good. You’re gonna wear that for me one night. You know why?”
“Why?” I ask, taking a sharp breath as he slides two fingers inside me, giving me a whisper of what I need.
“I bought it for you so I could imagine you in it. Bent over this fucking table, naked underneath while you begged me for more. Telling me over and over how much you want my cock.”
“Alex…”
“Yeah, Saint?” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “You’re getting so fucking wet while I talk about this. I love it. Such a sweet fucking pussy and so desperate to be fucked right. I bet he never ate you at this table, did he?”
“No.”
“Of course fucking not. Because he didn’t know how to take care of you. But I do, Saint. And I will fuck you any fucking way you want it as long as you ask me nicely.”
“I want your mouth Alex, please.”
His thumb brushes over my clit, and he leans down to kiss the top of my thigh, teasing me with light brushes of his tongue over my skin.
“I love when you call me Alex too. So fucking proper. One of these nights though when we fuck—and there’s going to be a lot more, so you don’t forget how much I fucking want you—I’m going to make you call me Xander instead.” His tongue flicks over my clit for the briefest of seconds, and I spread my legs further, dying for more of him. “Maybe even XXL or Xavier because I want to hear you whimper like you’re a fucking fangirl. Fuck… I think I need it. Would you do that for me?”
“Anything you want, just please…” The way he’s teasing and stroking me is like slow torture I can barely stand it. I’d give him anything he wanted if he’d put me out of my misery.
“I’ll remember you said that,” he whispers against my skin just before he takes me in his mouth, this time licking and sucking me in earnest. Like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted.
I slide forward, nearly falling over the table until he catches me with his hands, holding me there while he fucks my clit with his tongue, using a rhythmic dexterity that counters my hips in nearly perfect sync. Until I come too close and too desperate to keep up. He pushes me back onto the table and slides his fingers inside me again, matching the pace of his tongue until I’m breathing and begging so heavily that I can’t even catch my breath. Just until I feel the weight of it hit me, heavy and hard, tingling until it blooms into full-on pleasure that melts and spreads through every nerve ending in my body.
“Give me one more, Saint.”
I let out a string of curses and cry out softly as he picks up his pace, not removing his fingers or his lips from me. I writhe underneath him, feeling like it's too much and not enough all at the same time. Like I can’t possibly come again after the way I just did. A moment later though, he’s dragging one more out of me, short and sweet but just as good, and I hit my palm against the table as I feel the last little bit hit.
“That’s my girl. So fucking good when you cry out for me like that. So gorgeous when you’re spread like this.”
It takes me a moment to fully catch my breath, and I just lay there, eyes closed, thinking about what we’ve just done and where. I should feel guilty or ashamed or something. But I don’t. It feels right, and a laugh bubbles out of me at the thought that my fake boyfriend going down on me on the dining room table is the best thing that’s happened in this house in years.
THIRTY-TWO
Alex
Her splayedout on this table, sated and amused, every gorgeous inch of her spread for me is so fucking beautiful it almost makes up for all the times I had to sit across from her here.
