15. Etta
15
ETTA
W hat the what?
Oz just fingered my ass, and I didn’t hate it; I absolutely loved it. How is that even possible? My one and only experience with anal play before today was horrific enough to put me off ever experimenting that way again, so why was this so different?
After he was so sweetly angry about my concerns about anal, I was willing to let him try to show me it could be good, but honestly, I expected to hate it. I expected his touch to be painful and rough, not careful and gentle. Unlike my ex, whose idea of foreplay was grabbing my tits and spending a cursory five minutes trying and failing to find my clit. Oz was patient and caring. He genuinely wants me to like him playing with my ass, and I did.
His fingers inside that part of me doesn’t feel nice per se, but it’s sort of oddly appealing, and the more he stretched me, the more nerve endings he discovered that I had no idea even existed. If he hadn’t started playing with my clit and pushing me over the edge, I think there’s a chance I may have orgasmed just with the ass play.
Oz Malik is not what I expected. It’s ridiculous to think that about the man I married after only really knowing him for five days, but it’s true. He isn’t the child I knew or the man I’d anticipated. He’s so much more, and I have a feeling there’s still so much more to learn about him too.
I want him in a way that’s shocked me. He makes me feel…possessed, like there’s a demon living inside of me that’s burst free from its confines since I got to town. I’m not dead, I have a sex drive, but it’s always been a quiet, reserved voice inside of me that barely whispered loud enough to be heard.
Now, my urges are the loudest, horniest yells, constantly tempting me to throw myself at my husband like a sex-crazed lunatic. But that’s how I feel. Crazed. With my face still buried in my hands, my body is more than sated, but I still want more. I’m honestly not sure I could ever get enough of him and the way he makes me feel.
My monster wants me. He craves me and desires me and needs me in a way I had no idea actually existed outside of books. The last six days don’t feel like real life. Maybe I actually am dreaming, or maybe I’m in a coma; my mind still active while my body sleeps. Maybe this is all just a hallucination. A fever dream, and soon I’ll wake up in my uncomfortable bed in my boring Las Vegas apartment, soaked in sweat with a temperature and no one to take care of me.
That thought makes tears fill my eyes. I don’t want this to be a dream. I want this life. This crazy, unexpected life with this man who says he loves me.
Uncurling one arm from beneath me, I blindly reach for him, and moments later his fingers curl around mine, holding me in this reality I never anticipated but now desperately want to be real.
An hour later, Oz brings in our bags of groceries, refusing once again to let me help. The ice cream we bought is liquid, but most everything else survived the hours we left it in the truck.
His eyes track my movements as I try to help unpack, having to open every cabinet to find where things go.
“Are you up for guests for dinner?” he asks, capturing me around the waist with his huge arm and dragging me into his chest.
“Who?” I ask, pushing up onto my tiptoes so I can kiss him.
“Just Danny and maybe Knight,” he suggests.
“It was Danny I met the night I got to town, wasn’t it?” I ask.
“Yeah, that’s him. He’s probably my closest friend here, and he’s going to be pissed when he hears that Knight and Anders were witnesses at our wedding and not him.”
“Why didn’t you ask him?” I question.
“I love the guy, but he’s got a big mouth and zero filter. I didn’t want him telling everyone we were getting married before you knew,” he says, trying and failing to hide the smile that’s spreading its way across his lips.
His arms tighten, and he lifts me off the floor, kissing me before I can argue with him. I don’t try to resist the pull to melt into him. His arms are too addictive, his huge body too comforting to fight.
His tongue leads the kiss and, I happily follow, relaxing into his dominance in a way I never could have anticipated.
“Fuck that plan, I’m not ready to share you yet,” Oz growls against my throat, his hot breath making my pulse race. “We’ll have lunch with them tomorrow or something, after I’ve gotten my fill of you.”
“Okay,” I agree, much preferring the idea of spending the rest of the day binging on my husband than having to explain to more people that we’re not actually brother and sister. In the back of my mind, I know that sooner or later we’ll have to explain our relationship to our parents, but I hadn’t planned to see them until Christmas at the earliest, so we have time to decide exactly what we’ll tell them.
It takes much longer than it should for us to put all of the groceries away, mainly because we can’t keep our hands off each other long enough to get anything done. By the time everything is put away in the cabinets, my clean panties are soaked, and my body is begging for the release he’s been teasing me with.
“Fuck, Mrs. Malik, you’re addictive,” he pants, tugging the hem of my shirt up so he can lick a path up my tits, biting and scraping his teeth teasingly over my skin.
“I need—” I start, just as there’s a knock at the door.
“The fuck?” Oz snarls, roughly pulling my shirt down, his eyes clearly accessing how ravaged I look before he steps away. “Why don’t you go clean up a bit, Little One? If anyone but me sees you looking all fucking needy, I’m liable to kill them.”
My lips start to pull up into a smirk until I look up into his really fucking serious eyes. A ricochet of delicious fear pulses through me, and I nod, biting my lip as I slip past him and head for the stairs.
“Good girl,” he praises, slapping my ass as I pass.
I can hear the sound of his voice downstairs as I step into his bathroom and see my reflection in the mirror. I look fucking depraved, like a frozen image on a filthy porn clip. My eyes are wide and desperate, my lips are full and pink and swollen like I’ve spent the last thirty minutes sucking his huge cock, not simply kissing. My pink hair is tousled, messy from his hands and my shirt and pants are askew from his obsession with touching me.
I look needy and desperate, and I feel it too. When he told me to come clean up, for a moment I wondered if he just didn’t want to introduce me to whoever was knocking on his door, but now I’m glad that my first impression for whoever is downstairs isn’t me looking like I’m gagging for Oz’s cock.
Lifting my hairbrush from the counter, I drag it through my hair, brushing out the tangles. Running the faucet, I let the water rush over the insides of my wrists, then splash my face, cooling my overheated libido and forcing myself to calm down. Straightening my clothes, I step back and take in my whole reflection again.
After our naked session, Oz hadn’t wanted me to shower, and instead he’d handed me a black cropped boxy hoodie and one of my pairs of sweatpants. It’s not exactly my most sophisticated outfit, but it’s comfy and warm for the cool fall weather here in Montana.
The cropped hoodie isn’t revealing, but it shows a couple of inches of skin that a few years ago I’d have been too self-conscious to show. After I met Octy, she helped me figure out my style, which is comfortable and just a few steps away from conservative. Mom has always shown a little too much skin, in my opinion—not exactly slutty, but more than I ever wanted my mom to display. After she met Bruce, she toned it down a little and became more Suzy Homemaker than Jessica Rabbit, but the years of her flashing tits and ass to please whatever boyfriend she was seeing that week definitely stuck with me.
Octy, being the amazing friend that she is, told me I was too hot to dress like a grandma and too innocent to dress like a slut. Then she took me shopping. Now my meager closet consists of a small wardrobe of a handful of dresses, some jeans with rips in them, and quite a few pairs of sweatpants that I pair with tops that show off my flat stomach.
I’m sure if she’d lived in Vegas for longer, I’d own more clothes, but shopping without her wasn’t anywhere near as fun.
There’s nothing about what I’m wearing that’s provocative, but with the look in my eyes, I feel almost indecent. Once I’ve splashed more water on my face, I tiptoe out of the bedroom and wonder if I should stay up here or brave going downstairs. I can hear voices, so whoever it was must either have come in or they’re still talking on the doorstep.
“Etta, baby, come downstairs,” Oz calls. I’m not sure if he heard me moving or if he just assumed I’d have enough time to not look so well-fucked.
Sucking in a deep breath, I tentatively inch forward to the top of the stairs, wishing I could strut confidently down them without falling to my death or looking like an idiot. Instead, I wrap my fingers around the rail and carefully descend, keeping my gaze on my feet to make sure I don’t fall.
“Little One, you remember Danny?” Oz says, beckoning me forward with a curl of his fingers.
“Oh, er, yes. Hi Danny.”
“Mrs. Malik,” Danny says with a mischievous smirk.
“Who told you?” Oz groans, pulling me into him the moment I’m close enough.
“The question is, why the fuck do Nero, Knight, and Anders know you got married before you even mentioned it to me?” He’s trying to sound nonchalant, but there’s annoyance and a hint of hurt that he can’t quite hide behind his upbeat voice.
“Does it make you feel any better to know that two of those knew about the wedding before I did?” I ask quietly.
Danny’s gaze drops to me, and a soft smile spreads across his thick, plump lips. “Actually, it does. So, you really got married, huh?”
“She’s all mine,” Oz growls, wrapping his hand possessively around the back of my neck.
“Then I guess congratulations are in order,” Danny says.
“Would you like to join us for dinner?” I ask meekly, glancing up at Oz and hoping I haven’t said the wrong thing.
“I’d love that,” Danny says, flashing a smug grin in Oz’s direction before he dips his chin and smiles warmly down at me. “So, Etta, tell me what Oz was like as an angry, brooding teenager,” Danny says, reaching for my hand and tugging me away from Oz’s hold. “Bro, grab us some beers.”
I’m surprised when Oz allows Danny to steer me over to the couch, pulling me to sit down beside him.
“Oh, well, he didn’t like me much,” I admit, heat warming my cheeks.
“So I heard. Did you hate him as much as he hated you?”
Sighing, I struggle to answer. “I’m not sure I’ve ever really hated anyone. But…” I trail off, because what do I say? Do I tell him the truth, that Oz tormented and bullied me, or do I lie and pretend that we were friends? “He wasn’t the nicest person in the world to me,” I finally say, settling on a toned-down version of the truth.
“She’s being nice. I fucking tortured her,” Oz snaps, picking me up from the couch and sitting back down with me in his lap. “She hasn’t told me everything that I did, but from what she has said, I’m the luckiest man in the fucking world that she’s even willing to sit in the same room as me.”
“Bro,” Danny hisses, taking the bottle of beer Oz holds out to him, before he flashes me a sympathetic look. “What did you do?”
“Destroyed her stuff, made her cry, turned all of her friends against her, oh, and caused her to be so scared of flying she’d rather take a twenty-six-hour bus ride than set foot on an airplane.”
“And you still married him?” Danny asks me, his expression half incredulity, half amusement.
“I’d had a couple of cocktails,” I admit with a shrug.
I feel Oz’s laughter before I hear it, and soon Danny joins in, the sound rumbling around the room and filling the half-empty space.
“I think imbibing too many pi?a coladas can be cited as a reasonable cause for an annulment,” Danny says, winking playfully at me.
“Too fucking late for that, she’s mine, wearing my ring, using my name, bred with my kid,” Oz growls, each word terse and angry.
“You’re pregnant? Already?” Danny blurts.
“No,” I say quickly. “I’m not pregnant.”
“I’m working on it,” Oz says, ignoring my denial.
“Well, I better be the first fucking person you tell about the baby, seeing as my invitation to the wedding got lost in the post.”
“Don’t worry, bro, we’ll be having a do-over in the summer, you’ll get a VIP invite to that one.”
“We don’t need to get married again,” I say, making both men pause, then completely ignore me.
“How am I going to be a VIP at a wedding?” Danny asks with a laugh.
“As my best man,” Oz tells him.
“No shit?” Danny questions.
“No shit, who else would I want to stand up with me?” Oz says.
“Well, fuck, I’d be honored, man,” Danny says, looking genuinely touched that Oz would want him to stand up with him at the wedding that we don’t need, and I certainly don’t want.
“Do you want a beer, Little One?” Oz asks, grabbing a bottle from the coffee table and offering it to me.
“Oh, no, thanks.” I shake my head.
“Water or soda?” he asks.
“I can get it,” I suggest.
“Water, or soda?” he asks again, his tone darkening.
“Soda please.”
“Good girl,” he purrs, pressing his lips against my ear and murmuring the words low enough so only I can hear.
Lifting me off his lap, he crosses into the kitchen and comes back with a can of grape soda. Lifting me up again, he settles me back in his lap and hands me the can.
“You took a new job, right?” Danny asks. “That’s why you’re in town?”
“Yeah, I’m going to be doing the social media marketing for Betty Barnett’s tattoo studio.”
“That’s awesome. Have you got any ink?” Danny asks, his eyes raking over me.
Oz’s growl is pure animalistic aggression. I tense, but Danny just laughs.
“Chill out, bro, I’m only asking, not asking to see it.” Rolling his eyes at Oz’s caveman behavior, Danny just keeps on talking. “So, you guys are stepsiblings, that’s kind of fucked up.”
His question is asked so airily, I almost don’t process his words.
“We’re not stepsiblings, and you know that, so don’t be an asshole,” Oz says, sounding more exasperated than annoyed.
“Fine, I’ll stop giving you a hard time. Seriously, though, I’m happy for you guys. It was obvious there was some tension between you the night you got to town, but I’m not sure I’d have guessed it was sexual tension. It’s fucking impressive that it only took five days from you getting off the bus to Oz pinning you down with a ring. I think you might have even beaten the Barnetts’ record for shortest time in wifing up your woman.” Danny’s laugh is deep and low and full of amusement. There’s something about his playful enthusiasm that has me smiling back at him instead of bracing for whatever he’s going to say next.
“Have you got a girlfriend, or…boyfriend?” I ask Danny.
“Oh, hell no, I’m too young to get tied down. I love the ladies, and the ladies love me, I don’t want to disappoint my fans by becoming a one-woman guy,” he says with a panty-melting grin, spreading his arms out wide like he’s showing off his physique. But what a physique it is.
Danny is the kind of beautiful that would normally intimidate the hell out of me. He’s super tall, taller than Oz, who already makes me feel like a dwarf. His whole frame is big, but he’s also seriously cut with a wingspan that makes me almost want to ask for a hug just to see how it feels to be enclosed in his long, thick arms.
Danny clearly spends a lot of time in the gym, but he’s not bulky like a footballer, he’s ripped and toned like a swimmer. I’d never admit it, because I think Oz would lose his mind, but I’d love to see Danny without a shirt on. I bet it’s a sight to behold.
Normally, guys who look like Danny aren’t the prettiest. No shade, but ninety-nine percent of gym bros are trying to compensate for a lack of something elsewhere. Small dick, receding hairline, ugly face. Men honestly think women are as shallow as they are, instead of understanding that good looks are great, but they’re rarely the deciding factor when we meet a guy.
But Danny’s face is as gorgeous as he is physically perfect. His hair is cut kind of short like a grown-out military cut. His face is almost regal, like a marble statue, with high cheekbones, a square jaw, and the kind of eyes that could convince you anything is a good idea.
Oddly, although I think he’s gorgeous, he’s almost intimidatingly beautiful. Considering I barely know the guy, I find myself wondering if he’s ever met anyone who was interested in anything about him beyond the physical.
“So have you told the ’rents yet?” Danny asks, looking from me to Oz.
“What we do is none of their business,” Oz growls angrily.
“Well, yeah, but I mean you have to tell them,” Danny says, furrowing his brow at his friend.
“Why would we?” Oz asks.
“Because they’re our parents,” I whisper.
“Are you still tight with them?” Oz asks, his voice dropping two octaves to a rough rasp.
“I don’t really see them much. I usually visit for a couple of days at Christmas, but I speak to my mom sometimes. We have to tell them eventually.”
“The fuck we don’t, we can tell my grandpa, he’s the only decent family member I’ve got. He’ll fucking love you, Little One, he’ll try to steal you from me the moment he meets you.”
“What about your mom?”
“She’ll lose her shit if she finds out I married Maureen’s kid. I haven’t seen her in years, no point rocking the boat.”
“So you want to keep us getting married a secret?” I ask quietly, twisting around on his lap so I can turn to look at him.
“No, I want everyone important in my life to know. My mom is a recovering alcoholic, and my dad’s an asshole. I don’t have a relationship with either of them, so why would I tell them about us?”
“Your mom’s a recovering alcoholic?” Danny asks, clearly shocked by that information.
“Yep. She hit the booze like the world was going to run out, and she had to drink enough to last her a lifetime as fast as possible when my dad walked out on us. She was drunk or high pretty much all the time until I left for college.”
“Oh my god,” I whimper. “Did Bruce know?”
“You know good ol’ Bruce, he doesn’t see anything he doesn’t want to see. He left, and apart from when they were forced to go to court together, I don’t think they saw each other again more than a handful of times.”
“So, he had no idea your mom was…struggling?” I ask carefully, not wanting to rile him or think too much about who he was back then.
I feel rather than see his shrug. “He had your mom and ten fucking kids two minutes after he walked out. He didn’t look back. Not his problem anymore. Mom lost her shit. She went from being happily married, living in a nice house in a nice neighborhood and working part-time to being divorced, having to move to a shithole apartment in a rough place and working two jobs to make ends meet. After a while, we moved in with my grandpa, and he made sure there was food in the kitchen and that I made it to school every day. He made sure I graduated high school and got into college. He was more of a dad to me than Bruce ever was.”
“No wonder you hated me,” I whisper.
Both Oz and Danny focus their attention on me, and I tense, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.
“The past is the past. We need to focus on the future, and as far as I’m concerned, that doesn’t need to involve my parents or yours.”
“But—”
“Enough,” Oz snaps, silencing me and instantly making my muscles tense.
“I think I’ll make some coffee,” I say meekly, slipping quickly from Oz’s lap and darting into the kitchen, hating that in the face of his anger, my instinct is still to run.
“Etta, Little One,” Oz says, sighing tiredly.
“It’s fine,” I murmur, keeping my hands busy by emptying the coffee machine and topping it back up with fresh grinds.
“No, it’s not. I’m sorry,” Oz says, following me into the kitchen and backing me against the counter, caging me in with his arms.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, my gaze fixed firmly on his chest, not daring to look up any higher, scared to find out what I’ll see in his furious eyes.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks and the tension thickens until I’m fighting the urge to run.
“Stop,” he murmurs against my ear. “I’m not mad at you. Never at you.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“You don’t need to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I overreacted. I speak to Bruce once a week because he causes problems for me if I don’t, but other than that, he isn’t a part of my life, and I like it that way. I refuse to let him or your mom cause problems for us, and if that means we cut them out of our lives completely, then that’s what we’ll do.”
Swallowing thickly, I force down the argument that jumps to my lips. I don’t want to cut my family out of my life. I might not be close to my mom, but I love my siblings, and right now, my mom and Bruce are their gatekeepers. But I also don’t want to argue with Oz, so instead I stay quiet, my gaze firmly fixed on his T-shirt-covered chest.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, hooking his finger under my chin and lifting my lips up to his waiting ones. The kiss is soft and sweet and gentle, all of the things Oz isn’t. It’s a strange mix of apology and control, and even though I try not to, I find myself sinking into his domination.
“Okay?” he asks, pulling his lips away even as he keeps my face looking at him.
I nod, and he stares at me for a moment before he nods back. “Go sit. I’ll make the coffee,” he says, pressing a quick peck to my lips before he turns me around and gestures for me to go and sit back down on the couch with Danny, who has been suspiciously quiet this whole time.
His smile is sympathetic and understanding when I take my seat beside him again. “Have you met the whole Barnett clan yet?” he asks, thankfully changing the subject.
“Yeah, Betty invited me for dinner a couple of nights ago. There’s…a lot of them,” I say diplomatically.
“Seven families living under one roof, it’s insane that they don’t all want to kill each other. I can barely stand seeing my brothers on the holidays.”
“How many brothers do you have?”
“Two. I’m the baby and the favorite,” he says, smiling proudly.
A soft giggle falls from my lips just as Oz scoops me off the couch and sits back down in my seat, positioning me in his lap. “Here’s your coffee, baby,” he says, handing me a steaming mug. “Have we decided what we’re eating? We can get Chinese delivered, but anything else we’ll have to pick up, or we can drive into town and eat at a restaurant.”
“I’m easy, I’ll eat anything, you know me,” Danny says, relaxing back into the couch and spreading his long legs out ahead of him.
“Do you eat Chinese?” Oz asks, holding me tightly around the waist like he’s worried I’m going to try to run from him.
“I like Chinese,” I say with a shrug.
“Danny, go grab the menu,” Oz orders, pressing a soft kiss against the side of my neck.
Jumping up, Danny hops over the back of the couch instead of walking around, throwing himself back into his seat a moment later with a crumpled menu in his hand.
“Here,” he says, handing it to me. “The kung pao beef is fucking delicious.”
“She’s a vegetarian,” Oz tells him.
“Urgh, god, why? All the good foods are meat.”
“Shut up.” Oz laughs, reaching over and slapping Danny on the back of the head.
The rest of the evening is easy, Danny is great company, and Oz relaxes the moment that I do. We eat great Chinese food and watch a show about military police catching killers, and it’s oddly simple and normal.
When I yawn a fifth time, Oz glares at Danny pointedly. “I should get going, I promised Parker I’d beat her ass at Call of Duty tonight anyway.”
“Who’s Parker?” Oz asks, his tone curious.
“We went to high school together, she was a few years younger than me. I guess I knew her sister better than her, but Parker’s cool, we game together sometimes.”
I don’t know Danny, but even to me, it sounds like he’s trying to downplay this girl’s importance to him.
“She coming to visit any time soon?” Oz asks.
“Nah, man, she’s back home in Vermont. I doubt she’ll be finding her way to Montana anytime soon.”
“Night, bro,” Oz says, lifting me off his lap and trailing Danny to the door.
“Nice to meet you properly, Danny.”
“You too, Etta,” he says, waving as he steps outside and walks toward his house next door.
“Come here, Mrs. Malik,” Oz beckons the moment he’s closed and locked the door behind him.
My skin immediately starts to prickle as awareness washes over me. It’s only been hours since the last time we had sex, but my body is perking up like it’s been years since I felt him inside of me.
“Etta,” Oz calls again, his eyes hooded and dark, like something inside of him that he’s kept restrained for the last few hours has finally been released.
Rising to my feet, I glide over to him without thought, finding myself standing toe to toe with my husband, my chin tipped back so I can look up at him.
“Fuck, I’m the luckiest man alive,” he whispers, cupping my cheek with his palm, then lowering his hand until it’s wrapped around my throat, his thumb rubbing circles over my pulse.
Bending down, he lifts me off the floor, encouraging me to wrap my legs around him. His lips find mine, and he kisses me like it’s the first time he’s had the chance. The kiss is drugging, and I allow myself to sink into his control, letting him move me where he wants me while I just enjoy the kiss.
We’re both breathing heavy when he pulls back and slowly lowers me to the floor. “Don’t move,” he orders, stepping away from me to quickly lock up the back door and turn out the lights.
“Good girl,” he praises when he comes back to me. Picking me up again, his hand palms my ass possessively as he carries me up the stairs, heading for his bedroom.
Neither of us speaks as he places me back on the floor beside the bed and starts to undress me. Peeling my hoodie up and over my head, he presses hot kisses to my nipples through my bra and a soft peck against my stomach before he sinks to his knees and starts to peel my sweat pants down my legs.
Even though I know this is a prelude to sex, the way he’s tending to me makes a warmth heat in my belly. I like the way he takes care of me, even if it’s just the way he undresses me so he can fuck me. In the past, the closest I’ve ever gotten to a man undressing me like I’m a gift was in my imagination. My exes were more “shall we have sex tonight?” guys than men who could seduce me without saying a word.
“I’m going to lick this wet little cunt until you come all over my face, then I’m going to finger your ass until you come all over my hand, then I’m going to fuck you slow and deep and pump you full of my cum.”
A shudder ricochets through me, and a groan bursts from my mouth.
“Oh, Little One, you want that, don’t you? You need me, don’t you?”
I nod, but he doesn’t move, he just looks up at me from the floor at my feet. He may be in a submissive position right now, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s very much in charge.
“Words, Etta. I want to hear you say it.”
“I want it,” I whimper, squeezing my thighs together to try to stem the heat that’s bloomed between my legs.
Slipping my panties off, he stares up at me, his gaze heated and shrewd. Then he smirks. “Spread your legs nice and wide for me. Show me my perfect little pussy.”
My body acts like he’s the one controlling my limbs, and my feet shuffle apart, giving him an exposed view of my damp folds.
“So wet and pretty,” he coos absentmindedly. “This hair is sexy, but I think I might shave you, so there’s nothing impeding my view. I want to be able to see just how wet you are, and this little tuft of hair is stopping me,” he says, running his fingers between my legs and tugging at my short landing strip of public hair.
“You can’t shave me,” I protest weakly.
“Yes, I can. This pussy is for my eyes and my lips and my touch only. So you’ll do what I say because I’ll be the only one that knows that you’re smooth and ready for me.
“Oz,” I gasp as he parts my lips and brushes his finger over my swollen and sensitive clit.
“With this hair gone, I’d be able to see your greedy little clit better.” He slips his finger to the side, then back over my clit, teasing me with his touch, then taking it away. “I’d be able to lick it and suck it and watch it swell with need.”
Leaning forward, he swipes his tongue over the engorged bundle of nerves, and I groan loudly and desperately as I sway forward, following his mouth when he leans back away from my body.
“Please,” I beg, pleading with my eyes as I look down at him.
“I love it when you ask so prettily,” he taunts, burying his face into my folds and latching onto my clit with his lips, sucking so hard my legs buckle. He catches me before I fall, holding me upright. When he abandons my clit, I cry out my frustration, but instead of relenting, he smirks up at me instead.
“Fine, I’ll shave. I don’t care, just please make me come,” I cry.
I feel his laughter vibrate against my mound as he carefully ensures my legs are steady before he parts my folds with his fingers, then buries his face into my sex again and eats me with a vigor that shocks me. He told me he planned to lick me until I came all over his face, but he never mentioned that he intended to finger fuck my pussy at the same time. I’m incoherent, and my fingers are ripping his hair from his head as I come not once but twice, soaking his face and coating him in my release.
Smiling triumphantly, he scoops me off the floor and dumps me on the bed, flipping me to my stomach before he delivers on the rest of his promise. He fingers my ass until I lose my mind and scream into the comforter, then fucks me until I’m begging him to fill me with his cum and breed me.
By the time my eyes fall shut, I’m sticky, exhausted, and happier than I can ever remember being.