Chapter 143: Happy Sex I
"Thank you," Makima said, almost in a whisper.
"For what?" Sean asked.
"For going." Makima looked down for a moment before meeting his eyes again. "For calling him first. For being someone he could say yes to."
Her voice had softened, stripped of the calm composure she usually wore.
"He’s all I have left of my family." She swallowed. "If he’d said no..." She trailed off, then gave a small shake of her head. "It would’ve mattered. More than I ever would’ve let you see."
Sean reached across the table and gently covered her hands with his.
"I know."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"I know you do," she whispered. "That’s what gets me."
She held his gaze, her blue eyes open and unguarded. The grief she’d carried for years was still there, but so was relief, and something warmer. For so long she’d convinced herself what she was worth, drawing lines around what she could and couldn’t ask for. Tonight, without even realizing it, Sean had answered those doubts more gently than she ever could.
She leaned forward and kissed him.
Sean slid an arm around her waist and pulled her closer.
She smiled against his lips before rising from her chair and settling onto his lap without breaking the kiss, her arms looping around his neck. He held her close as the candles flickered softly beside them, dinner forgotten on the table while the apartment settled into comfortable silence.
Her lips parted against his, and the kiss deepened.
Sean’s hand slid up her spine, fingers pressing through the fabric of her blouse, tracing the ridge of each vertebra until his palm cradled the back of her neck. She made a sound—low, throaty, surprised at herself—and her weight settled more fully onto his lap. The chair creaked beneath them.
Makima pulled back just enough to look at him. Her blue eyes had gone dark, pupils swallowing the color. A strand of black hair had escaped her neat updo and lay against her cheek. Sean brushed it back with his thumb, tucking it behind her ear, and watched her lips part in response to that single small touch.
Then she slid off his lap, and before Sean could reach for her, she was already sinking to her knees between his thighs. she looked up at Sean, her hands resting on his knees, her expression somewhere between reverence and hunger.
Her fingers found his belt. The leather slid through the buckle with a soft hiss, and then she was unfastening his trousers with the deliberate patience of someone who had no intention of being rushed. Sean lifted his hips slightly as she tugged the fabric down over his thighs, and when Sean dick came free she made a sound—a sharp little inhale through her nose, as though someone had pressed a thumb to her pulse.
She wrapped one hand around the base of his dick . Her fingers were warm. Steady. She held him for a moment without moving, just looking, the way someone might admire a piece of art they’d waited a very long time to see up close. Then she leaned forward and ran the flat of her tongue from base to tip in one long, slow stroke.
Sean’s hand found the edge of the table. Gripped it.
Makima smiled against his skin and did it again. Slower. She reached the tip and let her tongue circle the head, teasing the sensitive ridge beneath, and when Sean’s hips shifted involuntarily she let out a soft laugh that vibrated through him.
"You like that?"
"I like watching you do it."
She met his eyes. Held them. Took him into her mouth.
The heat of it was staggering. Her lips stretched around his thickness and her tongue pressed flat against the underside as she sank down, inch by inch, until he felt the back of her throat. She paused there, breathing through her nose, her hands braced on his thighs, and then she drew back with agonizing slowness, suction pulling all the way.
"Fuck," Sean breathed.
Makima pulled off with a soft wet pop and stroked him with her hand while she caught her breath. "You taste good," she said, and the casualness of it—the way she said it like she was commenting on the wine—made his cock twitch in her grip. She noticed. Her smile widened. "Oh, you really liked that."
"Say it again."
"You taste good, Sean. You taste so fucking good I might not stop."
She took him back into her mouth before he could respond. This time there was nothing slow about it. She worked him with a rhythm that was almost punishing, her head bobbing, her hand twisting in concert with her lips, spit slicking everything until the sounds in the room were obscene—wet and rhythmic and punctuated by her occasional gasp for air. Her free hand had moved between her own thighs, pressing through her trousers, and Sean watched her grind against her palm while she sucked him.
"You’re touching yourself," he said. His voice came out rougher than he expected.
She made a muffled sound of affirmation that vibrated around his cock.
"Let me see."
Makima pulled off and rose to her feet. She held his gaze while her fingers unfastened her trousers, pushed them down along with her underwear, stepped out of them gracefully despite the urgency in her movements.
Her blouse rode up, exposing the curve of her belly, the flare of her hips. She sat back onto her heels between his legs and spread her knees wider, and Sean could see how wet she was—her inner thighs glistening in the candlelight, the dark trimmed hair between her legs slicked against her skin.
"Better?" she asked.
He couldn’t answer. He just nodded.
She put Sean dick into her mouth once more, but this time her fingers were inside herself, two of them, working with the same rhythm as her lips. Sean watched her body move—the muscles in her back shifting, her hips rocking forward to meet her own hand, her throat working to take him deeper than seemed possible.