167. It Begins
167
It Begins
V alor
After placing my palms under her arms, I skim down her body, catch her skimpy panties with my thumbs and then pull them to her ankles. She’s too blissed out by Braveheart’s attentions to her breasts—his mouth on one, his fingers plucking the other—to notice when I lift first one of her feet and then the other, then toss the panties aside.
I’ve kept my animal needs and desires in check since the moment I met her. At first, it was aided by the damnable device the Feds inserted between my shoulder blades. Later, it was through sheer force of will.
Something cracks open inside me, like a thick metal wall being struck by lightning. All my control seeps out of me.
Yanking her legs apart, the three of us still on the thick carpet at the foot of the bed, I slide my face into her pussy and coat my nose with her cream.
My words and all ability for higher thought escape me.
Want, want, want , I think, not certain whether my mates can hear me or not. It doesn’t matter. My body is making a clear statement.
I’m in heaven, drenched in her scent. It’s not enough on the bridge of my nose. I want to be covered in it before I slide into her. I snuffle against her, nuzzling my cheeks against her until they’re painted with her juices and I’m shrouded in her personal perfume.
Now that I’m wearing her cream like warpaint, I slide my tongue into her channel. I’m taking her, claiming her, tunneling as deep as I can reach. It’s animalistic and primitive and although I’ve been consumed with her pleasure up until now and will be again later, this is not about her pleasure.
I’m planting a flag, marking my territory, proclaiming my ownership.
“Oh!” she gasps.
Perhaps this is about her pleasure, too.
When I’ve ravaged her interior walls as far as my facile tongue can reach, I withdraw and slowly lick from her entrance to her clit, making sure to capture all the cream in her channel on my slow journey.
“Valor!”
My tongue finds it unerringly. Her pink pearl. The center of her pleasure.
I suck it between my lips. Giving her a taste of what’s to come. Just a hint. Little sucks, a flick with the tip of my tongue, then a soft, smacking suck again.
I’ve barely begun, yet she’s squirming, widening her stance, thrusting her pelvis at me in a silent demand for more.
I capture her thighs, tucking them against my biceps as my hands circle behind her. One of my fingers sneaks between her legs from the back, snags a dollop of her cream, and then slicks it against her tight back hole.
“Valor!” Her voice is filled with pleasure and… surprise, but no censure.
I lick inside her channel once more, unable to control my urge to taste her again, then I attack her little bud like I’m on a mission—which is to give her her first release of the night.
I suck and flick and nip while my finger circles the little rosebud of her ass. She’s close. Her hips are no longer nudging forward in delicate requests for more pressure. No. Her fingers are digging into the flesh of my skull as she presses me harder against her.
After opening her stance even wider, I slide my other hand in from behind and slip into her dripping channel. She hisses and bucks. This isn’t her release, but she’s close.
I’m swimming in sex. Every sense is full to the brim with what we’re doing. Her moans, the smacking sounds Braveheart makes as he suckles at her breasts, the wet sounds of my lips pulling at her little pleasure button, my finger pounding into her wet channel and circling her other hole.
Her fingers dig harder and somewhere in her lust-induced haze, she must realize she might be hurting me because she moves her grip to my shoulders as her nails bite into my flesh when she comes.
She’s peaking hard, making guttural noises, then high-pitched, almost animalistic squeals of pleasure. She’s bucking, her hips thrusting, her little back pucker spasming, giving me an opening to slide in to the first joint, which increases her pleasure.
Her core’s slick inner walls flutter around my other finger. I slide in a second finger and listen to her beckoning hips to know when to plunge in a third.
My orgasms are hard and fast, as if they’re powered by rocket fuel. They’re swift and intense. Nothing like this.
Hers appear to go on and on with no beginning and no end. There seem to be peaks and valleys. Moments where it almost stops, but I can coax more out of her with the swift flutter of the tip of my tongue.
Finally, she slumps forward, leaning over me with her belly on the top of my head. I feel her hair brushing against the small of my back.
Braveheart lifts her up and gently lays her on the bed. She pulls him down with her, then tries to look for me, but her eyes don’t seem to focus.
Valor. Come. Is all she can say before she falls asleep.