His Pretty Little Burden: Chapter 33

THE SOUND of feet rapping on the wooden floorboards pulls me from my state of peaceful oblivion. For a few moments, I bask in the serene haze of waking from a restful state. And I realise that even my subconscious trusts him—Clay Butcher. I no longer have the nightmare. I no longer fall into the television… or is this my body’s way of letting go of what was growing inside me?

I crack one eye open, wrestling with my mind’s intent to stay asleep a while longer. Yet, the weight over my waist and the heavy calf hooked over my feet causes both eyes to widen on the polished wooden panels opposite me. He’s still in bed with me.

He slept. Through the night…

Closing my eyes, I breathe him in, the earthy, rich scent of masculinity with lingering hints of cologne. I love the way he smells. Not like a boy. Like a man. Staring at the back of my eyes, I recall last night like a mirage of flashing images: the bathtub, the massage, his kisses. Touch. “I love you.”

Behind the door to our right, the footsteps continue, heavy steady ones followed by small pitter-patters and then a young girl’s voice quickly hushed by a man. Blinking my eyes open, I adjust to the ambient yellow hue that the sun has gifted us this morning. The hour seems late.

I roll over in his arms, but they tighten immediately, making it hard for me to manoeuvre. Within the cage of large, warm muscles, I manage to get around to face him. His breath fans down my face, heavy and warm, with tones of his port cigars. He hums. As he fights against the world trying to wake him up, his brows weave, creating a slight ridge between them. His long dark lashes fan below his eyes. Why do some men have the most spectacular eyelashes?

I lift my hand to his chiselled jawline, mapping the dark bristles lightly peppered with grey. Beneath his caramel skin, I see the pulse of his jaw as he clenches his teeth. Everything about this man is firm, serious. Even as he rests, he is a formidable presence. So, I lean forward and press my lips to his before licking the valley between, coaxing him to wake up and relax his jaw.

I’m his…

I belong.

He growls in his chest, and I smile softly at the grumpy response. “You slept through the night, Sir. I’m so proud of you for not fighting it,” I tease.

With a start, he jerks me onto my back, holding me captive beneath him. I lose my breath as his lips crash against mine in a punishing rhythm that sends blissful stars soaring around my body.

My ballooning heart rests comfortably, warm and full, within my ribcage while my lungs strain below his heavy weight. It is a pleasurable sensation. Being so close to crushed, but not close enough to hurt or suffocate. Enough to feel the epitome of secure.

I moan into our kiss as the length between his thighs presses into my hip so hard it could bruise me with the right pressure. Rubbing his shaft on me, he groans. To experience this man, raw, feral, animalistic and without his practised façade, fills me with warmth. I moan when his mouth attacks my chin and jaw, ravishing my skin.

His hips begin to move in a sleepy way, chasing a sensation, an ebb to his erection, I am overcome with the desire to please him. Like he pleases me. ‘Are you under duress?’

His lips smile at my neck. ‘Somewhat.’

“Can I please you?’

He drops his forehead to mine, his breath a tumbling wave of heat. “Would you like to?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

Rolling onto his back, he pulls me with him, his blue gaze holding a dare, a warning. “I’m going to come in your pretty mouth then. Am I correct in saying you have never done this before?”

My nose brushes his as I nod. “Only with you.”

When he raises his hand and pushes two fingers through my lips, a small grin curves the corner of his mouth. He pushes them inside, down my tongue, to the back of my throat, where he pokes hard at the end. I gag a little, my throat closing around his penetration. He retracts his fingers. “What you did before isn’t the same thing, sweet girl. Do you want to suck my dick anyway? Gag around it? Would that make you happy?’

I nod, worrying my bottom lip. I really want to make him feel all the intensity I do when he pleasures me, and I think I can do it. A wisp of a nod shows his approval, and with that, I crawl down his body. For the first time in two days, my stomach flutters with excitement and nervousness—my missing butterflies.

Stopping at the first protruding two-pack, I find it too lick-able to resist. I wanted to lick him weeks ago and, dammit, now I’m going to. If I lick him… does he belong to me? I lap my tongue out to roll it over the hard grooves shaping his abdominals. The slab of muscles tighten.

As I get to his thick cock, it bobs.

His fingers comb through my hair before he leans up to scoop the blonde curtain into his fist so he can hold the lot in a ponytail, offering him the view he so desires.

Inhaling courage, I take him into my mouth, and he releases a deep, encouraging groan as I flick my tongue around. I peer up to see his blue gaze hooded, his jaw clenched. The breathtaking intensity in his eyes forces mine to close, and I concentrate on pleasing him, on pleasing my man.

I’d like him to belong to me…

A small amount of salty precum slides into my mouth, mingling with my saliva. I use it to further wet his shaft. Exploring the long, steely muscles with my tongue, I flick around the silken skin at the head to the bunched foreskin below. I lap a line up the tight cord beneath before travelling further, tonguing the slit. He bucks slightly when I do that, so I do it again. And again. I feel his thighs tighten. The hand gripping my hair urges me deeper, reassuringly, not forcefully. ‘That’s it. Let me slide down your throat. Relax.’

I try to take him in. The veins below his skin pulse under my attention. Halfway down the solid muscle, I hit the same spot he poked with his finger, gagging slightly. Sliding back up his erection, I immediately dive again, this time getting a tiny bit deeper.

He hisses. “Good girl. You’re doing so well.”

A moan leaves me with his praises. A rumble of my enjoyment reverberates around his cock, provoking his pelvis to thrust upward.

After a few bobs of my head, I get a rhythm, sliding down with pressure and dragging my tongue along the lower knot of skin on the withdraw, while his fist causes a sting on my scalp.

Tears stream down my face.

His groans become grunts.

His muscles tighten, contort.

“I’m going to come. You’re going to swallow every drop I give you. Then lick me clean… That’s it… Oh. Fuck. More…That’s a good fucking girl.” He jerks my ponytail back and pushes me down, controlling my head in a brutal way that causes my throat to contract and whimpers to soar around his thick cock with the battering sensation. “Good… good girl.”

Then he explodes in a violent rush, flooding my mouth with his cum, shaking and pulsing through the moment, never relinquishing his control over my head. I swallow, but it’s thick and powerful shots of hot fluid. I love the indecency of it, the virility. The rawness. I love bringing him that kind of pleasure. I want to do it again.

He groans softly, his head dropping back on the pillow. My powerful man, sated by my mouth. Satisfaction and pride flitter through me as I lick his cock, wiping all the saliva and cum from it with my tongue.

“Christ,” he mutters. “Your inexperienced little lips fuck me up, sweet girl.”

I rise and crawl up his body, settling down in the crook of his shoulder. Peering up at him, I find his eyes closed and his chest expanding and falling in deep movements. “I did good?”

“Yes. Very good.”

“Will you ever belong to me?” The question spills from my lips before I even think about it. His eyes snap open. “I mean…It doesn’t seem fair—” His brows draw in as he stares at the ceiling. “I belong to you.”

A long, slow exhale leaves him, stoking the kindling under my heart, forcing it to ignite with frantic little beats. He gazes down at me through his lashes, a softness to the piercing blue rings. “Not in the way you want, little deer. But much more than anyone else.”

I let those words sink in, down to my chest, settling around my heart that expands just for him. Much more than anyone else. It’s a sweet offering and one a girl like me can accept. More than a crumb. Much more. “I heard small feet before you woke up,” I say, gently. “And they definitely aren’t Hench— I mean Bolton’s.”

“Small feet?”

“Yeah, like a kid’s.”

He sighs his displeasure, sliding me gently from his chest and rolling over, leaving me in the bed.

Pulling the blankets up, I watch him stroll over to the closet, retrieve a pair of faded blue jeans and throw them on. They are slung low around his hips, directing my eyes to the sharp muscle-arrows at his lower abdomen, and God, they are sinful. They make me silly, make my butterflies manic. His torso is long and cut to the fine definition of a sculpture.

“You’re so handsome.” I sigh dreamily.

He sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes meeting mine, whirling with severity. “My brothers are here, sweet girl. They must have found out I came out here and took it upon themselves to join me. Such is their nature.” When he presses his warm hand to my cheek, I rub into it, nuzzling, loving the gentle attentiveness. His voice drops when he says, “And my niece and nephew will probably be here too. Will you be okay with seeing them?”

A little ache moves through my chest, but it’s not intense, just a meek reminder. I shake my head in his palm. “I’ll be fine,’ I say. ‘I’ve never really been around children before, but my tastes are pretty similar to a kid’s, ya know?” He smiles, watching my filter-less mouth roll. “Cakes. Cartoons. Pizza. Unicorns. Butterflies… I’ll stop.’

With a charming grin, he stands up, his hand dropping from my cheek, the warmth missing immediately, and any distance between us right now reminds me of loss. Then he disappears through the bedroom door. His absence brings waves of nervousness. Will he tell them who I am? Do they already know? How many brothers does he have? I know they are like ‘the District Kardashians,’ but I sure as hell hope their wives don’t behave like them. On the wave of nervousness, outright anxiety follows.

What if they don’t like me? Will it hurt seeing his niece? A baby? What if they take one look at me and laugh at the ridiculous couple we make?