Chapter 80: Productive Sunday

That fucking mouth. She could talk him into an erection without touching him, and apparently she had decided that physically torturing him at the same time was now part of her skill set.

Before he could respond, Naomi took him back into the heat of her mouth. Until he hit the back of her throat.

Dorian’s entire body jerked. "Fucking hell! Naomi!"

She kept going. Her head bobbed steadily while one hand held his cock in place, controlling the angle as she worked him with her mouth.

The other hand travelled upward. Dorian looked down just in time to see her fingers reach his chest.

Then she started teasing his tiny nipples. His brows shot up.

"Oh, you’re fucking evil."

Naomi made a pleased little sound around him. Dorian groaned. The vibration nearly finished whatever remained of his ability to think.

His hand moved into her hair, holding on because he needed somewhere to put it. Naomi’s mouth moved faster.

Her lips wrapped tightly around him, tongue working with every pull, and those little satisfied noises she kept making were getting louder.

Dorian stared down at her. "Why do I have the feeling I am going to be your sex slave?" he asked to basically no one in particular. He wasn’t even sure she heard him because the little noises she made while she sucked his cock were getting increasingly louder.

Naomi sucked his cock the same way she fucked him—with commentary. Even with her mouth full, she somehow managed to say something without actually saying anything at all. The little moans around his cock, the pleased hums whenever she took him deeper, the way she pulled back just enough to lick him before swallowing him down again—it was an entire conversation.

And Dorian understood every fucking word. She loved his cock. She fucking loved it. The realization should not have stroked his ego as hard as it did, but Dorian Heathcliffe had never claimed to be humble.

Naomi’s hand was still on his chest, fingers circling and teasing one of his nipples while her mouth worked him.

Dorian finally grabbed her wrist. Something had to stop.

Anything.

Because between her mouth, her tongue, those filthy little noises and her fingers, she was attacking him from too many directions at once.

He was too young to die. At least, he assumed thirty-eight was still considered too young for a heart attack. "Babe..." he ground out.

The word escaped before he even registered it.

Babe.

He was too close to care enough to examine that problem. His fingers tightened around her wrist. "Babe! Now."

Naomi understood immediately. She pulled her mouth free, still mercy was far from the arrangement. Her hand wrapped around his cock and moved faster.

Dorian sucked in a sharp breath. The first shot of cum escaped him, landing hot against his stomach. "Fuck!"

Naomi kept stroking. Another spurt followed. His hips jerked while she worked every last bit out of him, her other hand dropping lower to knead his balls.

Dorian’s entire body tightened. "Naomi..."

She squeezed gently, milked another release from him and watched with far too much satisfaction as his body finally began to give up.

His thighs glistened. Her fingers were wet. His breathing sounded like he had just survived a lung transplant.

Naomi looked extremely pleased with herself. Dorian stared down at her.

"You’re trouble, Naomi." His body slowly relaxed against the mattress as the last of the tension drained out of him.

Naomi reached toward the bedside table and grabbed a couple of wet tissues. she wiped her fingers clean.

Then his thighs.

Dorian reached for her before she could escape, caught her around the waist and pulled her back up until she was facing him. "I should call you that from now on."

Naomi raised a brow. "Call me what?"

"Trouble." Dorian brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "To remind me to be careful with you."

"Like that’s going to help."

"It probably won’t."

"Good. Now can I go?"

his gaze moved down her body. Naomi immediately recognized that look. "And what kind of man would I be to let you go unsatisfied?"

Her eyes widened. "Dorian—"

He rolled her onto her back.

"Ah, fuck!" Naomi sighed in exasperation as he moved over her.

At this point, she could probably just forget about leaving the house. Why fight it? Dorian was already moving down her body.

Within moments, her legs were in the air, with Dorian’s face between them. It was a productive Sunday morning.

*****

Sunday afternoon came with its own trouble. The doorbell rang. A woman stood on the other side with two children behind her once Dorian opened the door.

"Hello?" Dorian said.

The woman’s eyes moved briefly over his shirtless body before returning politely to his face. "You must be Dorian Heathcliffe."

Dorian leaned one shoulder against the doorway. "I must be."

"I’d like to see my niece. Naomi? I didn’t see her at Mass. I thought to come check up on her."

Understanding clicked into place.

"Oh, yes, of course. Mrs Whitmore." Dorian stepped back immediately. "Come in." he became painfully aware again that he was welcoming his wife’s aunt into his home while wearing nothing from the waist up.

"Uh... my apologies." He gestured vaguely at himself. "Something came up this morning and she couldn’t make it to Mass." He realized approximately one second too late that considering his current state of undress, the sentence could have been phrased better.

Much better.

He cleared his throat. "Anyway. Come in."

Diana stepped inside. The two children followed her. The little girl’s eyes immediately widened as she looked around the townhouse. "These are my kids...Millie and Ethan."

Dorian looked toward the boy first. Ethan appeared to be around fifteen, quiet and visibly uncomfortable. He extended his hand automatically. "Nice to meet you."

Ethan recoiled almost immediately. Instead of taking Dorian’s hand, the boy shifted closer to his sister and placed one hand protectively on Millie’s shoulder.

Diana’s face tightened. "He’s... uhm... he doesn’t... uh..."