Page 84 of One for the Road
Unable to comprehend those words coming from Alistair’s lips.
I’d never ever been spoken to that way. Always assumed any kind of dirty talk would make me feel degraded.
Instead, it made me feel dirty in the best way, like we were going to get filthytogether.
“When you wear that little pink summer dress you love so much, it drives me out of my mind.” He stared at my chest like he could see through the fabric. Not to my skin, but the bruised heart underneath. He lifted a hand, grazing it softly along the bone from my collar to my shoulder. “You have this little trio of freckles right here that I think about more than I should. Far more than I should admit to my fake girlfriend.” He dropped his hand to the back of my leg, to the crease of my knee, and drifted higher. Just his fingertips.
“These thighs.” The word was a groan as his fingers delved beneath the hem, squeezing the flesh tight. “Want to know a secret?”
I nodded, incapable of speaking.
“I’ve imagined fucking these thighs. They’d feel so good gripping my cock.”
I must have been living under a rock – a lonely, sexless rock – because my mind stumbled, trying to figure out the logistics. How that could possibly even work. The second he left, my Google browser would be working overtime.
“In my dream, I take my time with you before I fuck you here.” He slid his hand higher, pressing his fingers into the skin where my thigh met my pubic bone. I breathed shakily, already so wet there was no way he couldn’t feel the stickiness creeping down my leg.
The left. I needed him to go to the left. I bit my lip to keep the words in.
Cameron hated when I instructed him during sex.
“Why would I take my time, Isla?” I shook my head. Alistair was talking, but I couldn’t make sense of it. Wasn’t capable of cognitive thought.
“Open your eyes.” He sounded amused, gave my inner thigh little taps that left me shaking until I complied. Barely lucid. “Why would I take my time before I fucked you properly?”
“I – I don’t know.”
“Because your cunt deserves to be savoured.”
“How could you . . . you haven’t—” There was no way he’d just said—
“No arguing.”
Then I was flying. A small cry slipped free as my back hit the sofa. He shoved aside the copious scatter cushions until I lay flat. Arms at my sides.
Alistair propped himself above me, one hand wedged beside my head.
My breaths came thick and fast as I waited for him to touch me. But he just looked at me, eyes tracking over my face as though there might later be a test based on my expressions and he was determined to win.
“I still think we should turn off the lamp.” My lips were dry. My throat felt like I’d swallowed sandpaper.
“No. I want to see this.” As if to prove his point, he pushed his glasses further up his nose. I saw a flash of red in his hand. The Rosebud. He pressed it into my palm, then sat back on his heels expectantly.
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Yes, you do.” Like always, he read me perfectly. “I said I was going to savour you. That means, as much as I want to go down on you – and Ireallywant to go down on you, Lang – I’m showing restraint.” Shifting, he reached for my hand holding the Rosebud. Brought it to rest on my stomach. “I’m not laying a single finger on you until you learn your own pleasure. Learn what you like, okay?”
Okay?
When he laid it out like that, it sounded smart. Reasonable. I’d been nineteen when Cameron and I started having sex. I hadn’t been his first, but he’d been mine. I’d never gotten a chance to explore with anyone else. Then I’d had Teddy and my body stopped feeling like mine, more like a sack of skin I used to service other people. My own needs, wants and desires always third in line.
But– “And you’re just going to watch?”
His eyes made a slow crawl to the V of my legs still hidden beneath the hem of my T-shirt. With a low moan, he said, “I’d really like that.”
“Oh.”
“If that’s something you’re comfortable with,” he added.
