He takes me with him then, his grip firm and sure on my hand, fingers interlaced with mine. A fresh thrill runs up my arm as he leads me back to the conservatory. The transition from the kitchen's bright lights to the dimmer, more intimate space feels seamless, like stepping into another world.
The glass walls enclose us in a fragile bubble. The air is cool and scented with damp earth and blooming flowers. Moonlight streams down from above through the transparent ceiling. It bathes everything in a soft, silvery glow that turns the potted orchids and ferns into ethereal shadows. Their leaves whisper softly in the faint draft slipping through an open pane. It all just feels unreal, like a dream woven from starlight and forbidden desire. He pulls me onto the wicker couch, its cushions giving under our combined weight with a soft creak.
Like an eel, I slide out of his grasp, and get down on my knees between his spread legs. I reach for his belt. My hands are trembling with a mix of nerves and eagerness. I feel the smooth, warm leather that's absorbed the heat of his body all evening. The buckle clinks softly as I unfasten it. The zipper rasps down, a low, teasing sound that echoes in the quiet room. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him—impressively big, hard and straining against the thin fabric of his boxers, the outline promising so much. Hooking my fingers into the waistband, Ipull them down, freeing him at last. I pause there in awe, taking in his size and majesty.
Wow!
Thick and veined, the shaft curving upward with a natural grace. The head is flushed a deep pink and glistens with a bead of precum. Why, he's magnificent. Larger, much larger than I'd guessed. I wrap my hand around the thick, throbbing base, feeling the heat of him sear my palm, and the instant jerk of response under my grip.
I stroke him slowly at first, from root to tip, my fingers gliding along the silky skin, tracing the prominent vein that pulses with his heartbeat, each throb syncing with the ache building in my own core. His moan echoes low in the quiet room, a rumble that vibrates through me, encouraging me to lean in closer. The musky scent of him intoxicates my senses—earthy, masculine, heady. I start with his balls, licking them gently, my tongue tracing the soft, heavy seam with flat, languid strokes, tasting the salty warmth of his skin as they draw up slightly under my attention. His thighs tense under my palms, muscles flexing as I suck one into my mouth with tender care, rolling it gently around my tongue. The wet sounds of my exploration mingle with his sharp gasp.
Slowly, I move up the length of him, dragging the flat of my tongue along the underside from root to tip, pressing firmly against the angry veins, feeling them throb against me like a living thing. Each beat sends a spark of heat straight to my center.
Deliberately, I linger at the head, circling it with teasing flicks.
I wait until his fingers twitch helplessly at his sides. Only then do I take him into my mouth, the smooth, hot crown sliding past my lips with a delicious stretch. Inch by inch. A snail couldn’t go slower. I swirl my tongue around him, sucking witha slow, building rhythm, my cheeks hollowing as I draw him deeper.
The first taste of him explodes on my tongue—salty, musky, utterly addictive—and I savor it as I bob my head, taking more of him with each descent. My jaw aches from his girth, but the thrill overrides it. My own arousal has soaked right through my shorts. I’m throbbing and desperate for friction. I pick up the pace, sucking harder, deeper, my own moans vibrating around him as I lose myself in the act. The air fills with the sound of wet slurps, and his ragged breaths turning to groans. His hips shift impatiently beneath me. Every pulse of him in my mouth feels amplified. The intensity builds until it's almost overwhelming. His hands restlessly thread into my hair with a grip that sends shivers down my spine.
He bursts in my mouth without much warning. Suddenly, hot, salty jets explode across my tongue in a powerful pulse that catches me off guard. The taste is like a forbidden elixir. His hips buck upward sharply, thrusting deeper, past the welcoming heat of my mouth and into my throat. His whole body trembles with the force of his release, muscles clenching beneath my hands.
He groans my name—Carolyn's name.
The call is deep and guttural, the sound raw and primal. It vibrates through the air, echoing off the glass walls like a confession in the night. It’s sending fresh chills racing across my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms and neck.
His fingers twist in the loose strands of hair with urgent, almost desperate strength. The pull is just enough to sting—a sharp, pleasurable bite that grounds me amid the chaos. Another pulse follows quickly, then another, each spurt thick and relentless, filling my mouth in rhythmic waves. I swallow greedily, instinctively. Not a drop escapes; I take it all, the motion of my throat working around him amplifying the intimacy. The act makes him seem profoundly vulnerable. It isa raw sharing of forbidden pleasure in the dim moonlight. His essence claims me in a way that's both thrilling and terrifying, a deep connection that shocks me to my very core.
My body hums with unspent need, a deep, insistent vibration starting in my chest and spreading outward. It pools in my belly and builds like a storm about to break. My core clenches emptily around nothing, aching with a hollow desperation that borders on pain. My thighs press together involuntarily, seeking any friction to take away the emptiness. As his body relaxes under me and his groans fade, they serve to heighten my own denied release.
My body is still humming from the intensity as I pull back slowly. My lips feel swollen and sensitive. I rock back on my heels.
A wave of reality crashes over me like cold water, sharp and jolting, dousing the heat in my veins. This was supposed to be a simple fling without strings or complications, just a momentary escape. But the raw intensity of what we have just done leaves me reeling, my mind spinning in circles of confusion. My heart pounds erratically in my chest, each beat a frantic thud that echoes in my ears, erratic like a trapped bird fluttering against its cage. My fingers quiver as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
I need to regain myself, to put some distance between us before I shatter completely under the weight of the illicit thrill, and the explosive combination of guilt and craving. With my palms on the rug, I push off the ground, but my legs wobble like a newborn fawn's, unsteady and trembling. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing my arm with a warmth that tempts me to stay. His touch is at once electric and gentle, promising more if I just stay.
But I can't. I’m too overcome with emotion. Too confused about what just transpired between us. That was not sex. That was more. Far, far more.
"Now I must go. Goodnight," I mutter, my voice breathless and cracked, barely above a whisper, the words catching in my throat like they're reluctant to escape.
Then I turn on my heel, the motion swift and desperate, and run out without looking back. The conservatory's glass walls blur as I flee like a dream dissolving. Long, wavering shadows of desire chase me down the hall, stretching across the floor like accusing fingers.
Chapter Thirty-Five
BLAKE
Afaint draft whispers through a cracked pane, rustling the foliage just enough to break the silence. I slump back against the couch, my body heavy and spent from the release. My ragged breaths are uneven and deep. My mind is a swirling storm of shock, lingering pleasure, and something deeper that leaves me reeling, chest tight with unspoken questions.
God, that blowjob. She fucking blew my mind.
On her knees between my legs, taking me with a hunger I never expected from her, her mouth hot and velvet-soft, enveloping me inch by inch. I can still feel the ghost of her tongue swirling slowly and deliberately around the head, teasing the sensitive underside with flicks, building that fire until it consumes me. All the while, she looked up at me through those lashes, her eyes swimming with desire, vulnerable yet fierce, and it unraveled me completely. And the release when it came, crashed through me like nothing I've felt before, waves of heat pulsing out in shuddering bursts, leaving me utterly drained, but in a whirlwind of awe and confusion that makes my heart pound even now.
That woman is not...
But I don’t allow myself to finish the thought. Yesterday, I began to suspect it, but today the idea is becoming more and more fully formed.
The setup Carolyn and I have is an arrangement, pragmatic and straightforward. Freya needed a good mom after her mother passed, and Carolyn was supposed to fill the gaping void in the life of my toddler. Passion wasn't the point—reliability was, a steady partner to share the parenting load without drama or complications. Fireworks? They weren't required in the equation. We were building a stable life for Freya, not chasing sparks.
I sit there motionless, head tipped back against the cushion, my gaze fixed on the stars twinkling beyond the glass ceiling. Their distant, indifferent light pierces the night like scattered diamonds on black velvet. In my mind, the years stretch back like a barren, endless landscape, filled with nights of quiet distance and dutiful routines. I had accepted the chill between us because that's what we had become: functional and polite, the sexual element slowly cooling to embers and eventually to ashes. No heat, no urgency—just going through the motions in separate orbits around Freya.
