Chapter 5 Ollie #2
I feast on her, rotating between sucking her clit into my mouth, fucking her with my tongue, and drinking every desperate sound she makes.
I can’t stop. Not until her thighs are trembling around my ears. I can feel her getting closer, the way her muscles tense and her breath comes in sharp, desperate gasps. I don’t let up. I can’t. I need to feel her fall apart on my tongue.
I slide two fingers inside her, curling them until I find the spot that makes her scream.
My tongue flicks her clit in time with my fingers. Her back arches off the old wood, a strangled cry tearing from her throat.
“Right there! Oh, fuck, Ollie, right there!”
I don’t let up. I press my tongue hard against her clit as my fingers pump deep, curling and uncurling inside her with a wet, rhythmic sound that’s music to my ears. My mouth is everywhere—sucking her lips, lapping at her entrance, biting the inside of her thigh when she bucks too wildly.
“Yes!” she sobs, her hands scrambling against the wood, nails scraping for purchase. “More, please!”
“Since you asked so nicely,” I tease, adding a third finger. The stretch makes her gasp, her inner muscles fluttering wildly around the intrusion.
I fuck her with deep, steady strokes, my knuckles pressing against her each time I sink in. My own need is a frantic, throbbing pulse between my legs, my jeans soaked and uncomfortable, but I ignore it. This is about her. About wrecking her completely.
“Look at me,” I command, not stopping my rhythm.
Her orgasm crashes through her violently. A scream, sharp and ragged, rips from her chest as her body seizes. Her thighs clamp around my head, her heels digging into my back as she rides the waves. She’s so fucking tight, her pussy fluttering in frantic, overwhelmed pulses.
I keep fucking her through it, prolonging it, drinking every cry and whimper until she’s limp and shuddering, pushing weakly at my head.
I slowly withdraw my fingers, bringing them to my mouth and sucking them clean, never breaking eye contact. Her taste is addictive. I stand, my knees protesting, and lean over her, bracing my hands on the table on either side of her head.
She looks utterly ruined. Sweat dampens her hairline, her lips are swollen, and a flush paints her chest. Her eyes are dark pools of satisfied haze.
“Hi,” I whisper, a smirk pulling at my mouth.
A slow, dazed smile spreads across her face. “Hi.”
Her hands are on my belt, fumbling with the buckle. Her movements are clumsy but determined. “My turn,” she says, her voice husky and raw. “I want to feel you. All of you.”
The button of my jeans pops open. The zipper rasp is loud in the quiet room. Her fingertips slide beneath the waistband of my panties, and I stop breathing, waiting for the moment her fingers touch my pussy for the first time.
A distant sound cuts through the haze—the distinct crunch of gravel under tires out on the drive.
We both freeze.
The color drains from Kat’s face. “He’s not… he can’t be back. Has it already been thirty minutes?”
The engine dies.
A car door slams.
Kat jumps up from the table, and like a coward, I fall to my knees. She turns just in time for Vince to walk in the backdoor on the opposite side of the room.
His footsteps are heavy, approaching. I am frozen on the floor, a deer in the kill zone, hidden from view by the table but utterly exposed if he takes three more steps into the room.
Kat’s hand flies to her hair, a futile attempt to smooth the wild curls.
She turns her back to the archway, her body blocking me, and I see her knuckles are white where she grips the table’s edge.
“You’re back fast,” she says, her voice miraculously steady, only a slight tremor beneath the surface.
“Yeah, traffic was clear,” he says, his tone distracted. He sets the bags on the counter with a rustle. “You okay? You look…flushed.”
“Just cleaning up,” Kat says too quickly, grabbing a tipped-over mug from the table.
I am trembling on the floor behind her, hidden by the fall of her shirt and the shadow of the table. The smell of her is all over my face, a sweet, musky perfume.
The danger is intoxicating. My eyes fix on the backs of Kat’s thighs, still visible beneath the hem of her shirt.
Silent as a snake, I shift forward on my knees.
My hands find her ankles, then slide up the smooth skin of her calves.
She jolts, a tiny, suppressed gasp catching in her throat.
Vince hums to himself, putting milk in the fridge.
My fingers slip higher, under the rumpled shirt, over the back of her knees, to the scorching heat of her inner thighs. She is still dripping wet.
I nuzzle my face against the back of her right thigh, inhaling her scent deeply.
Her whole body goes rigid. One of her hands drops from the table and finds the top of my head, not pushing me away, but gripping, her fingers tangling in my hair. A silent command: more.
“Let me grab the other bags from the car, and I’ll give you a hand,” Vince says, his footsteps receding toward the door.
The moment the door clicks shut. Kat whirls around, her eyes blazing with a feral mixture of panic and lust. She doesn’t speak. Her hands are under my arms, hauling me to my feet with a strength that surprises me, then shoving me backward.
She yanks open the pantry door and pushes me inside, into the deep, narrow dark.
“You are insane,” she hisses, her mouth crashing against mine in a furious, tasting kiss. It’s all teeth and desperation.
She shoves my shorts and panties down to my knees in one rough pull. The cool air of the pantry kisses my wet skin, making me gasp.
“He’s coming right back,” I pant against her lips.
“I know.” Her cold fingers trace my hip bone. “So be quiet.”
Kat’s hand clamps over my mouth as her fingers slide onto my pussy, finding my clit, and I arch off the wall with a choked groan.
“Oh my god! Ollie!” She moans with shock. I don’t need to ask to know exactly what she means.
I can hear Vince just outside the thin wood, his footsteps a heavy, casual rhythm on the kitchen linoleum. The crinkle of a grocery bag, the thud of a cabinet closing. So fucking normal.
“Shhh,” she soothes, but there’s no soothing in it. It’s a threat. A promise. “Soaked,” she murmurs, her lips moving against the shell of my ear. “Dripping for me while my boyfriend is ten feet away. You’re such a fucking slut for me, aren’t you?”
I am. I nod into her hand, my eyes squeezed shut, every nerve tuned to the three sources of torture: Vince’s oblivious puttering, Kat’s fingers circling my clit with a slow, unbearable precision, and the shock of how filthy her mouth can be.
She pushes two fingers into me without warning. I convulse around them, a choked scream trapped behind her palm. My head thuds back against a sack of flour.
“Easy,” she coos, her fingers curling, searching. “You want to be good, don’t you? You want to be my good girl and come on my hand without making a fucking peep.”
Her words are a vice around my heart, squeezing in time with her thrusts. The truth of them, filthy and undeniable, makes my cunt clench tighter around her.
“Does that feel good?” She murmurs against my neck, her lips kissing a trail up my jaw.
I nod, spreading my legs wider to give Kat complete access.
“Are you going to cum for me, Ollie?” Kat whispers, and it’s just about all I need to push me over the edge.
My orgasm detonates. It is a silent, violent rupture that tears through the center of me. My body bows, strained tight as a wire, every muscle locked in a paralyzing spasm. My cunt pulses around her invading fingers in frantic, fluttering waves, spilling my wetness over her hand.
She holds me through it, her hand a brutal gag, her fingers working me until the shocks become twitches, until the pleasure borders on pain. I go limp against the shelves, boneless and spent, held up only by her body pinning me.
Slowly, she withdraws her fingers, leaving me boneless and empty.
“Good girl,” she whispers, her voice raw with her own arousal. “I can’t wait to taste you for real. This will have to do for now.”
Kat’s wet fingers, glistening with me, rise to her mouth, her emerald eyes locked on mine in the pantry’s gloom. Her lips close around them with a soft, deliberate suck, a raw groan vibrating in her throat as she tastes my climax.
“You are fucking incredible,” I whisper, my voice frayed and thin.
The taste of me is still on her tongue when she kisses me, a dark and possessive claim.
Neither of us speaks for a moment; we just breathe into the hush, letting the world shrink to the warmth between us.
My heart stutters, still chasing the aftershocks, and Kat’s gaze is heavy, possessive, as if she’s memorizing every detail of my undone state.
When she’s had her fill, she slides her hands down and helps pull my shorts up, her hands lingering, smoothing the fabric over my trembling thighs. Her forehead rests against mine, our breathing the only sound in the warm, flour-dusted dark.
“We should—” she begins, but the sharp, digital blare of her ringtone slices through the silence.
Kat’s entire body flinches like she’s been slapped.
“Shit,” she breathes, the word pure panic. Her eyes go wide, darting toward the sliver of light under the door.
“Let it go to voicemail,” I whisper, my voice still ragged, my fingers running up and down the soft skin of her hips.
“I can’t.” She pulls away, and the cold air rushes in where her body was. “It’s my mom. If I don’t answer, she’ll keep calling until I do.”
She’s already adjusting her shirt, her movements frantic.
She opens the pantry door, a blade of kitchen light cutting across my face. She turns to me as she slips out of the small room, her bottom lip sucked between her teeth.
I lean my head back against a shelf, the wood digging into my scalp. My legs feel useless, my thoughts scattered.
I take a minute, just one, to let my heart slow from its frantic hammering.
I straighten my clothes and run my hands through my tangled hair.
When I finally turn to leave, Vince is standing in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame, a knowing smile on his face.
“Hey,” I say nervously.
His smile widens as he steps toward me. “I can smell her pussy on you,” he says, leaning into my ear. “It’s very distracting.”
My tongue darts out over my lip as if I could lick away her scent from my face. He watches the motion, his dark eyes tracking the path of my tongue with an intensity that pins me to the spot.
His hand rises, and he runs his thumb along the curve of my bottom lip, a touch so deliberate it sends a message. He pulls back, holds my gaze, and slowly sucks the spit from his skin.
He winks.
Then he turns and leaves the pantry, the hinges giving a soft sigh behind him. I stare at the empty space where he stood, my lip burning where his finger had been.
I didn’t expect Vince to be mad, considering he set up this booty call himself, but I also didn’t expect him to be so…nonchalant about it.
He tasted her on me like he knew she would be there.
That’s somehow more terrifying than if he were upset that he was right.