Chapter 11 #3
I should’ve worn something else. Something lace. Something black. Anything that said I knew what the fuck I was doing. Not this—plain white cotton. The kind you buy in a multipack. The kind that makes you feel twelve. Functional. Safe. The kind no one dreams about.
Panic prickles in the back of my throat.
This is where it ends. This is where he realizes the truth: I’m not the girl he thinks I am. I’m not sexy, dangerous, or mysterious. I’m boring. I play it safe. Even my damn underwear screams it.
But—
He looks.
And not with disappointment. Not even curiosity.
He looks at the plain white bra as if it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, like it’s lace or silk. It’s as if what’s underneath is a gift he longs to worship.
His eyes drop to it, and something flashes across his face—dark, hungry, reverent.
My breath catches because, even though it’s simple and nothing special, he looks at me like I’m the most beautiful thing in the world.
He unclips the bra with one hand, smooth and confident, as if he’s done this a thousand times before.
Which I am sure he has. I lift slightly, heart pounding, as he pulls it from my body and tosses it somewhere across the room.
I don’t see where it lands because I’m too busy staring at the ceiling, trying to swallow the sudden rush of humiliation crawling up my spine.
My cheeks burn.
I know what he sees.
Flat chest. Small breasts. The body you hope he doesn’t notice, or worse—pretends to like out of politeness. I’ve hated it forever—the way clothes hang, the way bras gape, the way I never fill out the space I’m supposed to.
I want to push him away. I want to pull the blanket over my chest and mutter some excuse about needing to stop. My hands twitch at the thought.
But before I can move, his mouth is on me.
He closes his lips around my nipple, and the sound that tears out of me is helpless. Humiliating in how desperate it is. A strangled gasp that betrays everything I was trying to hide.
He groans softly in response, a husky rumble that echoes against my skin.
“I had a feeling you’d like that,” he says, his voice rough enough to send shivers down my spine.
Next, his tongue flicks over the peak again, repeating the motion as if he wants to study every reaction he draws from me. The suction intensifies, with long, deep pulls that drag heat straight to my core.
And when his free hand moves to my other breast, cupping it gently—his palm rough against the sensitive skin—I almost whimper. It’s too much and not enough. His touch brands me. His mouth owns me. My brain is scrambling, and my body is gone.
I should be thinking. But everything I experience is his mouth, his hand, his breath against my skin, and the sick, undeniable truth that no one has ever made me feel this wanted.
Not until him. Not like this.
His growl cuts through me, a deep, animalistic sound that races straight between my legs. Heat floods my lower belly. I squirm beneath him, gasping when his mouth moves to my other nipple, sucking hard until he pulls away with an obscene, wet pop that leaves me trembling.
His lips trail down the center of my body, open-mouthed kisses pressed into every inch of skin from my ribs to my stomach. It’s slow and possessive, as if he’s tasting what already belongs to him.
When he reaches the waistband of my tights, he pauses long enough to make me ache. Before his fingers hook into the sides and tug, dragging them down my legs with deliberate care. The fabric sticks to my thighs, and he lets out a breath as he peels them off.
“Christ,” he mutters, his voice frayed. “These have been driving me crazy.”
He tosses them, along with my shoes, onto the floor without looking. His mouth drops to my hipbone. His teeth graze across my lower stomach, and I jolt, thighs tightening.
“I can smell how bad you want me.”
Oh. My. God.
I want the floor to swallow me whole. The embarrassment burns through me until his tongue slips along the waistband of my panties and his breath hits my skin like fire.
“I can’t wait to taste it,” he rasps.
My hands grip the sheets. My whole body feels like it’s on fire. His voice carries that kind of tone that makes promises no one’s ever kept, except him.
Reece is going to kill me tonight.
And I’m going to beg for it.
Hooking his fingers into the sides of my panties, he begins to ease them down. Slow, teasing, as if he’s unwrapping something far more interesting than the plain, slightly too-worn cotton panties currently ruining my life.
I regret everything.
I wish I’d worn the black lace ones buried in the back of my drawer.
The ones I save for days I think I might be hot.
Not these. Not the boring white pair that screams responsible and washes her delicates with the gentle cycle.
Nothing about them says, “fuck me senseless”.
They say “Target, three for twenty,” but right now he doesn’t seem to notice or even care.
He groans as he lowers his head, pressing his face firmly against the damp cotton. My breath catches in my throat as he inhales, as if it’s the most wonderful smell he’s ever encountered.
I cry out, my body jolting from the sudden intensity of it.
Panic grips my chest. My legs lock up. My hands jerk. I’ve never been touched like this before. Never had someone’s mouth so close. And now, with his face buried between my thighs, all I can think about is how the hell I’m supposed to respond.
Do I moan?
Stay silent?
Say something?
What if I do it wrong?
I wish I were one of those girls—the ones who know how to arch their backs, tug at hair, and whisper dirty encouragements with perfect timing. The confident bitches in the steamy college books I read. But I’m not them.
I’m the girl who wears basic underwear and overthinks her breathing patterns while a guy goes down on her.
Still, when he finally pulls my panties off and throws them on the floor, he doesn’t hesitate. His eyes darken as they move down, locking onto my pussy as if it’s the last meal he’ll ever get.
“Jesus,” he mutters, voice gritty, a crooked grin playing on his lips. “Look at you.” His gaze drags up, and I swear he actually looks awed. “Fucking perfect.”
I blink. “Perfect? In my grandma panties?”
His grin widens. “Especially in those. Makes unwrapping you even better.”
Oh my God!
Reece is insane.
I have so many flaws. Too many.
He’s just being nice. That’s all it is—a way to use sweet words to get what he wants.
His eyes follow every inch of skin as if I’m the most flawless thing he’s ever seen. And it messes with my head.
My chest rises, my ribs expand too much, and the defenses I built brick by brick begin to crack.
His finger trails down the center of me. Featherlight over my slit.
“Open for me.”
Tiny shivers run across my stomach. My legs shift. I hold my breath. I should say something, stop this from going any further. But I want to see what he’ll do.
I spread my legs.
Barely.
His eyes darken.
“Wider. Show me everything.”
Heat prickles across my skin as I obey, lifting my knees up and apart, fully exposing myself to him. Every inch of me bare and trembling.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. The words fall over my skin soft as velvet. Then, his eyes flick to mine.
“If you want me to stop, you tell me. You say it. Do you hear me, Sam?”
I nod, but it’s still not enough.
He leans in closer. His breath brushes against my inner thigh.
“Say it.”
My voice barely gets past my throat.
“I’ll tell you.”
His eyes never leave mine as he lowers his mouth.
And I forget how to fucking breathe.
He shoots me a look that’s completely predatory, the kind that says I won’t escape unscathed. His lips brush the inside of my thigh, as if tasting the anticipation bleeding out of me.
“Has anyone ever kissed you here before?” he asks, breath hot against my skin.
I should respond, but my brain short-circuits. All language vanishes. There’s only heat, pressure, and the way his mouth hovers so close it makes me twitch.
I shake my head.
That’s all I can give him.
His lips curl into a wicked smile. “I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard.”
That’s the only warning I get before his mouth is on me.
My body jerks. My hands shoot to the blanket, clutching it as if I might fall through the mattress at any moment. I twist beneath him, unable to stay still, my mind scrambled from the first swipe of his tongue.
He licks me slowly at first, just enough to tease and make me ache, before he sucks—firm and hungry. My hips buck against his face.
He groans into me. The sound vibrates through my core as it sends another wave of heat crashing down my spine. My thighs tremble. My head drops back. I make a noise I’ve never made before in my life.
His tongue flicks over my clit quickly and precisely, then slows into a long, dragging circle that leaves me gasping. He knows exactly what he’s doing—and worse, he understands the effect it has on me.
Greedy sounds burst from him as he pulls me into his mouth, each wet stroke ending with a filthy flick of his tongue across my clit. He groans against me, as if he’s the one falling apart.
I arch into the sensation, my spine bowing off the mattress. He’s relentless. Unforgiving. His mouth works me until I belong to him completely.
And damn, maybe I am his.
If this is what it feels like... if this is what those girls experience when they crawl into his lap and moan his name in the hallway, no wonder they keep coming back. No wonder they can’t help themselves. Greedy little whores. And now I understand.
He teases me cruelly, repeatedly pushing me to the edge only to pull back just before I fall. My breath comes in ragged bursts. My fingers clutch the blanket tightly, and my thighs tremble, but I still can’t stop myself from chasing it.
Then his grip tightens.
Fingers digging into my thighs, he pulls me closer, his mouth covering my clit. His tongue circles, then sucks—long, slow pulls that leave me gasping.
Instinct takes control. My hand moves, pressing on his head, holding him in place, craving the pressure. The sound that escapes me is part moan, part desperate plea.
“Fuck yeah,” he growls, pulling my clit into his mouth again. He suckles hard, the sound obscene, wet and so fucking perfect. “Keep making those sounds for me.”
And I do.
I can’t stop.
Every time I do, his tongue dips deeper, licking through my folds. My hips move into his face, chasing every flick, pulse, and rush of heat.
Then... fuck... he adds a finger into the mix.
It slides in smoothly, his mouth still locked on my clit, his finger pumping in sync with the rhythm of his tongue. I cry out, legs jerking, everything inside me clenched tight.
It’s both too much and not enough. I need more of everything.
A garbled noise escapes from my throat as he slips in a second finger, curling them inside me. He withdraws them, then pushes back in, filling me completely. The pressure, the stretch, the way his mouth keeps working—it’s all too good. I can’t think. I can barely breathe.
I buck against him, frantic. “Reece—” My voice breaks. “Oh my God.” I twist my fingers in his hair, pulling hard as a wave of pleasure slams through me. “I’m…gonna—”
He doesn’t let up. He shifts, kissing my pussy the way he kissed my mouth earlier. I whimper as he builds it again, and somehow it’s worse this time. Better. More intense. Each pass of his tongue wrings more sound out of me.
I’m panting, writhing, fisting his hair as my thighs shake.
“Fuck, Reece… I’m so close.”
“I know you are.” His voice is a dark, smug rasp. A slow, wicked smile pulls at the corners of his glistening mouth.
He gives me one long, lazy lick.
“Eyes on me.”
Wet sounds fill the room as he settles into a rhythm that makes my head spin.
His mouth works me with relentless precision, tongue dragging, sucking, circling, never letting up.
I lift my head enough to watch him, and, fuck, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
His face between my thighs. Mouth glistening.
His focus locked on me as if nothing else exists.
“Reece,” I gasp, my voice thin and broken.
Oh God, please.
I’m right there, so close it feels almost dangerous. My body is humming, buzzing, stretched tight with need, and if he doesn’t let me come soon, I swear I might actually combust.
Something dark flashes in his eyes. He sucks my swollen clit harder, unapologetic, and then pushes another finger inside me, curling them just right. The pressure hits so deep I cry out, my whole body jolting.
I grind against his jaw, desperate, chasing the knot of pleasure he’s built inside me as it coils tighter and tighter. There’s nothing careful left in me now. No good girl. No restraint. Simply this version of me that wants to come so badly it borders on feral.
I don’t care how it happens.
I don’t care how loud I am.
All I want is to fall apart, to give in, and to see just how far Reece Wilson can push me.
It feels so fucking good.
Sounds tear from me, my thighs trembling uncontrollably as his fingers and tongue hit spots that turn me inside out. I can’t stay still. I can’t think past the heat surging through me.
A sharp cry slices through the air.
God, I’m so loud.
But I can’t stop it. I don’t even try. I’m beyond caring, beyond shame, beyond everything except the way my body is chasing release with reckless determination. I grind against his mouth shamelessly, using him, riding the pressure, until the tension snaps.
I explode.
Pleasure crashes over me like a violent wave, overwhelming and intense, as my back arches and the orgasm rips through my body. I seize up. My voice breaks. Everything turns white as I fall apart on his face, helpless and trembling, completely undone.
And even as it tears through me, one thought cuts through the chaos.
I am never going to be the same after this.