Caroline #2
Then he closes his lips around my clit and stays there, vacuum-sucking as little skitters of sensation go pouring and dancing throughout my body. I get a fist in his hair, because the forearm isn't enough to ground me. I need more of him, his strength, his solidity.
But no matter how hard I buck, he doesn't stop.
He's too experienced for that. Without stopping his hungry licking, he pushes one finger into me, then a second.
He curls them up against the front wall, right on my G-spot, while his mouth keeps working.
My hips grind against his arm and he holds me flat so he can continue to devour me.
It's no surprise that I cum fast. I bite down on my own hand to keep quiet; after all, we don't know who's out in the woods or how close they may be. My whole body shakes through it. He keeps his mouth on me until it's too much and I push at his head, desperate for a moment to breathe.
He rises up. His beard is wet. I did that, I think to myself with satisfaction. Or did he do that to me? He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he kisses me again, salty and starving.
I reach for his jeans. Unlike last time, he lets me. I get the button undone and the zipper down, then he helps me push them off along with everything under them.
When his cock springs out, it's hard and hot in my palm. I stroke him slow, savoring the velvety feel of him. Every twitching spasm makes me greedier for more. Will he fall apart for me? I want so badly to find out.
His breath catches. So I do it again, with two hands this time, watching his face. His eyes close. His hips push into my fingers.
"Caroline, I'm warning you…"
"Yeah?"
"If you keep doing that—"
"Then don't make me wait anymore."
He moves over me. He settles his weight on me, careful of his hip even now, one elbow braced beside my head. He reaches down between us and lines himself up. I feel him there, blunt and ready, and I tense up for only a moment before the fear passes.
"Yes," I moan. "Yes."
He pushes in. Slow. He stops halfway and lets me adjust. Then he goes the rest of the way. I wrap my legs around him. I feel all of him.
He stays still for a second. His forehead drops to mine. His arms shake against the blanket.
"Look at me," he says.
He starts to grind. Slow at first, drawing almost all the way out, then pushing back in. He keeps the pace even. His hand slides under my lower back and tilts my hips up. The angle changes and I gasp.
He moves faster. I dig my fingers into his shoulders.
His skin is slick now even in the cold. The blanket bunches under us.
I nip at his throat, right under the star.
He makes a surprised sound deep in his chest and his rhythm breaks for a second, then comes back harder, pistoning into me, splitting me open deliciously.
His hand floats up to my jaw and he tips my face so I'm looking at him again. He won't let me look away. He just keeps fucking and fucking, hardening in me as I tighten around him, both of us spiraling towards mountain peaks of our own.
I feel another orgasm building in me. "You're going to make me cum again," I moan to him. He growls with savage pleasure, then shifts his weight so he can slide a hand between us and finds my aching clit with his thumb. He works it in time with his hips.
"Then do it," he says. "I want to see your face when you crumble for me."
Well, that's about as good as filthy talk gets, I think. I thought cumming with his mouth on my center was the best experience of my life, but I was wrong.
This is.
I cum around his rock-solid length, clenching and spasming, my whole body pulling tight and then letting go again and again. He keeps moving through it, never stopping.
At least, not until I start begging for him to. "Cum in me," I plead. "Please, please, Afon…"
A few more strokes and he goes rigid above me. He buries his face in my neck. I feel him finish, his breath hot against my skin, his arms locked around me.
Eventually, we both flop to the ground, sweating despite the chill in the air.
I lie there listening to Afon's heart slow under my ear.
His hand strokes up and down my spine, slow, like he can't quite believe I'm real and needs to check as often as possible.
I find his other hand in the dark, the left one, and slide my fingers between his.
The ring is still there. I feel it against my skin, cold metal between our palms.
"You didn't take it off," I say. I don't mean it as an accusation. I'm too wrung out for accusations. It's just a true thing, said quietly into his chest.
He's silent a moment. Then: "No."
"Are you ever going to?"
His thumb finds the band, turns it once, that old reflex. But then he stops. He brings our joined hands up and presses his mouth to my knuckles, and when he speaks his voice is rough with emotion but absolutely sure of what it's saying.
"Someday," he says. "Once I tell you the rest. When you know everything and you're still here. Not because I'm leaving her in the past, but because I'm letting you into it."
His arms tighten around me. The night is cold, but the fire is warm, and the man holding me close burns hot enough to keep away the shadows.