Chapter 1 #3
I dropped to my knees. The tile was cold and hard and covered in flour and olive oil, and I didn't give a fuck because she was wet and pink and right in front of me. I pressed my mouth against her inner thigh and bit. She jolted, her hand slamming down on the counter.
"Tease."
"Patience."
"Fuck patience."
"That's not what I'm fucking." I bit the other thigh. She made a sound that was half moan, half death threat. I kissed the marks I'd made, moving inward, close enough that she could feel it where she wanted me but not close enough to do anything about it.
"Cam, I swear to god, if you don't—"
I licked a slow, flat stripe from her entrance to her clit and the threat died in her throat.
Her head fell back and her thighs clamped against my ears and the world went quiet except for the sounds she made.
And Lakey made sounds. She wasn't quiet during sex.
She was vocal, profane, and she narrated what was happening to her like she was providing live commentary on her own destruction.
"Right there. Fuck, right there. Yes, baby, oh my GOD."
I circled her clit with the tip of my tongue, varying the pressure until I found the rhythm that made her legs shake.
Her hand found my hair again and gripped, pulling me closer, grinding against my face with her hips rocking in small, desperate circles.
I sealed my lips around her clit and sucked, and her body arched off the counter.
"Fuck. Fuck, Cam, yes, yes—"
I slid two fingers inside her while my mouth worked her clit.
She was soaked, tight, her walls clenching around my fingers as I curled them forward, pressing against the spot that made her finally go nonverbal.
Her thighs were trembling against my cheeks, her hand pulling my hair hard enough to sting, her hips grinding against my face in a rhythm she couldn't control anymore.
The taste of her filled my mouth, and I was greedy for it.
I would stay here all night if she'd let me.
She wouldn't let me. She was already close and as soon as she came, she’d want my cock like the insatiable little devil she was. Her walls fluttered around my fingers, and her breathing went ragged and short, the way her dirty talk devolved into single syllables and my name.
"Cam. Cam, I'm gonna—don't stop, don't fucking stop—"
I curled my fingers harder, sucked her clit between my lips, and pressed the flat of my tongue against it in quick, rhythmic pulses.
She came hard, her back bowing, her nails scraping my scalp, a broken moan tearing out of her that bounced off the kitchen walls and the flour-covered ceiling and every wrecked surface in between.
I worked her through it, slower now, easing the pressure as the aftershocks rolled through her, her thighs releasing their death grip on my head incrementally.
I kissed her inner thigh, and looked up at her. She was wrecked. Flushed from her cheeks to her chest, flour and tomato smeared across her body, her hair stuck to her face, her eyes glazed and half-closed. She looked like a painting that someone had thrown into a hurricane.
"Cam: one. Lakey: one." I stood up, wiping my mouth on the back of my arm. "We're tied."
She blinked at me. "Fuck the score. Bend me over."
There she is.
I pulled her off the counter and spun her around. She braced her hands on the edge, arching her back, pressing her ass against my cock.
I kicked her feet wider with mine and she spread, her back dipping, presenting herself. I ran my cock along her pussy, coating myself in how wet she was, the head nudging her clit on the upstroke. She whimpered and pushed back against me.
"Stop teasing and fuck me."
"Ask nicely, or no beuno."
"Please, Cam." Her voice dropped to that husky moan. "Please fuck me."
I grabbed her hip with one hand and guided myself in with the other.
The first push was slow, stretching her open around me inch by inch.
She was still tight, even after her orgasm, swollen and sensitive, and every inch was a fight for both of us.
I sank in to the hilt and held still, my fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave bruises she'd trace in the mirror tomorrow and smile about.
She wiggled her ass, “Okay, now fuck.”
I pulled back and drove into her, hard. It jolted her forward on the counter and forced a sound out of her that she'd deny making later.
I set a punishing pace because that's what she wanted and because gentleness had never been our language.
We spoke in bruises and bite marks and the kind of rough, consuming sex that left us both sore and satisfied and too tired to do anything but lie on the floor afterward and argue about whose turn it was to order food.
Her fingers curled over the edge of the counter, knuckles white, her back arching deeper with every thrust. The only noise in the apartment was skin hitting skin, her moans, my grunting, the counter creaking under the force of it.
A glass tumbled off the far edge and shattered on the floor. Neither of us flinched.
"Harder." She said it through her teeth, her face turned to the side, a feral grin on her lips. "Fuck me harder, baby."
I planted one hand on the counter next to hers and gripped her hair with the other, pulling her head back.
The angle changed and I went deeper, hitting a spot that made her body seize.
She cried out, and I held her there, pulled tight against me, her back arched, her throat exposed and her body open to every thrust.