New Leaves Part Two:
DG:
Seeing the ardor in Jeb's eyes, I swiftly got off of him and recast the glamour charm. I was a red head tonight. (Jeb's reputation on campus had increased greatly since we started dating). And we went up to his apartment, barely able to keep our hands off each other. His hands on my lower back guiding me, sometimes straying lower; mine, caressing his inner thigh teasingly. That's when we were in the presence of passersby. When we weren't, we were pressed up against the walls exchanging blistering kisses and enjoying the pleasures of roving hands.
What we were about to do wasn't the first time for us, not by far. The first had been on a river bank outside the City. It had been a viciously hot day, the last day of his second semester. I had been wading in the cool shallow waters and he had been dozing in the shade, when I got the brilliant idea to go skinny dipping... Let's just say that the boy had woken up right fast and had thought this was the most brilliant proposal that I had made yet. One thing led to another, and when we were done, we had twigs and stuff in our mussed hair and mud in uncomfortable places. But it had been spectacular. So spectacular, that we developed a fetish for repeating the experience in unconventional venues.
But tonight, if we managed to make it that far, was going to be enjoyed in a good old-fashioned bed.
(And yes, I'm quite aware of the inconsistency of not sharing the details of our mutual confessions of love and yet sharing this intimate moment now. I would just like to say that while I am not intoxicated in the usual way at the moment, I am currently drunk on Jeb Cain. And I highly doubt that I'll be hearing any complaints of T.M.I. from the peanut gallery, anyways, will I?)
We made it to his door, unlocked it, stumbled in, and the glamour charm came off along with all sorts of extraneous clothes. Shoes were kicked off, jackets were cast aside, his shirt un-tucked and unbuttoned (the former by my impatient hands, the latter by my impatient magic), and my blue satin dress was unzipped, removed, and tossed aside all before we reached his bedroom.
He pressed me up against his doorjamb, placing one still clothed leg between mine, pinning me there as he shrugged out of his shirt, his mouth never leaving mine. I trailed my hands languorously over his shoulders, down his arms, up his long torso, and around to his back, feeling every scar along the way.
He had so many of them from his years of fighting and the beating he had received at Zero's hands, the day his mother died. One morning when I was supposedly helping him study for his history exam as a way to brush up on my own O.Z. facts, we spent it all in bed, where he told me the story behind each of his scars as I kissed them to make them better.
My hands came back around the front and began to reach for his pants' fastenings, but he lightly batted them aside as he chuckled softly into my ear, his breath tickling my neck and sending shivers down my spine, "So impatient."
I nipped at his shoulder, hissing, "But that's one of the things you love about me."
He fisted his hand into my hair, pulling my face back up to his, as he rolled his hips against mine (oh yes!) and murmured between kisses, "That I do…" (a kiss to my temple) "but I also believe…" (to my nose) "that I said…" (at the corner of my mouth) "I love your…" (several, along my jaw) "spontaneity, …" (a nip and tug of my earlobe into his hot, wet mouth) "curiosity, compassion, and…(a tantalizing attack of tongue, lips, and teeth at that sweet spot on my throat just below my ear that always turns me into a puddle of goo) "determination…"
Not being able to take it anymore, I shoved him away from me and on to the bed, straddling him, but before I could pin him down and whisper all sorts of goo-ifying things into his ear, he flipped us over so he was on top and my arms were pinned to my side. He chuckled low in his throat, making it sound almost like a growl, his eyes glinting with amusement, as he dryly observed, "It looks like I've rewarded your impatience and impetuosity far too much as of late."
Quirking an eyebrow at him, I purred, "And you're going to remedy that, are you?" Damn. That sounded far too eager. So much for cool, collected, and seductive.
His lust-filled eyes darkened with promise as he most definitely growled, "Indubitably."
He returned to bestowing kisses to my face and throat once more, except where he had kissed my right temple, his lips brushed my left, and so forth. Once balance was achieved, his exploration continued to the hollow of my throat, along my collar bone, and down to my lace covered breasts, which were begging for his attention.
He obliged.
While his tongue ran along the edge of the lace, his left hand reached underneath me and undid the bra's clasp. But instead of removing it immediately, he leaned back and admired the view, his engorged pants rubbing through my barely-there silk fabric and against my clit.
He murmured in awe, "I wish you could see yourself now, so that you could capture this moment in one of your drawings…You're so aroused, chest heaving, yearning, and that blue against your creamy perfection…"
And then with a groan, the bra disappeared and his lips descended again. While his lips suckled and teased one hardened nipple, his hand massaged the other. He alternated between pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rubbing his thumb in soothing circles, while his mouth did similar things to the other. His teeth scraped along the sensitive skin as he drew it into his mouth and then he would let go, and his tongue would flick out, circling and laving and soothing, before he would blow on it, causing me to arch into him and whimper, and then he would start the pattern all over again.
And just when I thought this torture couldn't possibly continue, his mouth switched breasts and his other hand came up to take its place.
Well, two can play at this game. What works for the goose will work for the gander.
With these truisms running through my mind and the knowledge that my hands were now free, I ran my hands up his chest, teasingly circled his nipples, and then raked my nails across their sensitized flesh.
He groaned and his hips jerked. Score one, for Miss Impetuosity.
His eyes opened just in time to see my smirk though, causing him to seize my wrists as he scolded, "That wasn't very nice, Princess."
Still smirking, I responded coyly, "Oh, it wasn't? You certainly seemed to enjoy it." And then I rolled my hips teasingly against the bulge in his pants.
To my satisfaction, he nearly came undone right there. His whole body stiffened, and he had to close his eyes, while he struggled to gain control. When he did, he leaned down to whisper in my ear, "You seem to have forgotten that this was a lesson in patience and control, love."
I almost said something about how it was hard to keep that in mind when he did such things to me, but the man's ego didn't need that much encouragement.
Scooting down my body, his long hair tickling and his lips ghosting my flesh as he murmured against it, "Now, I want you to hold absolutely still while I continue this lesson." My hips arched as his hand came to rest on my inner thigh, his fingers tracing a pattern ever closer to – fuck!
His fingers drew away and his head rested on my thigh as he stared fiercely up into my eyes, "Promise me that you'll exercise your legendary tenacity and control yourself…if not for your curiosity's sake in wanting to know how good it can be, then for compassion's sake for me."
I almost said 'Screw curiosity and compassion!" but then I gazed into his eyes and saw how much he wanted this, so I did as he asked and resolved to give my 'tenacity' (what positively diplomatic way to call me stubborn) a new goal to work towards – conquering the unchartered territory of surrendering control to another.
He smiled and kissed my thigh in gratitude.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he removed my lacey briefs. His warm brown eyes never leaving mine as his lips followed the trail of his fingers. Once he discarded them, he took my left leg, kissed the inside of my knee, and draped it over his shoulder. My breath hitched in anticipation. The low smoldering burn in my center was building in intensity, and he hadn't even touched me where I so longed for him to.
My other leg was gently moved to rest on his thigh, giving him a better angle to his target. His hands cupped my bottom and kneaded the muscles there, before he dragged me closer to feast on my already dripping core.
And feast he did.
His tongue, his oh-so clever tongue, darted out and into my slick folds, lapping my slit from bottom to top, swirling around my sensitive nub. He flicked it once, twice, and then drew it into his warm mouth before beginning the process all over.
Gods, I loved his tongue. I loved what it could do to me, what it was doing to me. He was undoing me, bringing me to the edge of my resolve and back again. I started to writhe beneath his ministrations. I wanted to sink my fingers into his hair, to encourage him, to make sure he didn't stop, to –
He must have sensed my intentions because he placed one hand at my hip to keep me in place as he hoarsely ordered, "Don't, Deege. If you touch me, it'll be over before we get to the even better stuff."
His warm breath was like a cool breeze over my heated flesh, and I squirmed despite myself, but still I kept my hands balled up in the sheets.
It was a good thing that I had this anchor because his tongue was suddenly inside of me, stroking me, stoking my fires, sending me up to dizzying heights – up, up, and away. He moaned his pleasure, murmuring something about how good I tasted. His contented humming combined with his tongue-fucking and clit-sucking sent an electrifying jolt throughout my body, and I was suddenly a bucking, convulsing mass of over stimulated woman, whimpering and crying and seeing visions in Technicolor as I reached euphoric bliss.
He nuzzled my core as I came down from my earth-shattering high, gave it a soothing kiss, and then stood up. I watched him from beneath my heavy lids as he did an impromptu strip-tease. He took his socks off first. I noted randomly that Jeb was not a man to fall victim to the sock gap, that deadliest pit of socks. I bit my lip to suppress my giggle.
Jeb raised a questioning eyebrow at my smile, but continued on, reaching for his pants' fastenings.
It was in that moment that I had a horrid thought. And because I lack a brain-mouth filter, I voiced it.
"What do you think your father is doing right now?"
I didn't even have to see Jeb's disbelieving Look of "Are you kidding me? You're thinking of my father. Now?" to know that I had made a grievous error. Covering my mouth in horror as if I could try and take the words back, I stared at him mortified.
I hastily tried to explain myself, gesticulating wildly, "Oh shit. I'm not thinking of – of him while we're – but it is because of – you know. Oh, boy. I mean, that he usually has a sixth sense about what time we get back and he calls, you know, ensuring that I'm not staying for more than a nightcap... er, the whiskey kind."
After an agonizing moment, Jeb grunted his acknowledgment of the truth of my statement.
And it was true. Every time we had gone out on a date since he found out about us and I had come back here to avoid the Palace eyes and ears and extend my night with him, Wyatt freaking Cain had called to shoot the breeze with his son, sounding sincerely surprised that he had interrupted our evening. This was the farthest we had ever gotten. Usually, we only managed to get to first base; once, we got to second.
And how did his father find out about us? Well, believe it or not, our secret romance had quite successfully managed to escape his Tin Man nose for surreptitious behavior. No, the truth is Jeb blabbed it.
They had been having another discussion about Jeb's lack of a major and his assorted and varied studies at the time of his unfortunate slip. Cain had pointed out that a rancher doesn't need to know about Evian cuisine or a lawyer need to know about the chemical formula used to convert water into fuel (which is what OZians run their engines on). Jeb both tired of the argument and in awe that he actually got to have this argument with his father at all had shot his mouth off, saying slyly, "Well then, I'll just be the most well-informed Prince Consort there ever was."
I had been contemplating my next move for the chess game that Cain and I had been playing, when Jeb popped on over, so I had prime seating to see my friend's mouth drop open as he reeled from that revelation. The afternoon deteriorated from there as we tried to calm him down, answer all his questions, alleviate all his concerns, and convince him not to tell anyone – not even my parents.
We lost that last battle. But that is neither here nor there at the moment.
What is of import is that my lover had that irritating, gloating 'you just stepped in it' half-smirk of his on his face, while at the same time he was shooting me a piercing gaze as he shoved his pants down and kicked them aside. (Hubba, hubba, hubba. He had gone commando for the evening.) As he stalked towards me, his hazel brown eyes were glinting with a predatory gleam.
Instinctively, I scooted away from this beautiful yet fierce hunter, towards the middle of the bed. He was not going to have any of that however. His arm snaked out and grabbed one of my ankles, dragging me towards his leonine frame, as he snarled, "DG, you are so going to pay for that. I'm going to take you so hard and fast, that there will only be one Cain name on your mind and falling from your lips. MINE."
And just as the qualities that he admires about me came to play in the bedroom, so did his. The man took charge and kept his promises. Oh boy, did he ever.
He pressed me into his mattress, forcing skin on skin contact, fusing his hard muscles to my soft curves. His right hand grabbed the base of my neck and brought my face up to his, his feverish mouth consuming my lips and demanding entrance. I opened to him without hesitation, and he rammed his tongue in, leaving no doubt his would be leading this dance. His left hand grabbed my leg and crooked it over his hip. I followed his lead here too, and brought my other leg around him, locking them together at the small of his back.
And to the rhythm of his insistent and dominating tongue, he plunged into me, filling me, and then he was pulling out. Before I could make a sound of protest, he was slamming into me again. I soon picked up on the tempo and matched him thrust for thrust. And just when I was teetering on the edge, he stilled.
This time, I ripped my mouth from his, managing to make a mewling objection, but then he moved, swiveling his hips as he drew out and then reversing as he slid back in, hitting that glorious spot. I threw my head back and moaned, arching into him, begging for more.
He leaned forward, putting all his weight on his elbows, which were on either side of my head, and whispered harshly, "Deege, whose name are you going to scream when I make you come?"
"Yours," I hissed as I rocked desperately against him.
"That's right, sweetheart, and don't you ever forget it," he growled, and then he run his tongue around my earlobe as he drove his cock into me, the base of his shaft rubbing my clit.
With each thrust, his tongue swirled, my clit was crushed, and my brain was overloaded with waves of pleasure. I began to keen as the pressure built to the level of unbearable. "Jeb …Jeeeb! …Jeeeeeeb!" And as I clenched around him, milking him as he buried himself in me as deeply as he could go, I scrabbled at his sweat-slicked back, digging my nails in and probably adding a few scars of my own to his collection.
We shattered at the same time, calling out each other's names and letting loose strings of obscenities.
While we tried to catch our breath, he pulled back and sat on his haunches, dragging me with him, so that I was straddling his lap. We sat like that for awhile, forehead to forehead, running our hands over each other, murmuring sweet nothings. In my haze, I didn't comprehend half of what he said, but after the third or fourth repetition of my name, I smirked, "That's my name, and you, Jeb Cain, can wear it out anytime."
He chuckled as his lips brushed mine, "Oh, sweetheart, as soon as I recover, I'll have you so worn out that you'll think your bones were noodles."
I rolled my eyes, but didn't bother to correct his misunderstanding of my slipperism. I had far more important things to do, like kiss that smirk off his gorgeous face.
Forty-five minutes later, I was limp as a wet noodle.
As I drifted off to sleep, three things ran through my mind: Az and I had no idea what the consequences would be for making our vow…But thank Ozma for new leaves. Bless Jeb Cain and his ability to keep his word. And … heck, yes! The tin man's son would make the most well-informed, talented, and trustworthy Prince Consort ever. Let that campaign begin.
AN: I predict that DG's campaign will be successful and in a few months, Jeb Cain will be on one knee - or whatever is the OZian custom for proposals - and popping The Question. And within 1.3 seconds, he will find himself flat on his back, tackled by an ecstatic and exuberant DG, smothering him with kisses and deafening him with her many delighted yells of 'heck, yes!'
Now, if you are wondering the answer to DG's question as to what Wyatt Cain was up to that resulted in his forgivable omission to call his son... click Next. After you review, of course ; )