“Are you alright?”
Looking for soap, she catches sight of black bottles with red lettering. “This is your soap? Why can’t you have three-in-one like a regular man?” she demands.
Behind the door, he mutters, “I’m going back to bed.”
Humming, she scrubs herself clean, delighted by the slip of bubbles. The warmth and late hour bring a comforting daze over her. A robe is laid over the nearby stool, obnoxious restored driftwood shit. It’s too big for her, but Lili pulls it on when she gets out of the bath, stifling a yawn.
“I could have had sex with so many people tonight,” she informs him as she clambers into bed, still trying her luck. “So many women and men—multiple, interchanging. But instead, I came here, and you won’t even do your whole daddy dom thing.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know,” she yawns, snuggling into the sheets.
The low light clicks off. If she nestles into his side, it’s because of his body heat. “Go to sleep, Lili.”
“You know, I don’t think I will,” she says, fighting back another yawn.
There’s something amiss; in the back of her mind, this little twist of anxiety, a faint itch of uncertainty, but she’s too tired to examine it.
Then a hand is in her hair, with a calm, heavy pattern of touch. Lili leans into it, soothed. Drifting, the lurch of alcohol makes her balance, even lying down, spin every so often, and then she’s asleep.
It’s a good dream.
No, it’s an absurdly good dream.
Light peeks in, sleep disturbed. Lili tries to burrow away; she doesn’t want to wake up. Would rather stay drifting on this pleasure, grasp after this indistinct dream. But as she comes to—consciousness slowly resolving—the pleasure doesn’t recede.
“What—oh.”
She gasps, realizing where she is; realizing what’s happening—the sheets much softer than her own bed, and the pleasure between her legs adamantly not a dream. The robe she fell asleep in is undone, pulled off her shoulders, and hismouth—
“Stay still.” Jesus, the brush of his breath against her. His low voice thrums through her, tongue moving slow and deep. Lili squeezes her eyes shut, trying to push away the insistent, building intensity. Barely awake, already halfway to something, it’s disorienting and overwhelming.
“Aleksa—”
She shouldn’t be here. Why is she here? The morning light—still soft, dawn—slips through the tall windows—his loft, Tribeca, her legs thrown over his shoulders.
Fuck. Okay, she can do this. She can just—
He does something with his tongue that makes her legs tremble. “Oh, my God,” she moans. “We—we shouldn’t—” Her voice breaks on a gasp.
Aleksandr laughs, hot against her. “Should I stop?”
“No!No—” His tongue flattens against her, making her back arch with a moan. “Jesus—there, right—”
Her thighs start to shake. Desperate for this pressure to release, she drags her nails through his hair, her toes curling against his shoulder blades as he moves faster against her, and she’s drowning, she’sdrowning—
She shatters with no breath left in her throat.
It’s like dark sunshine pours through her; like her skin bursts with glowing pleasure, wrenched from her before full thoughts or clear words.
Chest panting, Lili tries to catch her breath, attempting to recover through the aftershocks of what might be the best head of her life. Blurring and white, her vision falters and resolves. Everything starts to wash back: last night, Jane’s text, getting belligerently drunk, stumbling over here.
Oh, Jesus.
She’s fucked up.
She’s fucked up so badly.
