He Lost His Place Protecting Me, So I Took the Whole Family novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Kitchen

In Luan's kitchen on Hone Avenue Drita kisses him, he lifts her onto the counter and takes her with his mouth, and he stops there and says he will sleep in the hall.

He had barely closed the door of his flat on Hone Avenue when I kissed him.

I was still in my coat.

I took his face in both hands and pulled it down to mine.

For one breath he did nothing at all.

His mouth was warm and stiff, and his hands hung at his sides.

"Drita," he said against my lips.

"You said my name."

"It's your name," he said.

"In two years you never said it."

Something in his chest gave way.

His hands came up and took hold of my hair.

He kissed me back, slowly and hard, with his thumbs along my jaw.

I made a sound into his mouth and walked him backward into the kitchen.

The counter hit the back of my thighs.

He shoved my coat off my shoulders and let it drop.

He looked at the black dress, and at my hair, which nobody had seen loose in forty days.

"Turn around," he said.

I turned.

He found the zip at the back of my neck.

He drew it down one slow inch at a time, and I felt cold air and then his breath.

Then his mouth was on my neck, on the exact place where Ermal's thumb had pressed.

He kissed it, and kissed it again.

The ache went out of it, and something else took its place.

"That's mine now," he said into my skin.

"Say it again."

"That's mine."

My knees went weak.

I braced my hands on the counter, and he pushed the dress down until it hung at my waist.

He unhooked my bra with two fingers and let it fall.

His hands came around and cupped my breasts from behind, rough and warm.

His thumbs went over my nipples, slowly, again and again.

I leaned back against his chest and moaned.

"Louder," he said.

"Luan."

"Good."

He turned me by the hips and lifted me onto the counter in one move.

I sat there in my black tights with my legs open around him, bare to the waist, breathing hard.

He looked at me for a long moment.

His eyes were dark and very steady.

"Tell me what you want," he said. "Out loud. I'm not guessing."

My face went hot.

"Your mouth," I said.

"Where?"

"Luan," I said.

"Say where."

"On my pussy," I said. "Please."

His jaw tightened.

"Good girl," he said.

Nobody had ever called me that, and it made me wetter at once.

He pushed my skirt up around my waist and hooked his fingers in my tights.

I lifted my hips, and he peeled them down my legs with my underwear and dropped them on the floor.

He went down on his knees on the tile.

He set his hands on my inner thighs and spread them wide.

The cold of the counter bit into my skin.

I was already wet, and I knew he could see it.

"Look at you," he said, very quietly.

Then he put his mouth on me.

The first stroke of his tongue was long and flat and slow.

I cried out and grabbed the edge of the counter.

He did it again.

He took his time, and every time his tongue reached my clit it circled once and went away.

"Please," I said.

"Please what?"

"Don't leave the top," I said. "Stay there."

"Hold still."

His hands pinned my thighs down, and he stayed.

He sucked my clit into his mouth and worked it in short, steady flicks.

My head fell back against the cabinet.

The refrigerator hummed in the quiet.

I heard myself moaning his name over and over.

His stubble scraped the inside of my thighs, and I did not want it to stop.

"Put your hand where my mouth isn't," he said.

"What?"

"Touch yourself. I want to watch you do it."

I stared down at him.

He looked back up at me from between my legs, and he did not blink.

I slid my hand down my stomach.

I found my own clit and rubbed it, slow, while his tongue pushed into me below it.

The sound I made was one I had never made in my life.

"There," he said, against me. "Like that. Don't stop."

He slid one thick finger into me, then a second.

He curled them forward and found the place that jerked my hips off the counter.

"God, there," I said.

"Say it louder."

"Right there. Don't move your hand."

He did not move it.

He pressed up inside me and kept his mouth on me, and my fingers kept circling.

The tight, bright feeling climbed up my legs and into my stomach.

I put my other hand in his hair and held on.

"You're going to come on my tongue," he said.

"Yes."

"Do it. I want to feel it."

I came with a shout that hit all four kitchen walls.

My thighs clamped around his head.

My whole body shook, and he held me through every wave of it.

He did not let go until I was limp and gasping against the cabinet.

When he lifted his face, his mouth was wet and his eyes were black.

He wiped his chin with the back of his hand.

"Up," he said.

"I can't stand."

"You can. Up."

He lifted me off the counter and set me on my feet.

My legs held, barely.

He turned me to face the cabinets and put my hands flat on the counter edge.

"Hold on," he said.

He knelt behind me and lifted my left foot onto the seat of the kitchen chair.

I was open, and bare, and shaking.

I felt his breath on the back of my thigh, and then his tongue, from behind, slow and wet.

"Oh, God," I said.

I pushed back against his mouth without meaning to.

He made a low sound of approval and held my hips and licked me deep.

His fingers found my clit from the front and rubbed, and I cried out his name.

The second one built much faster than the first.

It rolled up my spine, and my fingers went white on the counter.

"Come for me," he said. "Again."

"I'm trying."

"You're doing it. Don't think. Just come."

I came again, hard, with my forehead against the cabinet door and my voice breaking.

He kept his mouth on me until I begged him to stop.

Then he stood and caught me against his chest when my knees went.

I turned my face into his shirt.

He was hard.

I could feel him against my bare hip through his trousers, thick and hot.

I tasted myself when he kissed me.

It was salt and heat, and I licked it off his lower lip and heard him groan.

"Wait there," he said.

He opened the freezer and took out an ice tray.

He cracked one cube loose and came back to me with it between his fingers.

"Luan, what-"

"Quiet. Eyes on me."

He drew the cube across my bottom lip, and the cold made me gasp.

He followed the drip down my chin, down my throat, into the hollow between my collarbones.

I shivered all over.

He circled my left nipple with it, slowly, until it pulled tight and hurt.

Then he put his hot mouth over the same spot, and I cried out at the change.

"Again," I said.

He did the right one, cold and then heat.

The water ran down my stomach in a thin line, and he licked it off me, inch by inch, on his knees.

He set the cube against the inside of my thigh and let it slide.

It went all the way up and touched me.

I jerked, and he held my hip still.

"Don't move," he said.

He slid it once through the wet, over my clit and away.

The cold shot up through my stomach, and I nearly sobbed.

He dropped the cube in the sink and put his palm flat over me to warm me.

"Better?" he said.

"Worse," I said. "Better. Luan."

He grinned, quick and crooked, and I had never seen it on him.

"Sit," he said.

He dropped into the kitchen chair and pulled me astride his thigh.

I was bare and open against the rough wool of his trousers.

I could feel the hard length of him pressed along my hip.

"Show me what you want," he said.

I did not think.

I rocked forward and dragged myself along his thigh, and the wool was coarse on my swollen clit.

I gasped.

"Again," he said.

I did it again.

I put my hands on his shoulders and rode his leg, slowly, then faster, with my breasts against his shirt.

His hands held my ass and pulled me down into every stroke.

"That's it," he said. "Use me."

"Luan," I said.

"Use my leg. Get yourself off on it."

"You're still dressed," I said.

"I'm not the one coming undone."

"Not yet," I said.

He laughed under his breath and bit my earlobe.

His hand slid between us and spread over my clit, pressing it down against his thigh.

"Faster," he said. "Show me how much you want it."

I rode his leg harder, with my breath loud in the quiet kitchen.

I ground against him and cried out.

The third one broke over me so quick and sharp that I bit his shoulder through the cloth.

He held my face against his neck and let me shake.

When I could breathe I pushed back and looked at his lap.

A dark wet patch showed on the gray wool where I had been.

"Look what you did," he said.

"Don't make me blush."

"I'd like to make you do worse."

I reached down for his belt.

He caught my wrist.

"Not tonight," he said.

"I want you."

"I know you do," he said.

"You want me. I can feel it."

"I do." His voice was rough. "That's why not tonight."

I pulled back and looked at him.

"It's been forty days," he said. "Ermal put his hand on you six hours ago."

"So?"

"So I won't have you wondering in a month whether you came to me or ran to me," he said.

"I came to your wrist."

"You came to my wrist because it was the nearest one."

"That's not true," I said.

"Then ask me again when it's quiet."

He pulled my dress up over my shoulders with great care and zipped it.

He picked my coat up off the floor and held it open.

I stood there with my legs still shaking, and I let him put me into it.

"The bed is yours," he said. "The sheets are clean. I'll be in the hall, across your door. That's the word."

"You'll sleep on the floor."

"I've slept on worse."

He went out and did not look back at me.

I stood alone in his kitchen.

I had never been told no by a man who meant it kindly, and I had not known it could make a person so angry.

I went down the hall to the bedroom and shut the door.

I sat on his bed and listened to him lower himself onto the floorboards outside.

The house ticked and settled.

At one in the morning I stood up and took off my dress.

I put my hand on the knob.

"Luan," I said through the wood.

"Go to sleep."

"Then I'm coming to the hall."

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