Face down in the pillow, I only nodded.
“So, I’m going to keep you tied up here until my cum drips down your thighs,” he threatened.
“Yes. Okay. I can do that.”
“Don’t you mean, ‘Oui.Ok.Jepeuxfaireça?’” He repeated my words in French and I closed my eyes, trying not to laugh. Oh, I had fully fucked up. “Because I’m pretty certain you didn’t just learn a line or two to say while we fuck.”
I would have if I didn’t already know the language.
His cum started to run down my leg and he scooped it up with a finger before wiping it on my waiting tongue. On the third feeding, I sucked his finger into my mouth, releasing it with a loud pop.
His eyes rolled into the back of his head. “Fuck sake, Livid. Don’t make me hard again when your mum just pulled up.”
Chapter 24
We dressed in a hurry, but Nix stopped me before we left the room, licking his thumb and tracing the edge of my lips. “You’ve got a little smudge.”
“As do you,” I chirped, wiped at his mouth and reached to kiss him once more.
He held me, prolonging it.
NixonArmaswas the most confident, unabashed man I’d ever met, but I couldn’t help but think he might have been procrastinating meeting my mother.
I would, too, if I were him.
My family home was four hundred years old and rather awkwardly planned. The dining room was thin, with a steep step down to the kitchen. The August warmth was finally in England, but Mum’s oven heated the whole house.
Ben and Griff were setting the table as we walked in, using Mum’s fine china. The one that only came out at Christmas.
“Where’s Mum?” I asked cautiously as Griff came to hug me.
“Kitchen,” Ben said, folding a napkin.
“Nix!” Griff greeted. “Always a pleasure. Thanks for following me back on Instagram and…”
I smiled to myself as I walked further into the house, downinto the kitchen. Mum was not the best cook, but the smell of a roast dinner was always something that reminded me of home. And Mum was actually good at making a cheesecake. Probably because it didn’t involve the oven.
Mum aged quickly after Dad’s passing. She had grown streaks of grey in her light, cropped hair and her movements became less sure. More fragile.
The woman retrieving the food from the oven was not that.
She’d dyed her hair the same light blonde colour as mine and, for a woman who religiously got her hair cut every six weeks, hadn’t had a chop for a few months, growing out her fringe.
She looked younger.
She looked happy as she pulled trays of food from the oven.
I blinked back the stinging of my eyes. Fuck, I was a dick for what I said to Ben.
“Mum! Happy birthday!” I cried, falling back into that forced, excitable daughter role I had around her. I went to hug her but she only raised her gloved hand before taking it off.
“Give me a second, Olivia,” she said.
“Do you need any help?” I stood there as she pulled out serving dishes from the cupboard.
“Right, where were we?” she said, brushed her hands on her apron and gave me the lightest hug, her hands barely touching my top. “Thank you.”
“What did you need at the shop?” I asked. “Everything looks amazing.”
