I can't help the moan that escapes my mouth at the taste of her tongue against mine, and my hips pulse reflexively up to meet hers. But before I can reach the heat emanating from her core, she grasps my neck in her hand and pushes me away, pressing...
Hey y'all. This chapter is twice as long as most, but it's important so...buckle up bitches.
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I couldn't get her out of my head.
Never in my life have I ever felt so alive. There was a new energy burning through me, it felt like static electricity, like every time she touched me sent a new wave of shock through my system. The way her mouth parted as she danced on top of me, the way her eyes looked at me so softly yet held so much lust. I never expected to wake up tied to her bed, but fucking hell, I'm glad I did.
I was sprawled out in bed the next day after soccer practice, too tired and lost in my daydreams to remove my cleats. It was nearly 9PM, we had been at it all day. My hair was sticking to my forehead with sweat, the heat making me sit up and toss my shirt toward the closet it. I watched it fall just shy of my hamper, and normally that would bother me enough to get up and move it, but this time I didn't care. This time I had more important things on my mind.
Like Mistress Valencia, and how show could command a room with just her powerful stride, hips swinging sensuously and assuredly, each step taken with more confidence than the last. Or the saccharine sweet side of her that escapes every once in a while, how she patiently guides me through every sexual interaction, or how she feed me by the forkful after a rough night. Or her laugh, how it's strong like thunder but washes over you like a cleansing rain. Or her body, a body that makes my mouth water and my cock stir, a body that I would let do almost anything to me. Or her eyes, how they–
"Dude."
I snap out of my reverie, shaking my head like an etch-a-sketch, hoping to erase the image of her undulating naked body from my head. It doesn't work, so I fake a look of concentration and look to where Oliver stands at the door with his arms crossed. He's got a gym bag resting on his shoulder and his football helmet tucked under his arm, so I'm assuming that he got back from practice too.
He releases a sigh and closes the door, carelessly dropping his bag and helmet on the ground.
"Can you–"
He holds a hand up to stop me mid-sentence. "No, I will not pick them."
I raise a brow at his defiance, wondering what crawled up his ass and died? I also wondered if I cared, he'd been acting very peculiar lately, and I didn't know how to ask him about it. Communication was not my strongest suit. Besides, I've been riding this high for the past 24+ hours, and I didn't want anything to tarnish it.
"Okay...?" I drawled out in question after he just stared at me without speaking for a moment.
His eyes took in my position on the bed, roaming over my matted hair, bare chest, shorts, and cleats so quickly that I almost – almost – missed it. He shifts his eyes away and sighs again, walking briskly to his bed on the opposite side of the small room.
