Vox: A FanFic/X-Reader

Chapter Eleven

Dinner rolls in on four wheels. Domed plates and covered dishes, pitchers of juice, a bottle of vodka, and half a cheesecake with strawberry sauce and a bottle of whipped cream. He nods at it and winks at me. I smile and bite my lip.

He dishes out random foods on two plates and hands me one. He forks up a bite and offers it to me. We go on like this until we're both stuffed. It's disgustingly domestic, and I'm here for it.

The night sky and perfect temperature beckon as I walk past the terrace door and feel the breeze while returning from the restroom. I bend and take his hand, dragging him out to the terrace. In a shadowy alcove, we can stargaze if we're able to look away from one another.

I don't keep my hands to myself. Since we're hidden away, I pull his sweats down to finish what I started before dinner. He resists, and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because he wants to be in control or maybe it's nerves.

"Fine," he relents and leans back.

"Do you really want me to stop?" I ask.

"No, but I don't want anyone seeing or getting the wrong idea about you."

"That's adorable, but let me worry about that."

I kiss the head of his cock, sucking it into my mouth again. Corkscrewing my hand as I pay extra attention to the head, he pants and says, "Oh fuck, fuck..."

He's extra sensitive to blowies, so it's more fun to elicit reactions. He moans and writhes under my ministrations. "Dea, your mouth feels amazing."

I try not to laugh. "Hands behind your head, sexy." He tenses like he's not sure which one I'm referring to and I smile but get back to it. Pushing past my gag reflex takes a moment. My throat relaxes and I slide him all the way down the back of my throat, swallowing around his head, again and again. The article said it mimics the feeling of sex during an intense orgasm. He knows what that feels like, so let's see if it's true. I pump his cock in and out, paying attention to his balls. They've grown tight.

He gives in and I feel it when he does because he pets my face. I think it's him saying he's with me—soothing me or him, both. Before long, his hips move in rhythm with me. The moment he begins losing our pace, I double down. Holding myself to him, I swallow and swallow, constricting my throat around his cock.

He trembles and quakes violently, flexing his hips and fucking my mouth relentlessly and I love every moment of it. When he comes, it's beautiful—the sounds he makes for me. And I make sure he feels every drop I consume.

When we're done, he says, "I didn't tell the truth."

"Um, what?"

"I'm already in love with you. I said I was falling, but I'm gone, love."

"Me too."

"You love me?"

"I do."

"Really? Not thinking you are, or falling, but already definitely are?"

"I love you, not falling, already fell."

"I love you, Dea."

"I love you too. Dio is god, right?

"It's Latin," he nods.

Sometimes men say things during sex, or so I've heard. Take it as praise, not truth. That's what the article said. I won't ruin our moment—his afterglow—with logic or second-guessing, nor will I hold it against him later. Enjoy it while it lasts. That's my motto.

It'll hurt later, but life's a cold-hearted sadist that shreds hearts with a cheese grater for funsies.

"You're a goddess."

"Of horny."

"You're splitting hairs."

"Okay. Which one?"

"Aphrodite, maybe." He trails fingers down my forehead, between my eyes, down the slope of my nose to my lips. Placing his hand under my arm, he gathers me into his arms. Kisses pepper my face. Eyes, forehead, outer corners of my eyes, cheeks. Everywhere. When he gets to my mouth, I grin, wondering if he's afraid of the taste of come, even his own. Hands palm my face and he licks my lips, his tongue demanding entry. My tongue meets his. Our lips dance and swirl, brush and slide. His hands slide around my neck.

Climbing over his thighs so that I'm straddling him has me ready to go, but I wait.

"She's a proper goddess; I wish."

A dark look crosses his face and I know he's worried about something for tomorrow. I nuzzle into his chest, sliding my hands over his shoulder and tracing his jugular notch with my thumb. "Trust that tomorrow will be okay because it will."

"I deceived you. You'll need time. Angry Deas do angry things sometimes."

"I can be upset without acting on it. Whatever it is, we're stronger. You think I'd let you go that easily?"

"We'll see."

"Yeah, you will. We're still on a learning curve upslope. Unless you're married?"

"No, love. I'm yours."

"And I'm yours."