Unfurl: A Hot Age Gap Romance
Unfurl: Chapter 29

I slide a hand around his neck and kiss him, tasting my own musk on those gorgeous, generous lips. With my other hand, I release his grip on his dick and close my fingers around it tightly. He’s so improbably hard, and thick, and massive, and for the millionth time, I wonder how we’ll fit together.

I pump him hard but slow, the way he’s shown me over the past few days, before giving him one last kiss and scrambling down to sitting. I let my legs drop off the bed and hook my heels around his calves as I lower my mouth to his erection.

His balls, when I cup them, are tight and high against his body. I’ve quickly discovered it’s a clear sign he’s close. I smooth my palm over them. My fingers. And as I lick the moisture leaking from his slit and slide it around his crown, he moans, low and so masculine it does strange things to my ovaries.

I suck him into my mouth, as slowly and as deeply as I can go, opening as wide as possible to accommodate him. I slide my lips up and down his shaft, my hand gripping the section of him I can’t take into my mouth, enjoying the heat of him. The barely restrained control in his body. He rakes both hands through my hair and grips the base of my skull hard, and I smile to myself.

He can barely cede control long enough to allow me to do my thing.

‘You’re so fucking good at this,’ he hisses, his fingers clenching in my hair, pulling just hard enough that it feels great. ‘My sweet little virgin, sucking my cock like a seasoned whore. Wrapping those beautiful lips around me.’

He starts to move, his hips rutting against me, pushing deeper into my mouth, holding my head in place so he can thrust inside me. I inhale hard through my nose and focus. On my rhythm. On the primal, intoxicating sounds he’s making and the way he tastes. On not gagging, though there’s a moment where he hits the back of my throat, and my eyes water, and I jolt. But I recover, and I go back to milking him the way he just milked that stupendous orgasm out of me.

The power is heady. The knowledge that this beautiful, experienced, and just-the-right-side-of-depraved man has chosen me. He has his dick in my mouth, and not inside the vaginas of any of the beautiful, skilled women at his club. His entire consciousness right now is focused on me, and on my lips around him, and it makes me want to serve him up the best damn orgasm of his life.

He’s working my mouth because I haven’t granted him access to other parts of my body.

Not yet.

And when I do, he’ll be like this. He’ll fill me up; he’ll show no mercy. He’ll take and take and give and give, and I’ll be completely in his thrall.

The thought has my inner walls clenching again.

I increase the pressure on his balls, rolling them tightly in my hand. I pump his shaft harder. I move my lips harder over him, taking him in deeper, pulling almost all the way off him, making sure to roll my tongue around his crown every time I pull out. His words, his curses, grow more pained. Less intelligible.

And then, sure enough, he goes rigid and still before he utters the groan of a broken man and shoots hot, hard spurts into my mouth as his fists clench around my hair and his dick drives and drives and drives.

I keep working him, slowing down as I sense he’s coming down himself, until he releases a handful of hair and smooths a hand down over my shoulder and back.

‘Jesus,’ he says hoarsely. ‘Jesus fucking Christ, Belle.’

‘You’re one hell of a teacher,’ I say.

We’re lying naked on his bed, curled into each other. His leg is thrown heavily over me, my palm rests against his heart, and I feel utterly sated. Completely happy. I swallowed his cum down and licked him clean, and he responded by laying me down here and proceeding to hold eye contact with me while he told me how beautiful I was.

How unique.

How special.

How sexy.

How talented.

How filthy.

How completely crazy I made him.

How well I sucked his cock.

How well I’d take his dick on Friday.

How good it’d be for both of us.

How quickly I’d grow desperate for him to fuck me.

And I took his praise, and I rolled around in it like a cat in a patch of sunlight, and I believed him, because when Rafe Charlton looks at you with black eyes and tells you things like that while stroking and petting your hair and your skin?

You listen.

I’m revelling in this cocoon, in being adored within the cradle of his body, the aftermath of his praising words casting as warm a glow as his skin against mine.

‘For someone who had an upbringing as fucked as you and I did,’ he says, trailing his fingertips down my back, ‘you seem pretty dirty. In a good way, you understand. It’s less about teaching you than giving you prompts. You do the rest.’

‘Maybe I’m dirty because I had a messed-up upbringing,’ I say, and he laughs softly.

‘Touché. I’m sure I’m the same. But there’s nothing wrong with your appetites. Or your kinks.’ His fingertips continue their reassuring journey along my spine. ‘When you’re in the moment, you know how to let go. It seems like it’s just afterwards that your brain steps in and starts clutching its pearls?’

The analogy hits home. ‘Yeah. I suppose so. Or at least—when I have your hands on me… or your mouth… it’s hard to think about anything else. I’m in the zone.’

‘Quite right.’ He kisses my forehead and lets his lips linger there.

‘But the come-down can be tough. Or it was the other night, at least. I think I felt bereft, or vulnerable, or something. It was like all the things that got me off in the first place came back and slapped me in the face. I was kneeling there, covered in your, you know, bodily fluids. And I had this chorus of voices in my head telling me what a horrible, dirty girl I was. It was awful, but I know it was all in my head. None of it was to do with the way you acted.’

‘But you don’t feel like that right now?’ he asks.

‘No.’ I snuggle in closer, shamelessly seeking comfort in his embrace. ‘Not at all. I feel wonderful, and safe.’

‘Not dirty? Even though I said all those things to you and you practically squirted in my face?’

I pull back. ‘I did not! And no, because you’ve been so lovely, and it’s overridden any intrusive thoughts I might have had. It’s like those voices can’t get through, because I’m here in the present with you, and that’s all I have room for in my brain.’

‘Quite right,’ he murmurs, tugging me back in against him. ‘And I would never, ever want to make you feel cheapened. I’ll never let it happen again. But I can see you growing already. You’re already starting to own your sexuality. Some day soon, you’ll take what you want from me or anyone else in that club, and you’ll walk away like the glorious queen you are and not give us poor bastards a backwards glance.’

His words cast a pall over my mood. They’re a reminder that our time is limited, that he doesn’t have all the time in the world to mentor his little protégé and that soon enough he’ll be back to prowling the corridors of Alchemy to screw and play and serve his own needs, not just mine.

They’re a reminder that monogamy is such an alien concept for a guy like Rafe that he doesn’t, for a minute, imagine that even an inexperienced virgin like me would choose it over the debauched smorgasbord at the club.

‘What’s up?’ he asks like the mind-reader he is.

I stay silent.

‘Belle.’

‘I’m glad it’ll be you on Friday,’ I say.

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ he says gruffly. ‘You’re mine. There’s no way Alex is getting his dirty little dick anywhere near you.’

I shoot him a weak smile.

‘Belina. Talk to me.’

I sigh. I’ve let this man expose me more than any human has ever exposed me so far, so I may as well lay my cards on the table and humiliate myself in full. ‘Will it all change on Friday? When I’m done?’

‘You still have the Adieu session to cover off, if you choose,’ he says with a smile so wolfish it would make Jack Nicholson proud.

‘I know, but after that.’ I focus on his mouth, on those perfect, curved lips, because looking into his eyes hurts too much. ‘Once the programme is finished, are we… finished, too?’

‘What?’ His tone is so stunned that I jerk my gaze to his eyes. ‘Why the hell would you think that?’

‘I know you’ve taken on the role of my teacher,’ I say falteringly, ‘and it’s amazing—you’re amazing. But you might not find me attractive after you’ve taken my virginity. I’m not stupid. I can tell part of the appeal for you must be that I’m a conquest. After that, I’ll just be another silly girl fawning all over you.’ I swallow, and it feels sore. Tight.

Rafe rolls me onto my back, caging me in with his arms. He nudges my legs apart with his foot and comes to lie between them. Our faces are inches apart, and all I see is him.

All that exists is him.

‘Belle,’ he says. ‘Don’t break my heart, baby. You’re asking if I’ll still find you attractive once you’ve fully stepped into your true power? Are you fucking delusional?’

I go to answer, but it appears it’s a rhetorical question, for he tuts, his expression incredulous. ‘Nope. I’m not finished. You think that once I’ve ‘conquered’ you that I’ll get bored—that I’m only pursuing you because I want to smash this so-called pristine surface?

‘That is a fucking lie. You couldn’t be further from the truth. I want to be there when you discover how much you love sex, how badly that pussy of yours needs to be filled up, how, once you add this form of sex to your arsenal, you’ll be fucking unstoppable.

‘You need to get over the virginity thing. The stuff we’ve done at the club, and in your bed, and in mine—that’s all sex. That’s all stuff a lot of people would never have the balls to do, no matter how much they’ve fantasised about it in the dark. You are blossoming, baby, right before my eyes. You’re unfurling like a fucking flower and I want nothing more than a front-row seat, even if I’m at the back of the fucking queue every Friday night in Alchemy. Literally. Because once you’re unleashed, there won’t be any holding you back, and I would never, ever dream of trying.’

I squirm. ‘I don’t want to think about other people right now,’ I tell him, because I don’t. I’ve got so close to Rafe these past few days. The things he makes me feel are almost spiritual experiences, and this is coming from a girl who has spent far too many Sunday mornings on her knees and felt very little.

I don’t want to share him.

But I know, no matter what he says to me in the confines of this room, that sharing will be the only basis on which I can have him at all. He’s already alluded to the future. To the free-for-alls that are Friday nights at Alchemy. To a lifestyle that includes mixing it up with attractive, likeminded people. To being modern, and liberated, and unfettered.

I know he believes I share the same desires as him. He just brought me to a screaming, shuddering climax with his dirty talk about bishops and priests and little whore-bag postulant playthings. And that’s all hot as hell. It’s so hot it makes me squirm just thinking about it.

And yet. When it comes down to it, everything I want is here in front of me.

‘I know you don’t,’ he says, ‘and neither do I. But Friday is just us, yes?’

‘Yes,’ I agree. Just us. Just me and Rafe.

‘It’s us in a new way, just like we discussed,’ he promises.

Just like we discussed.

Despite the melancholy that’s washed over my post-orgasmic glow, I feel a frisson of anticipation.

Because Friday will be a lot of firsts.

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