Page 4 of Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part Two

“Don’t worry about it right now.” Hands under my sweater, his essence kisses my rib cage as he gives up trying to get my bra off using the clasp, instead cutting it off me with a lick of his essence.

He palms my breasts as they fall free from the bra’s loosened confines.

He teases his thumbs over my ridiculously hard nipples, drawing a shudder from me.

Groaning himself as I stroke his length with a twist of my wrist, he tugs down my pants enough to free one leg, then lifts me back up on the counter. His hands, his essence, are everywhere.

I’m on the verge of coming just from these fevered touches. On the verge of insanity as I tug him closer to me by his cock, lining him up and wrapping my legs around his hips.

“Fuck, fuck,” he groans, shaking his head as if to clear it.

I get his tip notched within me, linking my ankles over his hips and urging him forward with my legs.

“Fuck,” he pants. “I don’t have a condom.”

“You just got tested for Lake Thun. And I’ve only been with Rian, and we use condoms.”

“Mirth … fuck … birth control?”

I … I … I can’t remember if my birth control is still good. I’ve lost complete track of it, except I haven’t menstruated in months, so it has to still be somewhat effective.

“I just want to be fucked, Sully,” I whine, utterly irrationally.

He groans as if pained. But finally easing into me, he teases in and out to coat himself in my wetness.

His piercing hits me in places I hadn’t realized craved such attention— along with a touch of his essence, which might well be the point of the enhancement.

Then he thrusts, settling fully within me.

The stretch of him is everything I want.

“I’ll pull out,” he breathes into my ear. With one hand on the small of my back to hold me steady and one hand palming my breasts and tweaking my nipples, he sets a rough, almost erratic pace.

I cling to him, riding the rush of yet another heady flush of desire. I open myself up to all the essence twisting around us, threading us together. And I know I’m not really comprehending more than the cadence of his voice or the passion stuttering through each ragged breath.

I’m here in this moment with Sully.

We’re not becoming one soul or anything overwrought like that. We are two people breathing in each other, entwining essence, and acknowledging the need, the desire, and the playful passion that’s always been within our grasp.

We only had to reach for it.

Mewing quietly and panting, I wrap my arms around Sully’s neck, plastering myself against him as I become unable to focus on kissing him properly. He thrusts in and out of the slick friction between us. My thankfully blunt nails dig into his skin as I release everything …

I let all my own expectations drop away, willfully succumbing to the fierce, almost painful desire streaking through me.

Sully slips his fingers between us, finding my clit with his thumb. But it’s the press of his essence that forces me, tumbling, over the crest.

I cry out, head flung back, losing control of my limbs, my body, as my orgasm shudders through me.

Sully anchors me until I settle into the moment. But then his hips jerk, completely off pace. Without warning, he pulls out of me.

I shout. Actually hating the feeling of him ripping free from me. I shove him back a step, falling to my knees on the hard tile floor before I even make the decision to do so.

I slide my tongue over his cock, sucking the pierced tip into my mouth.

He’s still holding himself at the base, likely intending to stroke himself through his own orgasm.

But I dig my fingers into the back of his thighs as he tries to pull away — or perhaps he’s still stumbling from my push — knocking his hand away and replacing it with my own.

Then his hands are in my hair. Holding me almost harshly at the angle he wants me, he thrusts — shallowly and just once — into my mouth, spilling his load with a shout.

I swallow eagerly, sucking all his come from his cock and teasing my tongue over the metal piercing until his fingers twist in my hair, letting me know he’s getting too sensitive.

He’s braced his free hand on the counter, chest heaving as he looks down at me … as if … as if he’s overwhelmingly … in love with me. So much so that his own emotions have shocked him.

Of course, it could also be the image of me on my knees, looking thoroughly fucked with his slowly softening cock in my mouth.

I release that cock with a playful pop, slightly thrown by my own actions. “I’m sorry, but you weren’t going to come in me, and I’m not sure why, but I … I needed —”

The fingers still buried in my hair tighten, then he’s practically dragging me to my feet and kissing me with the same passion as before we fucked.

Not simply chasing the taste of himself on my tongue, but …

acknowledging that this desire, this need, isn’t going to be satisfactorily fed in a single fuck.

He lifts me back up onto the counter, going down on his own knees and tucking my legs over his shoulders. Settling himself between my thighs, he hums quietly and flicks his tongue over my clit. Gentle, teasing licks.

With barely time to brace myself, I orgasm as if I haven’t just already come so hard that my reasoning dropped into I-just-need-Sully’s-come-inside-me levels.

He clutches my ass and licks me through the lingering shudders of my second orgasm. Then he straightens, kissing me — on the mouth this time — with a gentle sweetness. The grief we were both projecting previously has been fucked away. For this moment, at least.

“Mir …” he whispers. Then he laughs quietly against my lips. “I wasn’t supposed to … I didn’t come here with the intention of …”

“Fucking me?” I ask teasingly. “And why not?”

He kisses me, groaning quietly as if he adores hearing me say ‘fucking.’

Before he can answer my first questions, which are more playful than necessary, I ask, “Did you come here for me?”

He grins at me saucily, presumably at the implied double entendre. “A happy coincidence. I called ahead … well, texted. I’m crashing your lunch with Tereza. But …”

Ignoring the fact that his own clothing is all but torn apart, his pants and boxers still around his own ankles, he runs his hands through my hair.

He instantly tames it with a touch of his essence before moving on to repairing my bra and straightening my clothing.

“I could feel you the moment I stepped through the wards and onto the property. I thought Bolan was bullshitting about that aspect of … being yours. That’s how he can always track you down. ”

“Being … mine?” I echo. “I thought …”

“You thought you’d decide for us?”

I open my mouth. But though I’m still settled in my skin, my mind isn’t ready to push into all the reasons why I shouldn’t … I can’t —

Sully kisses me, sucking my lower lip into his mouth. “You claimed me, Mirth. With that kiss in the hot tub. With this fuck. With you coming on my cock, on my tongue. With me exploding in your mouth, coming down your throat. I’m yours now. And you are fucking mine.”

I can only blink at him, because … no matter what list of names I might have written under the influence of the intersection point after my father announced the matchmaking event he planned to host … no matter what I think that list ultimately means …

This is what I want.

Six names on that list, including my dead brother and my best friend, Sully.

Five potential suitors. All but one of whom I walked away from less than twenty-four hours ago because I didn’t believe that they were meant to be mine. Not universe destined, at least.

But Sully … Sully wants me just as much as I want him.

He continues straightening my clothing, then moves on to his own, letting me just look at him. His smirk teases his lips now, gray eyes amused. He knows how pretty he is.

With his buttons repaired and his suit smoothed of wrinkles, Sully lifts his fingers to my face and wipes away all the lingering tracks of dried tears, refreshing the bit of makeup I slapped on when we arrived at the Phrontistery just to be presentable.

Thankfully, I always carry the basics — lipstick, mascara, and a brush — in just about every bag I own.

Salvatore is so fucking striking. Utterly unique. I can’t look at anything but him. His essence caresses my skin, shivering through me and causing my nipples to peak. A low, heavy ache gathers between my legs. I’m panting, ensnared by his gray eyes, already addicted to his touch.

A self-satisfied smile sharpens his expression. Then, just as I think he’s going to pull away, he slips those fucking magical fingers into my pants, into my underwear, and into my renewed wetness.

I try to stifle a moan, my hips jerking, as he easily finds my clit. Again.

“One more, Princess?” he whispers into my neck, sucking gently behind my ear. “Then lunch? Then if you need more words, we’ll talk.”

“Yes,” I moan. “Yes, Sully. Please.”

He hovers his mouth over my ear, his breath warm and almost invasive, overwhelming and delicious. “Say you are mine, Mirth. When you come. Say you’re mine, say my name.”

I wrap one hand over the wrist of the hand he’s using to pleasure me.

My other hand goes around the side of his neck because he’s covered the rest of his skin.

I lift his chin with my thumb, staring him straight in the eyes.

I keep his gaze locked to mine even as pleasure streaks through me, even as he has to pin me against the counter with his body so my legs don’t give out.

He looks deep into my eyes— and doesn’t falter in response to whatever I reveal to him. He looks at me as if I’m everything. Everything he wants. Everything he desires.

As I orgasm, suddenly and almost painfully, my grip on his neck tightens. I don’t drop his gaze, and I don’t question the desire, the need, as I say, “You’re mine, Salvatore. I claim you. I claim you.”