"You’reverywhiny," she chided, giggling again as he seemed to melt into the duvet, her grip tighter than it had previously been as she resumed, wringing her hand up his engorged shaft. His cock was thick, too thick for her to wrap her hand around completely, so she concentrated on the side that was most tightly riddled with veins. She had never asked him about that weekend back in the fall, when his shaft had developed a deliciously ridged underside, and she wondered when that particular physical attribute might return. She could feel the heat building within him, the quiver in his taut stomach, and knew he was close. "The whiniest sub ever."
"I’m not a sub," Tate gritted, glowering as her hand slowed.
"That’s funny," she hummed, keeping her corkscrew motion consistent, even as she slowed. "You seem pretty submissive from up here."
Long, lichen-green fingers locked around her hand before she had a chance to release him again. "Don’t. Stop." His lilting accent came out more when his emotions were high, she’d noticed months earlier, mentally adding this moment to her list, biting her lip with a smile.
"You don’t want me to stop?" Silva bent as she whispered, kissing his flushed cheek, the tip of his slim nose, before landing on his wide mouth. "Okay . . . I won’t stop."
His thighs quivered and his toes curled as she picked up her pace, his breath coming out in shallow pants. When he came with a long groan, Silva hummed again, silently reveling in the way his release spilled over her knuckles, thick and white and seemingly endless, and it was all she could do to stop herself from reaching for her phone to document the moment, fuel for her fantasies at a later time.
His breath hitched when her hand did not slow. She wondered, as his hips lifted from the bed, a strangled yelp pulling from his throat, if he would remember the way he’d kept her teetering on the edge of relief the night before. The punishment for pulling his hair again had been for him to cease all attention on her aching clit, flipping her to her stomach and entering her in one long, deep glide. He’d alternated between fast, hard thrusts and a slow roll of his hips, and she had thought she might actually start weeping by the time he’d slid his hand down her body, giving her the stimulation she desperately needed.
He yelped again, his hips instinctively pulling to twist away from her, but she merely tightened her grip in response, twisting over his over-sensitized head.
"Si-Silva! Stop!" He gasped her name on a broken, pained laugh before crying out again in a wheeze.
"Tate, you told me not to stop. Ordered me, even. You’re very bossy, and I’m only doing what you asked." By the time he’d let her climax atop the green felted table, her clit had been so over-sensitized that her orgasm had nearly been painful, a throbbing that had ripped through her body leaving behind a dull ache in her head, feeling slightly cramped. The high-pitched gasps he was now making were a far cry from his normal confident nonchalance, his breath coming out in shallow, wheezing pants.
She’d been limp as a ragdoll the night before, when he’d eased out of her slowly, gathering her up in his arms. "Are you alright, dove?" Her head had been heavy against his shoulder as he’d carried her through the apartment, pausing in front of the kitchen. "Hungry?" The energy needed to form words had left her, and she’d shook her head weakly, feeling the soft press of his lips against her forehead. "Bed?" His low chuckle vibrated against her as she nodded, and Silva had pressed herself tighter to it, until he’d laid her carefully in the pristine white sheets. Her head had just found his chest when he pulled away, climbing from the bed with a mumbled curse. "Hold on, I forgot your water."
She loved him, she reminded herself as he jerked beneath her again. She loved him, and she wasn’t going to let anyone stop her from getting what she wanted. Not her mother, not her grandmother, and certainly not him. She was his heartbeat, he’d said, his home. That felt far more serious than a simpleI love you, and she’d not allow him to micromanage himself into a tiny spot on the shelf of her life. She was going to take control . . . just as she did then.
His fresh wheeze of pain broke her from her reverie, and her hand stilled, guilt warming her cheeks. Smoothing her palm over his semen-spattered stomach, Silva braced a hand on the bed and leaned down to kiss him contritely. Tate twisted away from her lips, his brow furrowed in distress, and her insides clenched, worried he was actually mad at her.
"I swear to Danu, Silva, if you don’t keep going . . ."
Her eyes widened at his clenched teeth, his long back arching when she gripped his shaft and resumed pumping with steady strokes, avoiding his over sensitized head. He continued to jerk and cry out as though her ministrations were excruciatingly painful, but that didn’t prevent him from orgasming once more, coating her hand in a fresh flood of his release as he twitched beneath her.
He was still breathing hard when she returned to the bed with a tall glass of water, after dropping the towel she’d used to wipe them clean into his bathroom hamper.
"I can’t feel my back, Silva."
She dissolved into giggles once his arm came around her, pulling her tightly to his side.
"Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?"
"Who, me? I’m grand. That’s a kink I didn't know I had until five minutes ago . . . the paralysis is a bit concerning, I suppose. You’d best watch out, dove . . . you are going to pay dearly for that. In the meantime, you can put my cock in your handbag and take it home with you, because it’s not going to be able to get hard for at least a month now."
Her laughter was swallowed by his kiss, pulling her back under the balmy warmth of the heavy duvet once more. "Who do you think you’re fooling?" she huffed, dragging her nails down his chest. "I’ll have your cock hard again by lunchtime." She shrieked as he tackled her, rolling them beneath the bedclothes.
"Well, you can still take it home, because you’re the only one who gets it hard."
She preened, stretching like a cat beneath him. "We have to go open the restaurant," she murmured, running her fingers through his silky hair. "You don’t want the girls to think you’re going soft just because I’m here. I’m going to make you breakfast first though."
"Aye? And what’ll that be? You almost burned down my apartment the last time you tried to make me breakfast."
"That was only one time!" Her voice was, by her own admission, extremely whiny, and she hid her face against his chest at the memory of the smoke-filled apartment as he laughed.
"Silva, it was toast."
"That wasn’t my fault," she lamented, batting his shoulder with her loosely balled fist. "You have a stupid, old-fashiond toaster."
"That’s true, it’s not high-tech. There’s only one lever. You’re really not helping yourself, dove."
His reply was cut short by the ringing of her phone, shrill and insistent—the ringer she had programmed for her grandmother. For as much as she complained about her grandmother's lofty, exacting expectations for her, Silva knew she was adored. It was the reason she found it so hard to simply thumb her nose at her family’s expectations, why it would tear her apart to walk away.
"Hi, Nana. Is something wrong?"
