Sundays are for Tiaras and Tongue Fucking
“Lilith, dear, sit up straight.”
Lilith, dear, sit up straight.
I internally mock my nagging mother and scoot up in my chair, adjusting the tiara I wore to annoy her. When she phoned this morning suggesting what I should wear to brunch, she went on and on about royal weddings. This was her way of making it clear she wanted me in my Stepford wife outfit. The perfect fitting dress that poofs at the end. Nude heels because any other color would be too suggestive for a lady. And curls. Don’t forget the perfect girly, shoot me, curls. So, when I showed up in a turtleneck dress and a tiara, almost half an hour late, mind you, it left her with no time to drag me upstairs to my old room and redress me.
I sit straight to please her but push out my breasts for dramatics. She gives me the ‘watch your manners’ look and I smile back with my sweet, ‘yes, Mommy Dearest’ look. Maybe if Loser Lance wasn’t going on and on about his boring lawyer cases, I wouldn’t be falling asleep at the breakfast table.
“Lance, that is absolutely fascinating, isn’t it, Lilith?” Mother says and turns to me just as I shove a large strawberry in my mouth. The look of distress suddenly fills her aging features at my unladylike eating habits.
“Oh, yeah, uh, yuper gweat.” I chew down the gigantic bite, juice from the strawberry dripping down my chin. I hear my mother sigh. Good. Maybe she’ll finally realize I’m a lost cause and leave me alone.
“Maybe some time I can give you a tour of my office,” Lance says as if he’s doing me a favor.
Maybe I should just throw myself off the balcony.
I nod, putting another piece of fruit in my mouth, probably causing heart palpitations for my poor mother, and reply, “Yeah, wow. Sounds like the best time ever, but right now I’m really busy at work.”
“Lilith,” Mother warns me.
“What? I am. The station has a great lineup of bands the next upcoming weeks, and D and I have to write scripts.”
My father pulls the newspaper away from his face, closes it, and sets it on the dining room table. “You shouldn’t waste your time on that hobby. I’m sure they can find someone else to handle that. Lance, my daughter would love to tour your law firm.”
Actually, no, I would not.
And maybe now’s a good time to bring up what my father is trying to do with the radio station. This is exactly why I’ve been avoiding these damn brunches. Because my parents just don’t get it. They don’t get me. They can’t see past the person they’ve already created in their heads. And in those heads, I’m marrying Loser Lance and spending the remainder of my days planning galas and tea parties alongside my mother.
Lance makes another attempt at conversation with me. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, you look lovely this morning,” he says, smiling like a stupid buffoon.
I let out an accidental snort.
“Lilith, manners,” my mother barks as I cover my mouth, trying to hide my laughter.
Is he serious right now? I want to turn to him and tell him to stop talking. Maybe respond with thanks, I don’t normally wear turtleneck dresses in the middle of summer, but I went to pound town with my neighbor yesterday and he sucked the bejesus out of my neck, leaving tons of love marks. I currently resemble a horny teenage girl who let her nerdy but buff boyfriend suck all over her neck for the fun of it. It was fun, all right…
Lance’s parents and mine have been friends since college. And when they grew older together they made plans. Plans Lance went along with as well. Little does Lance know I’m just not into guys with comb-overs and this story does not end with I dos and making mini comb-over, boring lawyer babies.
God, that makes me want to gag just thinking—
“Oh goodness, are you okay? Are you choking on some fruit?” Lance leans over, patting at my back.
Nope, just the scary thought of our future together. “No, all good,” I say and take a big sip of my water. The mention of my attire also reminds me of my neighbor. No doubt, Lance mistakes my reddening cheeks as the cause for the embarrassing snort, rather than the real reason. Little does he know it’s because my mind is in the gutter thinking about how Wonka and Big Willy pounded me nasty style against his wall last night. It was super-hot. Way hotter than what I imagined when I’d masturbated to the thought of sex with him.
Not that it was often.
It was often.
He was, what they call a man who knows his way around a woman’s body. I could easily have blamed it on the fact I hadn’t had sex in forever, but the way he handled me…lifting me and shoving me against the wall like a crazed man on a mission. Hot. Hot. Hot.
Will always carries that look on him. The one that says he wishes he knew how to shut me up sometimes. And I think last night he finally figured out how. Then again, I’d cut my own tongue out if I got the orgasm he gave me last night over and over.
“Lilith, you’re slouching again.”
Yeah, because my body is like jelly thinking about every time my back banged against the wall. I probably can’t wear backless shirts for a while until the sex bruises fade.
Lance scoots his chair closer to me and places his hand over mine. He leans in, his voice low. “Don’t feel embarrassed. I find snorting very attractive.”
Ew! I stare at his unwelcomed hand. Unlike Will, whose masculine hands were made to touch me, Lance’s are dainty. And to be really honest, way too fucking hairy. He should look into taking some of his obnoxious finger hair and using it for his premature balding.
I pull my hand from under his and remove my linen napkin from my lap. “Well, this has been so delightful. Mother, Father.” I turn, addressing both my parents. “I’d forgotten just how amazing your Sunday brunches are. But I really need to get back home. I have an early day tomorrow.”
“Lilith, sit—”
I stand up, ignoring my father’s demand. I turn to Lance. “It was nice seeing you again. Good luck in life.” My statement confuses him. I find it to be pretty self-explanatory. I turn, giving my back to everyone, and walk out of my parents’ breakfast room and hustle through the expansive kitchen where I left my purse.
“Lilith, you get back here this instant.”
I don’t turn at the voice of my father. I reach the counter and grab my purse and jacket.
“I’m not going to tolerate this behavior from you.”
That statement has me glowering at Daddy. “What behavior? That I won’t sit there any longer and have you call my job a hobby? Let that poor guy think we have a future? I’m not your puppet, Daddy. I’m not going to let everyone else plan my life.”
His eyes are wild with anger. No one talks to Bart Hamilton this way. Not even his daughter. “Your immature plan to go find yourself is over, Lilith. I gave you the year you asked for, even against my better judgement. Your mother convinced me this was just a phase. But I’m done watching you jeopardize your future.”
“How am I jeopardizing my future?”
“Watch your tone with me, young lady.”
“No! You keep saying this is some phase. That I’m just playing around. I’m doing what I want to be doing—”
“Nonsense. You’re working at a dump radio station that is dying.”
“It’s not dying. Or is that why you’re trying to purchase it? So you can kill it yourself?”
“It’s not for you. It’s a male’s position anyway. You should be at home. Taking care of your husband and raising your children.”
My mouth falls open.
And there it is.
My father, the sexist asshole.
“You know what, Daddy? I am not coming home. I’m staying where I’m at and I’m going to continue to work at the station. Doing what I love. You don’t own me.” I turn around and storm away. But not before hearing the threatening last words of my father.
“You will come home, or I will take everything away from you. Do not test me, Lilith. You know who will win this one. I always do.”
A sad part of me knows as well.
Bart Hamilton always wins.
By the time I pull into my driveway, the sun has gone down, and the night sky is as dark as my mood. My father has been making threats to get me home since the day I left. But I’ve never felt he’d actually go through with them until now. He promised me one year. Exactly what I asked for. I just didn’t think once that year was up, he’d still be so adamant. I thought he’d see how much happier I am and want that for his daughter. But today only proves it’s not about what I want or making sure I’m happy. It’s about him and his image and social status.
Growing up in a family that’s wealthy is not all it’s cracked up to be. People are envious of the ones who have heavy bank accounts and ritzy, material things. I used to hate how labeled I felt. In school with girlfriends. Any guy I dated. It all fell back to the fact I came from money and lots of it. Girls were mean because they tagged me as the snobby rich girl. Boys used me because they wanted to reap the benefits of a rich girlfriend. It was all fake and I hated it. While people wished they were me, I looked back wishing to be them. I wanted to come home to a simple house and eat meatloaf and talk about my day at school. Crap, I would have loved to come home and play video games and drink soda. Instead, I ate du jour and fancy fish, and God knows what other strange delicacies. I had French lessons, tennis lessons, piano lessons, singing lessons. While everyone else got to be normal kids, I was too busy being molded into a goddamn debutante.
I slam my car door and head up my porch. I notice Will’s living room light’s on, which means he’s home. No way would he waste precious energy and not be there to use it. I make a pit stop at home and grab an aged bottle of twenty-one-year-old Balvenie Scotch.
Walking across the lawn barefoot, I appreciate the feel of the soft grass under my feet. Even though he’s anal beyond belief, he sure does have a green thumb. I take his front steps two at a time, and without bothering to knock I test the door handle, find it surprisingly unlocked, and walk in.
Will is sitting on the couch. He’s shirtless, in only a pair of running shorts. He’s got one hand around a beer and the other—
“Am I interrupting something?” I ask him and his missing hand which is down his pants.
He doesn’t panic or look shocked that I walked in on him grabbing his junk. His hand also doesn’t move from inside his shorts.
“Yeah, it’s called adjusting my balls. You here to do it for me?” He’s so damn sexy just sitting there looking all laid back. A side I rarely get to see of him since he’s always yelling at me.
“Your door was unlocked, Mr. Neighborhood Watch.” I arch a brow at him. “Someone could have just walked in and got you.”
He flashes me a wide grin that makes me grow weak in the knees. “Maybe I was waiting for that someone.”
God, he’s so cute.
From the time it takes me to get from his front door to his couch, a billion different scenarios flow through my head. Everything from sucking him off to falling on the couch and hoping he just hugs me while I cry out all the stress I have building up.
I wish my father would approve of someone like Will. Someone who’s stable, hardworking, and kind in an anal-retentive sort of way. But he would never meet Bart Hamilton’s expectations.
By the time I make it to the couch, a more stable scenario wins. I uncap the bottle and take a huge swig, allowing the whiskey to burn as it slides down my throat. “I’ve had a really bad day, Wonka, so I don’t need any of your lip. Got it?”
He’s looking at me. Assessing me. My skin immediately feels on fire the way his eyes take me in. Like he’s devouring me.
“You want to talk about it?” he asks, as I recap the bottle and set it down on an end table.
I grab for his beer bottle, dropping it on the coffee table in front of him. “Talking is the last thing I want to do right now.” I climb on top of him, straddling his lap. My hands go up, threading into his hair. It’s still damp, which means he’s freshly showered. I grip hard, pulling him to me, and press my lips to his. I love the way they feel on mine. The way his muscled thighs feel under me. The way his hands grip my ass, tugging closer.
“God, you smell good. What’s your secret?” I moan, deepening our kiss.
“Men’s soap. I thought you didn’t want to talk.” He sucks my lower lip into his mouth and bites.
“You’re right. Stop talking.” I grip his hair harder. The low growl in his throat sends waves of pleasure to my core. His hands, once again, are gripping my ass, making me grind against him. “Jesus,” I pant as he deepens our kiss. Our tongues are at war. I’m so turned on, I might not make it past the dry humping, which is fine with me.
“What’s got my girl all worked up tonight?”
I grind into him, causing us both to moan. “I’m not your girl. Just the neighbor who needs to spend some quality time riding out all the wear and tear of her day.”
Will pushes my dress up my thighs, exposing my pink thong. Shoving the thin material to the side, his thick finger begins working at my clit.
“I don’t fuck around, Lilith. You want to talk, I’ll talk. But if you want this…” He rams one finger inside me.
I moan, throwing my head back.
“Yeah, I think that’s what you want. Are you my girl, Lilith?”
“No, I’m no one’s girl. But try two fingers. Two can be more persuasive.”
The low chuckle off his lips sends me into a tailspin. Dammit, he’s so sexy. I wonder why he doesn’t laugh more. I’d seriously drop my panties every single time if I were rewarded with that sound.
“What’s it going to be, baby?” he murmurs. It’s then he rewards me with another finger.
Shit. I start riding his hand.
“If you were my girl, I’d give you three fingers. Four if you’re good. Take my tongue to your wet pussy and devour you. Fuck you with it until you quiver around my tongue. Then I’d fuck you with my cock.”
I’m panting, riding his hand harder, pulling at his hair.
“What’s it going to be, Lilith?”
“I’m sooo your girl.”
That damn low chuckle, the sound is going to make me come. He sticks to his word and three fingers go in. I can’t take any more and I lose it. I start to orgasm.
“That’s it, baby, ride it out.”
I do. Oh boy, I do. Once I start coming down, he startles me by quickly standing, with me still in his arms. He rotates so my back is to the couch, and without warning, he drops me. My back hits the soft cushion on a squeal. I lift my head, still dizzy, wondering what he’s up to. With the darkness in his eyes, I have a feeling I know what’s next.
I watch, feeling high on lust, as Will bends down, latching his fingers around my thong string. He tugs them down my legs and tosses them. He crawls back up my legs, his face disappearing in between my thighs. My back arches the second his tongue hits my clit.
“Oh, Jesus,” I moan as I fall back, grabbing at anything to hold on to. He starts lapping at me, using one hand to hold my wild hips down and the other to tease my center. He takes no prisoners as he licks and sucks, bites and pulls at my lips until I’m seeing double. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to devour me. My body is on fire. My skin doesn’t feel like my own, it’s so sensitive. I want him to stop because I’m going to break, but I need him to keep going. And never ever stop.
“I love fucking you with my mouth,” he growls, jabbing his tongue deep inside me.
“Oh God,” I hiss. “Who would have thought you’d ever use your mouth for other things besides complaining—ahhhh!”
He bites down, almost causing a blackout.
His hands are spreading me open as he goes to town. I’m like a wild animal under him, thrashing and moaning.
“Yes, more. Yes…”
“You like that, baby?” Harder, faster. “Tight and sweet.” He shoves three fingers in me while still using his tongue to pleasure my clit. “Mine now. Hear me? Mine.”
Why is him saying that turning me on so badly? My toes begin to curl, and I can’t fight the blast that’s about to shoot through me. My legs start to tighten around his head. I don’t want to suffocate him, but when my orgasm erupts, I squeeze so tight, there’s no way air is getting to his brain.
“That’s it. Come on my tongue. Fuck…”
And just like that, my bossy neighbor gets his way—like always—because I explode, soaking his tongue with my orgasm. When my hips finally fall back onto the couch, I open my eyes to see him wiping at his chin.
“I’m going to fuck you with my cock now,” he tells me, a smug grin on his face. “But first, I have to ask. What’s with the tiara?”