Cecily and Vince Ch. 03

...

"What are you doing after this?"

I turn my head slightly to Vince, the long-handled hatchet straining my arm as I hesitate to throw it. "Chopping wood."

"Funny. For real though," he insists. He throws his short axe and it sinks satisfyingly into the wooden board a few paces away from us.

"Nice shot, good looking. My hair, probably." I throw my axe, engaging my diaphragm like the instructor said, and it clatters to the floor a foot away from my target. Imentally blame it on the greasy meal we had earlier.

"Your hair? For the rest of today?" He walks into the cage and bends to pick up both of our axes, handing his to me to try.

I laugh. "For the rest of today and a fair bit of tomorrow, if I don't feel like braiding through the night. What, you wanna help?"

He smiles and shrugs. "I wanna spend time with you."

I heft the short handled hatchet over my head with two hands and heave it at the target, landing it on the very edge of the pallet where it bounces off. "Well alright, sweet talker. I'm gonna binge-watch Naked and Afraid and order Thai, if you're in."

He tosses the long-handled axe and like a magnet, it's almost drawn to the bullseye. "What season are you on?"

"I have no idea."

"Let's do it."

I nod and pick a second axe from the wooden cart between us, lifting it over my shoulder with one hand and willing my arm to contract. Like a bear trap, Cecily, on the long-suffering protagonist's ankle. Something like that. The blade sinks into the second ring from the center and I bask pridefully in my success before I notice Vince watching me from the corner of my eye.

"You done?" he asks, amusement lacing his voice.

I huff, then give into temptation and flip him the bird before scuttling to pick up the axes.

...

"How'd you make the braids shorter than your hair?"

I look lazily over at Vince while I place a handful of discarded Kanekalin hair in a bright yellow Dollar General bag. "Black girl magic."

He nods understandingly and studies his drunken noodles. "Got it. My family's Catholic, so just don't tell them that. Mom doesn't let me date sorceresses."

I smile and twist up the section I've taken down, only the front half to go. "Right. So how'd you become Golden Boy?"

He grimaces and leans back from his plate, turning down the volume on the TV where somebody is yet again shaking and crying in the middle of a tropical forest. "I'm the only blond in the family. Well," he amends. "The only natural blond. I actually used to grow it out and donate it."

"You stopped?" Envisioning Vince with waist length waves isn't going to help get your hair done, Cecily. Keep working.

"Yeah, I think I got through about two cycles of it and decided enough was enough. I mean, I never spent as long on my hair as you probably do, but it was too much for me in the end, keeping it healthy and all that."

I nod, strategically pulling two strands of a braid and letting the whole thing unravel to the root. "I feel that."

"Yeah, well. Do you have a big family?"

I shrug my shoulders and screw up my lips while I pull another braid out, Vince's eyes trained on my hands. "Big enough, it's me and my parents in my immediate family and about twenty people outside of it. We're close though."

"Big enough," he nods.

I clear my throat a bit and shuffle in my seat on my barely-used sofa. "Vincent, I feel like I assume a lot about you, and some of it is right, but a lot of it is very wrong."

He looks over at me with a mouthful of noodles and steamed vegetables. "Mmm?"

"Yeah. How about a drill session of questions, and you can debunk them?"

"Mmm." He nods his head yes, shrugging his shoulders and swallowing his food. "Anything about my mother's maiden name or the name of my first pet?"

"Well you don't have to answer every single one," I smile. "Okay. First, you're the youngest child."

"Of four, yes, and the third youngest out of all my cousins."

I toss two more undone braids into my plastic bag, fired up. "You're from a borderline stereotypical Italian family, with the family first and fierce love of olive oil in your hair and all that."

He tilts his head, considering. "I do love my olive oil."

"Mm."

"And I do love my family."

"Yeah?"

"I've never handmade pasta or anything though."

I gasp. "Sacrilege. How about, you work out a lot?"

"Four days a week. I bench 290."

I nod, now imagining him lifting me above his head. For casual, platonic reasons, of course. "Impressive. You're a morning person."

"I like morning sex," he smirks. "Trying to convert my girlfriend over to it, currently."

"Sounds like a lost cause," I reply, tilting back to let my arms rest on the arm of the couch I'm leaning against.

"It's gonna sound glorious, when I finally convince her to try it," he says silkily. I don't look over at him purposefully, knowing I'd never get my hair down, detangled, washed, and deep-conditioned tonight if I did.

"That's all the questions I have for tonight, in the interest of finishing my hair before midnight. You do me now," I say, closing my eyes to power through the last row of braids.

He chuckles, and I hear movement towards me on the couch. "I'd love to."

I suck my teeth. "You're gonna give me the time I need to do my hair or you're not invited into my apartment when I have chores again."

He concedes. "You had a lot of friends growing up."

"A select few, and a portion of which I'm friends with to this day."

"Hmm. You're artistic."

I place the last handful of synthetic hair in the plastic bag and consider. "Not that much, unless you count kind of knowing how to play the piano."

"It counts. You had the regular Southern upbringing, with the cooking and the playing in creeks and everything."

I smile, leaning forward to the low table to grab my spray bottle and comb. "Pretty much, one of my aunts even had an outhouse while we were growing up. We caught fireflies in the summer and all that. Although my mom stopped us eating red meat when I was younger, so I never really ate collard greens, ribs, all that real hearty stuff."

"Then how'd you get all that body?" he teases, picking up the remote to let Netflix know we're still watching even though we aren't.

"Black girl magic," I grin from under a subsection of the poof on my head, spraying it down with the rosewater in the bottle.

"Ah, right, I keep forgetting," he says, snapping his fingers. He looks over at me, a bundle of hair tied up and another bushel being subject to my wide-toothed comb.

I hear him stretch out against his side of the sofa, resigned. "We're gonna finish the season before you finish your hair, you know."

"Probably. Turn it up for me."

Four hours later, and out of the bathroom for the final time, I climb into bed next to Vince and let him drag my body to his, giggling when he sniffs at the bonnet on my head. I didn't have the energy to stay up another eight hours braiding it, but there's always another day.

"You smell nice." Slow breaths against my neck.

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely delectable," he mumbles, running his hand down my arm to lace his fingers through mine. An idea flitters through the space in my head as he hovers his lips over the space on my shoulder he seems to like so much. I twist under his hands and press down on his shoulders, rising above him.

"You've been such a pleasant companion today," I begin, watching his hair flatten against the pillow, his eager eyes trained on mine.

"I have," he agrees, fingers wrapping around my wrists. "I bet you're proud of me."

I raise an eyebrow. "Not yet."

He grunts as I trace heavy hands down the front of his chest, pausing there to run my fingers over his well-defined chest. "Definitely looks like you bench 290," I comment.

He seizes two handfuls of my thighs and maneuvers me to straddle him, the veins in his biceps straining out and settling back down smoothly and efficiently. "Yeah," he agrees. "Lots of power here."

I nod, dry-mouthed, and press on his abdomen to scoot my way down his body, sliding hot inner thighs over his until I see what I want.

"I see." I see it lifting up the flap in his shorts, begging for attention which I'm glad to give. As weary as Wash Day has made me, I must have ambrosia running through my veins to be so ready to fuck him until the sun rises.

It seems like he holds his breath when I draw the elastic down, and only exhales when my mouth is around the solid knob of him. I sigh around it, lathing my tongue under the rim and feel him shiver under me in response.

I want to say I take him lazily down my throat, but it's effort, my jaw stretching until I've got half and no more due to not being able to walk my jaw like a snake's down the rest of him. I wrap what I can fit of my hand around the rest and swallow.

"Fuck, Cecily, fuck me baby," Vince moans, his arms swinging down the squeeze my shoulders.

"Mmm." I set to work, slurping spit and precum off of him and lapping around the closely trimmed base while I catch my breath. One hand settles around the comfortably swollen sack beneath, the other sliding down his shaft again, my hand following.

"Cis, swing this way," Vince cajoles, grasping fingers reaching for my waist.

I hum in my throat and listen to him curse before he sits up and somehow hooks a hand around the bend of my leg, dragging my lower half towards him. I fight to stay sunk on his pole, massaging it with the length of my tongue.

"Shit. Fuck yes, you're dripping." I hum again and feel him slide my legs around his face, his shaky breath creating even more of a sauna between my legs. "Fuck this."

I almost choke on his dick as he plunges the bottom half of his face between my legs, licking and nipping at the source of the heat and sliding two fingers idly over the nerve that controls it all.

I yank my head off to breathe and a drawn-out moan erupts, the saliva dripping down my chin to splash on the rod before me. It's jumping and purple, and I try to get my bearings, then struggle to hold it still enough to swallow again.

"You having trouble, C?" Vince pants, removing his hand from between my legs to grab my hips again and bring them down against his face, absolutely smothering himself and causing me to cry out and wrench my mouth off of him again.

"Shit, baby, you know what you're doing," I wheeze, my head resting on his hip while I convulse.

"Nnh," is all I hear, and smacking. I wait for the worst of the shakes to stop before continuing my task. A loud, jarring smack against my ass startles me and his dick jumps out of my hand. I kiss the head, effectively holding it in place, and resecure it between my fingers.

"You're going to come again," Vince mutters, tracing fingers over my clitoris, the hood peeled back and exposing the sensitive flesh.

"Sit still for a minute so I can feel you cum down my throat," I demand, feeling him start again with two fingers exploring my drenched insides.

He slows his hand down but continues to pump, my breath quickening in short fluttering puffs each time he draws his fingers back out. "Too hard, baby?" I hear teasingly behind me. I run my hands down his inner thighs and regroup, which is hard to do with the slow seductive pulse my body makes around his fingers.

My lips are banging off of my hand around his slippery dick now, and I feel the quivers run through the muscles in his thighs as I run my tongue over the head again, and again. And again for good measure.

He rubs his free hand over my ass, fingers tracing the warm seam and reaching around to wrap around my upper right thigh and pull my body back onto his fingers. He's somehow got his tongue flickering over my clit, although it stops when his body goes rigid under me.

A sputter, and then I'm greedily sucking at the head of his dick and massaging the rest with one hand, squeezing and releasing the other at his thigh. I run the flat of my tongue over the erupting hole and barely register a steady stream of cursing behind me.

When his aftershocks start to grow further apart, I rise up, my pussy messily sliding over his now sweaty and streaked t-shirt. "A good Catholic boy with a filthy mouth," I breathe, approvingly. His mouth is shiny, and I run my forearm across my lips, chin and neck, mostly succeeding in smearing the evidence of our orgasms into my shirt and skin.

"Wanna go again?" Vince mumbles, more asleep than awake.

"Sleep, baby," I shush, sliding off of him and nestling in until his arms wrap around me.

...

I wake with his name on my lips. "Vince, baby. Baby. Vincent."

His tongue slides warmly and delicately through the folds gaped open under his fingers, and I ride a gentle crest as my eyes fully open.

"Hmm?" he rumbles, the muscles in his back bumping and sliding together, the morning light slanting off of them.

My pussy spasms around his tongue, which dips into me, noticing the overactivity and exploiting it. I find that I already have a hand sleepily stroking his shoulder, the other still tucked under my pillow.

"How long have you been," I swallow. "H-how- shit."

"You've been moaning and rocking under me for about five minutes, I'd say," he offers, running a hand up and down the sweat and slick along my inner thigh. "I wanted to see something," he explains to me, catching my eyes with a fading smile and an intense look before settling more contentedly between my legs.

I have no idea what he does then, with his fingers and tongue combined, but it makes my body jump under him, my stomach dropping out. I croon and he does it again before I can take another breath. I feel a sob building in my chest.

"Mmhmm," Vince approves, pushing my right leg back towards my side. He has to fight for the position and pins me there, lapping a broad tongue indiscriminately over my core.

"Fuck." Everything starts to tremble underneath him and my leg shakes in his hand. He plunges his tongue into me to feel the chaos inside and carefully strokes his thumb over my clit.

This is too much, his svelte body covering my lower half like a stretching tiger, doing such wonderful things to me. I feel the tightness in my stomach release, and for a moment there is peace, where I see him draw his next breath, feel the fingertips of his hand secure around my thigh. And in the next moment, my body's way of showing gratitude is completely closing my thighs tight around his head and trying to buck us both off the bed.

He makes a sound of surprise and pleasure, his tongue fighting for every bit of space in me, and determinedly keeps his fingers over the bundle of nerves that is firing off without rest. I feel tears soaking into the band of the bonnet that is miraculously still on my head.

"Vince," I gasp, legs cramping. "Let me come down." I don't know if he can hear me, with his ears trapped between my legs. I tap his hand and he breathes, the gust of air against my sensitive flesh almost making me whine.

He lifts up slightly on his elbows, studying me in the morning sun while his fingers absent-mindedly play around my soaked folds. "Why would I do that?"

I draw myself weakly away from his hands and he lets me, my upper body forced to pull me along. Vince looks after me hungrily, his halo from the morning light shining mockingly down at me.

We're both breathing like we've been running, and I watch him stroke the weapon in his hand with purpose.

"I'm going to paint you," he informs me.

I nod and lie back against the pillows, letting my legs fall open and observing as he points his dick over the crux of my body, as warm white lines appear on my lower stomach, splashing across my glistening pussy and thighs.

"Good job, baby," I grin, running my hand through the mess. "Morning sex, huh?"

...