*30:Really

“C’mere,” she purred and grabbed the front of his shirt to tug him closer. 

They had just taken the last step that put them below deck, and it was with a raised brow that he smirked down at her.  The counselor had gotten little tipsy with dinner.  One more drink may have taken her from tipsy to shit-faced and, when it seemed as though she might order another, Jon had leaned into her ear and whispered, “It’s time for dessert, Chiara.”

The beaming smile she turned on him was a bright light in the evening that had progressed from dusk to dark, and her chair teetered when haphazardly shoved back from the table in her haste to rise.  Two minutes later, they were down on the sidewalk, and two more had them on the skiff back to the yacht. 

The counselor was feeling no pain and ready to get down to dirty business.

Jon wasn’t feeling a lot of pain himself, but his wino tendencies were such a regular way of life that they manifested as more of a gentle buzz than true inebriation.  It was fortunate that one of them still had their wits about them since she developed the hands of an octopus during the skiff ride.  A subtle octopus, but an octopus nonetheless.  Her hand was latched onto his crotch at every opportunity and, when it wasn’t there, it was tucked inside the opening of his shirt to play with one or the other of his nipples. 

The first few times, he simply redirected her tentacle to more neutral ground – like her lap – but true to her aggressive personality, the groping grew more persistent.  Ultimately, he’d resorted to leaning into her ear again to menacingly warn, “Keep your hands G-rated, Counselor or I’ll have to bust your ass when we’re alone.”

Her grin was nothing short of wicked.  “You think that’s going to encourage me to stop?”

Divine providence timed that moment with their arrival at the yacht and, between a crewmember and Jon, she was able to board without taking an unplanned swim. 

Now that they were alone, the gloves were apparently coming off.

“You’re drunk, Counselor.”

Her eyes were glazed like a frosted mug of root beer when she jerked a stubborn chin up at him and defied, “Not too drunk to remember what you’ve been promising all evening.”

“Oh, yeah?  What’s that?” he asked, feigning amnesia for the sole reason that it amused him to see her reaction.  One never knew how heated things might get with the counselor and, frankly, the sex was hot when she was pissed.

“Youuuuu, studly silver Crocodile,” she enunciated to the best of her ability but hitting the ‘s’ sounds with more emphasis than was necessary.  “Are going to eat me.” 

So she didn’t get pissed, and he was now on the brink of finding out how hot sex could be with her under normal horny circumstances.  It wasn’t going to suck regardless.

There was another tug at the front of his shirt, and this time he allowed her to propel him forward, pleasing her enough to produce a delightedly tipsy grin.  She went up on her toes to plaster the grin against his mouth and immediately plundered her tongue inside.

They were alone.  Sex in all its tempting forms was the purpose for being here.  She was tempting him.  It combined to leave Jon with zero qualms about commandeering the kiss and taking it from PG to NC-17 while boldly molesting her upper body. 

“Jesus,” she murmured, wrenching her mouth away and bringing determined fingers to tug on his chin.  “Is your tongue as big as it feels in my mouth?  Stick it out.”

Continuing to find his lightly-plastered lover amusing, Jon did as she bade and presented his tongue for inspection.

“Damn, Crocodile,” she approved, eyeing it with an anticipatory gleam.  “Do you actually know how to use that thing?”

Withdrawing his insulted tongue, Jon reared back with indignation and dismissed the idea of normal horny sex.  Things were about to get heated.

“Are you implying that I don’t know how to eat a pussy?”

Nobody had questioned his sexual proficiency since before he got a driver’s license.  He was a rock star for Christ’s sake.  Did she have any idea of how many women he’d screwed over the years?  It was true only a small percentage merited the pleasure of his tongue, but every one of those had been more than satisfied. 

Under his usual casual sex policy, the counselor wouldn’t merit the pleasure either, but Jon had a peculiar itch to taste her first-hand instead of from his hand.

Cocking her head to the side with an unconvinced shrug, she offered the observation, “Just because you’ve got a car doesn’t mean you know how to drive it.  That tongue could be the proverbial Maserati collecting dust in somebody’s garage.”

“I swear to God, you get your rocks off by insulting me.”  Growling under his breath, he grabbed her wrist and hauled her down the narrow hall that led to the bedroom.  “Don’t know how to eat a pussy, my ass.”

The giggle that drifted from behind him provoked Jon even further.  Skidding to a stop at the side of the king-size bed, he picked her by the waist and tossed her to its center. 

“If you like that dress,” he warned while unbuttoning his shirt.  “You’ve got about thirty seconds to get it off.  I’m done pushing panties to the side.  You’ll be spread-eagle naked in this bed if I have to cut that goddamn thing off you.”

His wrist flicked to disengage the buckle on his belt as she popped to her knees to start shimmying out of the short dress.  While his fingers worked down the button fly of his jeans, she reached behind her to flip the clasp that sent her bra floating away.  He toed off his shoes and dropped his jeans at the same moment she kicked black panties aside and fell to her back in the middle of the mattress. 

“Please don’t suck at this.”  What could’ve easily been criticism came out a breathless wish as she watched him approach and had him pausing with a knee on the edge of the bed.  “Vibrators don’t have tongues either, in case you didn’t know.  Real tongues are right up there with real dicks.  Don’t ruin this for me.”

Shaking his head with scowl, Jon reached out and tapped his knuckles against the inside of her knee.  “Open up and shut up, you mouthy drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” she defiantly declared.  “I’m merely relaxed, which is the first fucking time ever that’s happened in your presence, so stop complain-  Oh shiiiitttt….”

Charlie had no idea what she’d been saying.  Didn’t really care, either.  There was an alpha male with an attitude sliding up the bed and using broad shoulders to wedge her thighs open.  Wide.  Wide enough to see anything and everything he chose to, and she held her breath while waiting for his next move.

“What’s the matter, Chiara?” The warm breeze of those words against the crease of her leg was as taunting as the tone behind them.  “Realizing you’re gonna be proven wrong about me?”

“Afraid I won’t be.” 

Lifting his head to find Charlie propped on the pillows and watching him, he levelly met her gaze and asserted, “Not a chance in hell.”

That in itself was enough to send a tremor running from her core out to all four limbs, and it didn’t escape his attention. 

“Just think,” Jon pondered softly against the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh.  “I haven’t even used my tongue yet.”

Charlie groaned in the back of her throat and dug the back of her head deep into the pillow.  She was going to die when he finally did.  It would take two swipes of that crocodile tongue and she would be screaming just like he’d predicted. 

“Use it for something besides talking al-fucking-ready!” 

There was a sharp nip at the same sensitive flesh, followed by a stern warning.  “I’ll do what I want when I want, which will be when hell freezes over if you don’t back off.”

Swearing heatedly in her mind, Charlie was reminded how violently angry this man could incite her to be.  His arrogance.  His attitude.  His entitlement.  With all of those negative qualities, how could she want his to be the face buried between her legs? 

Because he’s also more strong, determined and successful than you are.  He’s not lazy enough to endure a lackluster life.

Her hips nudged up, subtly demanding more from the man who would fight her to the end and win as often as he lost.  Even as brutally as they butted heads, he was the kind of man Charlie had needed all along.

Not him.  Just his kind.

“Ready to start screaming your innermost thoughts yet?”  Biting teeth took another nip, this time at the tendon the connected her thigh and groin.  “Or are you gonna wait until it’s almost time to come?”

“Fucking useless Maserat-  Ohhhhh!  Even if you can’t use that damn thing, it feels amazing.”  The first touch was just that – a touch – but left her a little wetter than he found her and the summer air now felt cool by comparison.

Jockeying her thighs onto his biceps, Jon situated his hands so that a palm fully covered each of her hipbones and, when his tongue delved in for more than a touch, she found out why.  Her first reaction was to buck into the fleshy muscle that had just licked her folds like he was slurping cream from a cannoli, but he wasn’t going to allow it.  He constrained her with enough strength that Charlie’s backside stayed flat on the mattress and at his mercy.

“Damn you,” she groaned, squirming from side to side in lieu of humping his face.  “Don’t screw around.  Make it good and make it now.”

His hum of negligence against her most sensitive spots was another prompt to try and push closer, but his hold was rock solid and didn’t give an inch.  Jon simply rubbed the flat of his tongue against her clit, and then withdrew to flick with the tip of his big, fat tongue. 

Back and forth.  And back.  And forth.

“Ohhhh-hhhh…!  God it’s been so long!  Eat me, Crocodile.”

He could drive a Maserati in any damn race in the world as far as she was concerned.  That tongue of his was everywhere it needed to be and a few places she hadn’t known she wanted it to be.  He intermittently swabbed her, lapped her, laved her, glossed, licked, smacked and slurped until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“It’s good.  So good…  but not good enough,” she criticized breathlessly, thinking that he was right about her getting off on insulting him.  “I thought you were gonna make me scream, stud.  You’re not even close!”

With a growl, his face surged even deeper into crevices that were saturated with “not good enough” and, wiggling his mouth from side to side, he ferreted out her clit.  One sharp suck had it in his mouth and rolling on that damn tongue of his while hard fingertips dug into her flesh. 

“Almost!” she gasped, thrashing against the pillows and causing the comforter to bunch under her.  “Stop fucking around and finish it, goddammit!”

She had no idea what he did in that next instant, but it was magic superior to anything Disney’s kingdom could offer.  His slip, slide, swirl, dip, dive and suck had every nerve ending between her legs buzzing with sparks of electricity that would converge to a lightning bolt in three, two----

“Nnnnjggggaaahhhh!” 

She didn’t make it to one before she was electrocuted as surely as Ben Franklin’s kite.  Jon doggedly refused to let her hips leave the mattress or escape his erotic torture, but every other part of her came off it as she desperately dug fingers into his hair and screamed loud enough to be heard back in Brooklyn.

“YaaAAssssSSSssSSS!! Fuck, you’re amazing.  So so so so so goooooood!”

Watching him with heavy lidded eyes, Charlie’s inner muscles convulsed again when he swiped the sheen from his mouth with a rough hand.  That same hand and its partner notched into the backs of her knees, driving them to her shoulders when Jon buried himself to the hilt in a single jarring thrust.

“Can’t eat pussy, huh?” he grunted, his weight rendering her immobile so that he could take as much as he’d given.  “Fuck that and fuck you, Counselor.”  Thrust. “Nobody will ever eat your pussy better than me.” Plunge.  “Nobody will fuck you better than me.”  Slam.  ”Nobody will make you scream like I do.”  Bang.  “Because I’m your goddamn fantasy come to life.”

As she absorbed each word and each relentless show of domination, Charlie steadily scaled the heights from which she had just plummeted.  She climbed as high as she had before, and then went higher because he commanded it of her.  He pushed her ahead of him, goading and provoking and demanding until the lightning struck with a renewed vengeance, chased this time by his thunderous roar.

With both of them gasping for breath in a sweaty heap, Charlie tried to summarily dismiss his heated sex talk as nothing but a catalyst to orgasm.  They were just mindless words of an egotistical man.  They didn’t mean anything in this context.  There wasn’t any truth to them.

                                                                             

Not a single grain.

Really.