Chapter 29 Chapter Twenty-Nine - Gabriella
Well, I can’t be mad at the man. He said he made no promises, and he was true to his word because the bastard made me pass out again. Correction, he made me pass out several times throughout the night. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to find a God has an insane sexual appetite, but I didn’t think Gods were cunnilingus machines. This other-worldly being ate my pussy like it was an all-you-can-eat buffet gifted to a man on death row. He worked his fingers and tongue in ways that no sex toy could ever compete with. The man even dry humps to the point of fucking multiples, and as amazing as that is, I’m annoyed.
I know, I know. You’re going to say, ‘Ella, what the fuck is your problem?’ and believe me, I have no problem with his skills. I think I came more times last night than I have in my whole life, and I can tell you my entire body is suffering for it. My pussy is swollen, my clit is swollen and sensitive as fuck and every muscle in my body feels like I had a straight week of rehearsals in 9-inch heels, and I don’t regret a second of it. But that’s not why I’m annoyed. I’m annoyed because several times I tried to return the favour and he wouldn’t let me. I tried to initiate actual intercourse and I could tell right away he didn’t want to take that step and I respect that. For some people, intercourse is a huge step. So, oral is like a reasonable middle ground. I can accept that. So, I tried to give him head. I tried twice and both times he distracted me by eating me out. I tried to give him a hand job, which resulted in him pinning my hands and dry humping the fuck out of me, but he never came, just me.
Thankfully he orgasmed me into unconsciousness or I’d never have gotten to sleep. But now that I’m awake, I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve never been in this position. I’m more used to the opposite. Guys who want to fuck but don’t give a shit if I come and sure as fuck don’t give a crap about oral or hand jobs. I don’t understand why he won’t let me please him. I love what he does, but after the 5th round, I was starting to feel uncomfortable with how imbalanced it was. I didn’t like that he refused to let me touch him the way he touches me. It makes me feel like there’s an invisible wall between us that he won’t let me cross, and he’s using orgasms as a way to keep me distracted from getting closer. Honestly, it probably would have worked, but now it’s just overkill and I want answers.
I wanted to confront him after breakfast, but he surprised me with an amazing romantic spread by the pool, and I didn’t want to ruin the mood. I need to talk to him about this, but I’m not sure how to confront my Godly soulmate on why he won’t let me suck his dick. I need a guy’s opinion before we have this talk. I need Derrick; the self-appointed King of Deepthroat. That man has singlehandedly brought most of LA’s gay scene out of the closet. If anyone can help me crack Jartre’s impervious exterior, it’s him.
“Are you ready to go?” Jartre asks as I step out of the bathroom.
I smooth out the sundress he provided me and give him my best smile. “Ready as can be. How do I look?”
“Glowing as radiant as the sun,” he says reverently, walking over and lifting my hand to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of my hand that has my swollen, redraw insides throbbing in both need and protest as the flesh of my hand burns delightfully.
“You sure have a way with words,” I remark, trying to steady my voice.
“I’ve had many years of practice,” he says with a knowing smirk.
“You going to credit yourself with the invention of speech next?” I quip as I gather my clothes into a bag Jartre has provided for me and sling it over my shoulder.
He lets out a gruff snort. “I take no credit for anything human.”
I walk over and hold out my hand, “Okay, I’m ready to go now.”
He takes my hand in his and steps closer, his unfathomable silver eyes staring down at me, searching me. “Are you alright? You’ve been distracted all morning and I’ve been resisting the urge to read your mind.”
“I appreciate your restraint,” I say with a kind smile. “I’m fine, I just have a few things on my mind, and I really need to get to the club and collect my stuff. I left my purse, my phone, everything, and while I trust almost everyone who works at the club, that doesn’t mean there aren’t some klepto’s lurking about.”
“Say no more,” he says, pulling me into his arms and transporting us both to my loft.