"I know," I murmured, shifting in his hold to meet his sharp gaze. I was electrified by him. Not the rush of being seen or heard or anything like that. It was Gus, pure and simple. He was the rush. "I know."
I brought my hands to his muscular arms, backed him against the wall. I smoothed my palms over his arms, his chest, his torso. All that pine and sweat, the hard muscle and warm skin. It was making me delirious. Then, I ripped his belt off. Yanked his button-fly open. Dragged his jeans down as my knees hit the floor. Still no underwear for Mr. Guillmand.
"Can you be quiet?" I asked. He nodded, driving his fingers into my hair. "Truly quiet? Not a sound?"
I needed that guarantee. Even if Owen and Cole knew we were in here and knew we were sharing this moment, I didn't want them hearing the specifics just as I didn't care to hear their marital convenings.
Still, my brain was a complicated place.
"Swallow me right now and I'll prove it, sparrow."
And I did. I took him all the way to the back of my throat. He tasted fresh and vital and earthy, like he was composed of the land itself. I brought a hand to his balls, cupping and tugging and brushing a thumb over his back channel. His hips surged as if my mouth conducted electricity. He dragged his t-shirt over his head, balled it up, pressed it to his face. A noise rattled out of him, muffled behind the shirt. It sounded like a groan, a growl.
The back of his head thunked against the wall as his hips moved faster, falling out of rhythm with my mouth. We kept trying and failing to meet each other, to match each other's pace, but this blowjob allowed for no artful choreography. My eyes watered, and the tears streaking down my face mingled with the saliva on my chin. His balls were heavy in my palm and my jaw ached, and though I'd never orgasmed as a result of pleasuring someone else, the clench in my center every time I squeezed my legs together seemed to suggest it was possible.
This act was a mirror to the moment: frantic, untidy, starved, raw, irrevocable.
I wanted to hold back a bit. Wanted something—anything—between us to be simple. What was simpler than a blowjob? Not much. But nothing we shared was simple. It wasn't pretty or tame or traditional. Never simple. It was a fucking mess and I didn't think we knew any other way.
Gus dropped the shirt and whispered something in another language as he gathered my hair in his fist. It sounded like a string of obscene curses. When our gazes locked across the planes of his torso and he looked at me with unguarded desire, I knew it was more obscene than I'd imagined.
I continued working my tongue along the underside of his cock while his entire body quivered.
He continued speaking, the words barely audible and fully incomprehensible.
He twisted my hair around his palm, tugging hard as the first hit of hot, salty liquid splashed my tongue. I swallowed as he hummed, gasped, shook. He gradually replaced those foreign words with my name, whispering, "Neera, Neera, Neera," as if it was equally obscene.
When the spurts ended and he slumped back against the wall, I bowed my head, resting my brow on his thigh while he rubbed the back of my neck.
"You know," Gus started, "I had it in my head that we had hot sex because we argued a bit beforehand. We don't need to say a fucking word and"—he barked out a laugh—"fuck, Neera.Fuuuck."
A tight breath eased out of my chest and my shoulders sagged. I'd needed to hear that. I'd needed to know it.
"Thank you for—" A sudden burst of sound stopped my words. Dogs barking, several new people talking at once, a baby crying. We turned in the direction of the noise, listening as it continued. "I believe the rest of our party for the evening has arrived," I said, still kneeling on the hardwood floor.
"What do you think about this?" he asked. "This place."
I stared at the door separating us from the sound, my cheek pillowed on his bare leg. "I'm not sure," I replied. "It's different."
"So is a silent suck off but I can tell you right now I enjoyed it."
I studied the door again, quiet for a long beat while I eavesdropped on stray bits of conversation. "There's something charming about it," I answered. "Strange. Disarming. But also…charming." I shrugged, busied myself with smoothing the wrinkles in my shirt. "I didn't like it here at first. It seemed antiquated. Slow. Cole was slower too. I'd spent years adapting to his frenetic pace, his surges of hyper-focused activity and him expecting everyone else to move at that pace too. And then…he changed. He came here and he's still frenetic but it's manageable. It's—calm." I shrugged, glanced out the window. "To answer your question, Mr. Guillmand, I do like this. When I adjust to it."
"Me too," he replied, hiking his jeans up.
He didn't bother buttoning them while we shared a simmering gaze that spoke of quiet desires and filthy games. If he didn't fasten his jeans soon, this was bound to boil over. "Gus," I whispered. I didn't know what I wanted but I knew Iwanted.Needed.
"Hand me my belt, sparrow." When I arched a brow at this command, he continued, "You're the one who threw it. The least you can do is fetch it now that you've decimated me with your mouth."
My palm braced on his washboard abs for balance, I pushed to my feet. I ran a hand through my hair. It was a tangled mess. I knew without finding my reflection in the mirror that my lips were swollen, cheeks warm, and eyes watery.
"There will be no mystery about our activities in here," I murmured, gesturing toward my face. I bent to retrieve the worn leather I'd ripped off him and glanced over my shoulder. "Typical. I did all the workandit shows. You—you're Instagram-ready as usual."
Yes, I'd seen his post from earlier in the day.
Yes, it was wholly unnecessary for me to bring it up.
Yes, I had strong opinions on the matter—opinions I shouldn't have entertained. The man was allowed to post all the suggestive content he desired and his audience was allowed to drink him in by the gallon. This was business as usual and I should've reined in my foolish reaction before it spiraled out in the form of catty off-handed comments. After all, I had no claim on him. There was no reason to assume he'd share anything about his bedmate of late with his followers.
