Page 117 of Pistols & Peonies

I’m the one to break it this time, grabbing her wrists and pinning them behind her back, her tits arching into me. “What’s gotten into you, mate?”

She bites her lip, gaze flicking down to where my cock’s straining against the front of my slacks. “Just feeling grateful, I guess.”

“Is that so?”

She nods, then slides off my lap to the floor, kneeling between my legs in a way that instantly scrambles my brain. She gazes up at me through her lashes, her hair starting to come undone from the bun, a few dark strands falling into her face as she reaches for my belt.

“Violet–” I start, but she’s already got the buckle undone, my eyes rolling back as she palms me through my slacks.

“You can still eat your noodles, if you want,” she teases, popping the button and dragging the zipper down.

“Fuck the noodles,” I grit out, not even pretending to care about anything but her at this point.

She frees my cock, stroking it lazily, fingernails scratching lightly over the head. Then she leans in, dragging her tongue along my shaft– teasing at first, then more deliberate. I groan when she finally wraps her lips around the head and sucks, her blue eyes never leaving mine as she hollows her cheeks.

The sight of her like this– kneeling at my feet, so eager, so completely in control and yet somehow offering herself up– is almost enough to finish me on the spot. I sink a hand into her hair to anchor myself while she works her mouth up and down my cock, slurping and sucking and driving me fucking crazy.

She moans around me, sending a jolt of electricity straight up my spine, and I try to last– I really do– but she’s too fucking good at this. Too talented with her tongue, too intent on ruining me.

When I’m right on the edge, I warn her, but she doesn’t stop. She just keeps right on going, greedily swallowing my cock as I freefall into climax. The dam inside me bursts, a groan rumbling in my chest as I spill into her mouth, waves of pleasure rippling through my body.

Slowly, I come back into myself, blinking as I peer down at my perfect fucking mate. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smirking in satisfaction as she crawls up into my lap.

“You okay, old man?” she teases, lips shiny.

I sling an arm around her waist and haul her in for a kiss. She whimpers into my mouth, grinding down against my thigh.

I know what she needs.

“Your turn,” I growl as I break the kiss, flipping her onto her back on the couch. We both go for her shorts at the same time, laughing and cursing as we get tangled up in each other. I wind up resorting to ripping them off, her thighs wrapping around me like a promise I have no intention of breaking.

When I slide my fingers between her legs, she’s already soaked, moaning loudly as I circle her clit.

“You want the neighbors to hear you?” I murmur, pushing two fingers inside her and curling them just so.

She gasps, arching off the couch, nails digging into my back. “Don’t care,” she pants. “Let them hear.”

I fuck her with my fingers until she’s shaking, then drag my mouth down her body, kissing every inch of skin I can reach, licking and biting at her thighs until she’s pleading for more.

When I finally taste her, she grabs my hair with both hands and shoves my face against her pussy, grinding up into my mouth with zero shame. She’s so worked up that it doesn’t take long– in a matter of minutes, she’s coming all over my tongue. I lap it up like a starving man, refusing to stop until she’s begging through sobs.

When I move back up to kiss her again, she’s flushed and trembling, eyes half-lidded and satisfied. I roll her on top of me, and we lie there like that for a long time. The TV flickers, the food goes cold. Time slips.

And if this is what our version of domesticity looks like, I’ll gladly take it.

CHAPTER 37

Violet

“For the record,” Char says, tossing a piece of popcorn at my face from the other end of the couch, “I’m still pissed it’s taken you this long to invite me over.”

“Shut up,” I laugh, batting it away. “If you would’ve asked, I would’ve invited you.”

She rolls her eyes, sprawling even deeper into the couch cushions. “I shouldn’t have to ask, it was implied.”

I snort a laugh, lobbing a piece of popcorn from my own bowl in her direction. We’ve been camped out here for hours– legs tangled, the coffee table a warzone of abandoned snacks, and the glow of the TV washing over us as yet another episode of Real Housewives plays in the background. It’s easy. Familiar. Like slipping into an old favorite hoodie.

I didn’t realize how much I missed this until she got here.