Page 101 of Inez

She hums a breathy, pleased, shocked sound as I unleash my orgasm, and then she's gulping audibly, sucking hard as she slides her mouth down my length and takes as much of me as she can. Stars dance and burst in my vision and my entire body tenses and trembles as lightning shatters me, pulsating heatbillows through me. I can't produce a single sound as my orgasm wrenches me and ravages me, and still Sophia doesn't relent.

She sucks and slurps and bobs, and my feet scrabble at the bed as I come and come. Pulling away so I pop out of her mouth, she gasps raggedly, panting, gulping. I let go of her hair and smooth it away, pulling her up to me.

She has other plans.

She takes me in her mouth yet again, palming my balls in both hands, and swallows her way down my length, sucking hard enough to rip the breath from my lungs, forcing me into an arching, gasping, paroxysm of ecstasy, drawing the last dregs of my orgasm out of me, leaving me boneless and breathless.

Andthenshe brings her head up to rest on my chest.

I'm incapable of speech for a long time. "Soph," I whisper, when I can form words again. "You—that was—holy mother ofgod, Sophia."

She giggles again, and the innocent, pleased joy in the sound brightens my soul. "It was okay, then?"

"Okay?" I laugh in disbelief. "I don't have words for how incredible that was." I palm her cheek and kiss her, tasting myself on her breath. "And you…how are you…are you okay?"

She nods. "More than okay. Ilikeddoing that for you. I liked how you responded. It makes me feel…I don't know. It's hard to put into words. But I'm good. Very, very good." She yawns. "Although I don't know that I have the motivation to move my things downstairs, anymore."

"I must admit, Sophia, it would be pretty nice to have this place to ourselves. Privacy. Space. It would be nice. But I will go with whatever you decide. I understand your reasons for the move."

"I worry I would feel…self-conscious," she murmurs. "About being…loud. If we were down there.”

"I do like making you scream," I say.

"Ren," she scolds.

"What? I do! I love making you scream. Especially when it's my name you're screaming." I roll her to her back and kiss my way down her body. "Just…like…this."

I spend the next thirty minutes with my face buried between her thighs, doing just that—making her scream my name again and again.

Only after a long shower do we finally leave the room and head down to see what the others are up to.

19

THE GANG’S ALL HERE

INEZ

Ren and I enter the newly-finished Broken Arrows common room—which some of the girls, led by Terra, have taken to calling the Quiver. Terra calls the new moniker "A multiple entendre,” although I can only find two meanings.

The floors are epoxy, as before, but this time the finish is a pale, dove-gray with red flecks. The walls are the same shade of gray as the base layer of epoxy, which would have made for a lot of boring, unrelieved gray, but the women have collectively put their own stamp on things. Art lines the walls: black and white photography ranging from Ansel Adams' landscapes to Fan Ho's portraits of Hong Kong from the 50s; prints of famous pieces by painters from across history, such as Renoir, Degas, Klimt, Rembrandt, Picasso, and other masters; simple water color still-lifes from a variety of artists I've never heard of; and a few wild mixed media pieces. There's a new sectional, black leather again and just as massive but strewn with a profusion of colorful throw pillows and fleece blankets draped over the back and stuffed in wicker baskets. The kitchen is pretty much the same as before, just with the newest industrial appliances. The overall effect of the women's touch is homey, cozy, and inviting. It's no longer the sterile man-cave it used to be. Only the gym and thebedrooms escaped mostly unscathed, although a few stray bullet holes had to be patched and obviously the floor had to be totally scraped away and redone throughout the entire level.

The men are clustered around one of the long cafeteria-style tables, cheering and clapping and shouting encouragement as Chance and Kane arm-wrestle. Bottles of booze litter the other table, along with two liters of soda, cans of sparkling water, bowls of potato chips and tortilla chips, and smaller bowls of various dips. There are also casserole dishes containing homemade Mac ’n cheese, chimichangas, and what appears to be chicken breasts slathered with thick layers of cream cheese and melted cheese. More baking dishes contain brownies, some sort of multi-layer brownie-marshmallow-ice-cream concoction; there's a platter of fat chocolate chip cookies, a platter of small white balls of baked dough doused in powdered sugar, and a small bowl of what looks to be homemade gummy candies off by itself to one side.

The women are on the sectional, a reality dating show featuring ridiculously attractive and vapid young people on TV with the volume off and the subtitles on. Bottles of nail polish and polish remover litter the coffee table, intermixed with red Solo cups each marked with a different color swipe of polish. An ashtray sits off to one side, a huge, hand-rolled joint smoldering. The women are painting each other's nails, cackling and screeching and squealing just as loudly as the men, although I'm not immediately certain what they're laughing about.

"SOPH!" Terra shrieks, spotting me.

She wriggles with comical awkwardness to the edge of the couch, drying nails held ridiculously out in front of her, and then stands up on the couch and leaps over the back. She's a bit tipsy, though, and her landing is sloppy, ending up with her doing a Paul Blart-style tuck and roll across the floor; I came down here once, a few years ago, while the men, all single then, werehammered together and watching that movie, and ended up standing out of their sight line, watching some of it with them, unbeknownst to them. It was…certainly memorable, if nothing else.

Terra hops to her feet, fingers still held out. "I'm fine!"

Saxon cackles. "That was smooth as silk, baby girl."

Terra does a silly yet sensual belly-dancing hip-roll move. "I know." She trots over to me—with a lot of wholly unnecessary bouncing, if you ask me. When she reaches me, she whispers in my ear. "Is he still watching me?"

I frown at her. "Who? Saxon?"

"Yes." She tries to suppress a giggle and fails. "I'm trying to see how long it'll take me to seduce him back to our room. Annika and I have a wager going. If I can get him back to our room before midnight, Annika has to wear any outfit of my choosing every day for a week. If it's after midnight, she gets to put me through three of her most brutal workouts. And girl, lemme tell ya, I'm gonna win. Because number one, Saxy can't get enough of this ass—" and here she glances over her shoulder to make sure he's watching, and then gives her ass a vigorous shaking, "and number two, I hate working out."