Brutal Precious
Page 42

“If you ever feel uncomfortable, let me know.”
“Okay,” she swallows.
“I mean it. If you don’t want to do this anymore, at any time, tell me. And I’ll stop.”
She nods, and I sigh and lean in, putting my forehead against hers.
“Please, Isis. Promise me. Promise me you’ll communicate with me. I can see the visual clues, but I’m not a psychic.”
“I know,” She sighs. “Sorry. Okay. Okay.” She takes a deep breath, hard determination in her eyes. “I promise. Now shut up and kiss me and take off those dumb batman boxers.”
***
And he does, but he ignores the thing that comes out of it, the pink and insistent and tall thing, preferring to sink his hand beneath my panties instead. It’s awkward, but suddenly he hits that something I always try to hit and I’m making noises I didn’t know I could make.
“O-Oh shit,” I hiss.
“Are you okay?” He looks up, panicked.
“Do that again,” I demand.
And he does, over and over with gradually more friction until my arms are coiled around him and my thighs are practically crushing his hand, and his fingers are different from mine, they’re longer and more slender and can reach all the places I never could, all the places that make me pant and twist and finally, finally, explode soundlessly. I go limp, but he never gives me time to recover, sliding his tongue down my stomach, over my thighs, and dangerously close to –
“H-Hey!” I cover myself. “D-Don’t do that. It’s gross down there.”
He looks up, face hurt. But he quickly masks that over, nodding agreeably.
“Alright.”
“I mean –” I bite my lip. “It’s gross. Right? It’s gotta be.”
“For some people, it is. Not for me personally, no. And you smell very good.”
I scrunch my face up in disbelief. “Are you lying? Because historically, you’re sort of good at that.”
“No,” He kisses my inner thigh. “I’ve given up on lying. It’s too much work. And you deserve better. But let’s focus on other things –”
He moves to come back up, but I push his shoulders down.
“Try again.”
“Isis, if you don’t want to do this –”
“I’ve changed my mind. Try again.”
“You’re awfully demanding, your highness,” He smirks.
“An empress must rule with convicti –”
I never get to finish my sentence in the best way, and it’s then I realize exactly what the Rose Club was paying him for, and a seed of jealousy sprouts at the thought he’s done this for many others. But that’s quickly eclipsed by the big, looming fact he’s doing it to me now, for me, responding to my every twitch and moan with increasing amounts of skill and gentleness, and right before the fireworks I have the sense of mind to stop him, tugging on his hair lightly.
“H-Hey, dumbo.”
He sits up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “What is it?”
“What about you?” I murmur, and reach for his dick. It’s rock-hard and warm beneath my hand, and he hisses.
“That’s a very dangerous game you’re playing.”
“Says the guy with his head between my legs for the last twenty minutes,” I smirk.
“Can you blame me? You’re very enjoyab –” His hiss spikes as I tighten my grip and experimentally clench up and down. The ice of his eyes is all but springwater now, soft and pleasure-hazed as I move my hand faster. He throws his head back, and I kiss his exposed throat, and suddenly I’m down on the pillows again, his hands on my shoulders and his bangs shading his eyes. He licks down my neck, to my br**sts, and I arch when I feel his mouth envelop the very tip of one. Faintly, I hear the crinkle of plastic and a sudden pressure, and I should be afraid or hurting more, my brain and my past tell me this should hurt and be terrifying, but I feel safe and everything is so wet he slides in easily, sinking to the hilt with slow, careful movements.
I’m full, and a little uncomfortable, but it’s fading and I don’t want to tell him just yet. Not when his expression is as achingly satisfied as that. It gives me a power-trippy sort of thrill to see how high he is on the feeling. His groan is hoarse as the last bit slots inside, and he dusts my neck in kisses.
“I-I’m sorry. Are you alright? I should’ve asked, I should have warned you – ”
“It’s okay,” I insist. “Really. Didn’t hurt at all.”
He looks doubtful, and I smile and bite his arm near my head playfully.
“I’m telling the truth.”
“Promise?” He asks.
“Promise,” I say with a mouthful of skin. “Just…maybe don’t move all that much. For a while. It’s kind of new territory.”
“Virgin territory is the term I believe you’re looking for.” He smirks. I punch him with my pinky. We stay like that, him breathing and me breathing and me getting used to the feeling of someone else in me. Finally, the pressure lessens. I use the opportunity to do the thing Kayla advised me to. Jack’s reaction is a startled gasp he manages to swallow halfway, and he glares at me.
“That’s…t-that’s hardly fair. Where did you learn that?”
“I have friends,” I say smugly. “Who are girls.”
He laughs and I do it again, and this time he comes up growling, biting my neck lightly.
“Stop. That.”
“Whyyyy?” I singsong.
“Because I’m – I’m –”
I do it a third time, and Jack kisses me, hard, panting as we pull apart.
“I’m on the edge of losing it already, you saucy piece of work. If we want this to last anywhere beyond a few minutes, you’re going to have to stop that.”
I reach up and run my fingers through his hair. “I thought you were, like, the stamina expert. Wasn’t it your job?”
“Was. I’m very out of practice. It doesn’t help I’ve had a thing for you for months, now.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” He moves with a series of slow, experimental thrusts. “It means you…”
His words get lost as I feel him, for the first real time, and moan.
“Jack, ah –”
“Say it again.”
“Jack,” I curl around him, my legs moving higher of their own accord, linking around his back.
“Oh hell,” He groans into my shoulder. “I missed you. I missed you, Isis. It feels so f**king good to hear you say my name.”
I say it many, many more times. Loudly and involuntarily.
-12-
0 Years
0 Weeks
1 Day
Jack does not especially appreciate me taking all the blankets in the conceivable universe.
Or staring at him while he sleeps.
I know this because A. I know Jack, and he doesn’t like being ogled unless he’s being paid for it, and B. Every time I pull on the sheets tangled around his legs, he grimaces a little more in his sleep. So I do what any decent human being who respects another person would do, and keep pulling.
Jack groans and shields his eyes, the early morning sun painting his tousled hair gold. It slants down his chest, making shadows on his bare belly, his neck, his throat. I want to nuzzle into the hollow of his shoulder and live there forever. It feels so surreal – like any second an annoying teen-movie alarm clock will start chirping in my ears and I’ll rouse awake into the real world, in my real bed, alone and cold and sad and convinced no one will ever love me.