Page 70 of One Last Rainy Day
When her soft murmurs start to fade in strength, I gatherher up and lay her atop me on the bed. Burrowing in, she rests her cheek on my chest, securing her thigh around my torso—the act familiar. It’s how we sleep. The feeling of it settling in my chest, the kind of intimacy I’ve never allowed myself with anyone.
Ever.
Because of the exact fucking conflict going on inside me now.
“Happy Birthday, Dom,” she whispers softly, running her fingers over my chest before drifting off. Somewhere between the drift of sleep and consciousness, I claim the only gift I want, palming her thigh and drawing it up to bring her snugger to me. Pressing and keeping my lips to her forehead, I inhale her scent and let myself fall into the idea of us and linger there—knowing that eventually, I’ll be jerked away by the hard, unforgivable reality waiting for me when I hit the ground.
Rousing due to the feel of her hand on my cock, I open my eyes in time to see Cecelia flick the head of it with her tongue, the most devilish smile lifting her lush lips as she glances up to see my eyes pop open.
“Hi,” she rasps out, a greeting that rings out more like a warning. Freshly showered, dressed in a tank top and panties, hair damp, she grips me hard as a confession starts to roll off her tongue between licks.
“In case you’ve ever wondered,” she murmurs before flattening her tongue up one side of my cock and down the other, “if I was braver the night I saw you naked, if I knew then how good this felt,” she draws out, her tone pure heat, “I would’ve walked into your room,” she swirls her tongueover the tip of me, “and done this.” Clamping her swollen lips around my length, she takes me to the back of her throat.
Jesus Christ.
A low groan escapes me as she works me over, lips still swollen from the hours we’ve spent in this bed. Her skin marked, shoulder and neck rashes still raw due to my bottomless imagination.
“Fuck,” I grunt, fighting my hips to keep them idle as her addictive scent invades me. Intent on not missing a second, I gather her damp hair into my fist, absorbed as she takes hard pulls of my cock, keeping my base in a firm grip. Inhibitions forgotten, she keeps her confident gaze on me—on my reaction.
When I move to lift her up to me, she swats my hands away, making it clear she wants me at her mercy while she takes my pleasure for herself. She’s coming into her own, realizing how potent her power is over those that desire her. With that knowledge, I let go, allowing her to take what she needs from me. The second I do, she sucks me so thoroughly that I see stars, tightening the fingers I have tangled in her hair.
“The perineum, or the taint,” she ticks off as if doing a mental count. She brushes the skin just beneath my balls, fisting my sheets as she suctions before letting my tip pop out of her mouth. “Oh, did I say thatout loud?”
I narrow my eyes as she rakes her nails gently over my balls—leaving me speechless.
“Youdo knowthat’s one of a male’smost potent erogenouszones, right?” She demonstrates it’s fast becoming one of my own as she licks the skin beneath my balls with an explorative tongue before deep-throating me and pressing on it gently with the pad of her thumb.
I’ve created a monster.
“Cecelia,” I grit out in warning as she rakes her nails down my thigh.
“Come,” she commands, gripping my base hard and suctioning around the head.
“Fuck,” I exhale as she swallows my release like it’s the air she needs. Chest heaving, I stare down at her as she flattens her tongue along each side of my shaft. She carefully avoids my sensitive tip before releasing me and moving to hover above me, eyes glittering with satisfaction. “Happy Birthday, motherfucker, and good morning.”
Releasing my smile, I run a thumb along her swollen lips. “You’re doing a good job of convincing me it could be both.”
“Take a shower and meet me downstairs,” she whispers before placing a few worshipful kisses on my lips.
“Join me,” I whisper back, matching her tone.
“I’ve already showered, so I’ll see you down there.” She bounces off of me onto the edge of the bed.
I grip her arm, pulling her upper half to me, brow raised. “Cecelia?”
“Yes?”
“What’s waiting downstairs?”
“Coffee,” she says, feigning innocence.
“I told you I don’t want—”
“Shut the hell up, King.” She eases from my grip and stands, pulling her shorts up before tossing my next order over her shoulder. “Make it quick.”
When she closes my door behind her, my gaze trails up to the ceiling. Another year older. Another year to create the future I want. Another year to change it if I decide the life I’m living isn’t enough for me—another year of opportunitynot to proceed along the path I paved for myself and my brothers. The choice has been a no-brainer year after year. It’s my frustrations in the last few months—and the lack of progress—that have me questioning the decision for the first time since I got inked. Standing in the bathroom, I study my tattoo.
What difference canone manreally make?
