Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“ Y ou need sleep.” I tell him, trying to inject a tone of certainty and firmness in my voice. It’s a tone and it sounds good. I really don’t feel it though.
He says, “I need your lips.”
“Mmm.” Stop it, Alessio. Please.
“My cock is red and hard. It’s throbbing for you.”
I sigh. “Alessio.” I know that telling Alessio to stop doing anything is the surest way to make him do it more and harder. I bite my lip.
His voice drifts like smoke in my ear. “I’m remembering how you smell. How you taste. I’m thinking of how your lovely, juicy wings spread flat against my tongue.”
I try to stifle a moan, but some of it gets out.
“I want to touch you.”
Now my resistance slips away like sheer silk. Remembering the magic in his hands. When his grip and his sinful, unstoppable fingers start to ignite fill me, to fire me up with their evil rhythms, his electric touch sets little fires alight all through my body, sparks me alight like dry paper, drenched in kerosene.
My thighs tense, my stomach rolls, my breath heaves and in no time, m thrashing, helpless, and I’m ready to burst.
The burn in my nipples makes them sore and I feel like they’ve got bare wires connecting to my clit.
His voice rumbles again.
“I’m imagining your breath ion my cock. Your wet lips caressing my the twitching head. And your mouth taking me in, sliding over my shaft, taking me down to the back of your throat.”
“Oh. Alessio.”
“You know I love it when you do that.”
My hand is on my pussy with a mind of its own.
The earbuds make his voice sound like it’s right next to me. “While my tongue trips around your clit.”
“Oh!” He knows me all too well. His voice reminds me of the sure way his hands, his fingers, dance and excite me. Touch me exactly where I want to be caressed and trigger my deepest responses.
He always knows exactly what I want, almost before I know it myself. His grip, his rhythm, his touch leads me on. He knows me like a song.
“Then my tongue slips and zips in between your walls.”
“Yes.” God, I’m on my back. Knees up. I’m so wet.
“Sliding in flat.”
“Yes.”
“Strong.”
“Yes…”
“Firm.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Thickening as it reaches up.” His voice lowers. There’s a firm, rhythmic shudder in his throat.
“Alessio.” My nipples are sore. I pinch and twist them. But I can’t do it like he does. My thumbs are too small.
“Higher.”
I’m rising to a peak inside. I can barely get the words out, “Are you touching yourself?”
“I’m imagining your mouth on my cock.”
“Oh. Alessio.”
“While my tongue breaks into your pussy.”
“Alessio.”
“Reaching, stretching. Pushing up to the front.”
“Oh.”
“Finding your soft, secret button.”
I’m folding over. Clenching. Gathering. Rising up inside and spinning to a plateau.
“I love the taste of you. As you start to spill. And the wild pants of your breath as you plunge and suck on my cock.”
“Oh! I’m shaking. I’m on the edge, Alessio.”
“I’ll grab your ass and squeeze.”
“Alessio.”
“With my face buried in your pussy.”
“Oh.”
“And you’re about to make me come.”
My back arcs. My toes and fingers curl and clench. My throat tightens as shudders and sparkles of sensation spring through me.
“Deep in your throat.”
“Oh. Fuck. Fuck.”
A wave gathers, turning like a whirlpool, lifting. Rising. Holds.
Suspended.
My cheeks are hot. My neck and chest redden. I’m slippery wet and my head rolls back.
“I love you, Lucia.”
Being apart from him is so hard when he says my name like that.
When we’re together, that’’s when I look into his eyes and I see all the possibilities, everything we can be, all that we can have. Of the three men, Alessio is always the hardest for me to reach, but once we’re connected, the bonds with him are the tightest. The hardest to break.
His voice, his rasping groans in my ear set me up, trembling and on the edge.
Crashing, splashing, blasting, a tsunami rocks through me. Shakes me from my core.
I shout his name.“Alessio!”
Oh, I wish so much that he was here.
Ripples of delicious, quivering sensation lift me and catapult me, turning and rolling. I’m clenched around a cushion. Shaking. Aftershock tremors roll an tumble through me.
For what seems like a long time, and no time at all, we lie together, far apart, in an almost comfortable silence. Nearly touching, so far apart.
I hear the rise and fall of his chest in the soft sheets and the air that brushes through his lips, and he listens to the sounds of my breathing as I’m curled, clenched around a cushion. The pillow is wet, but I don’t care.
Not yet.
Before we hang up, I tell him, “Hold on, Alessio. Hold on to us.” I can’t tell whether he’s even remotely conscious, but I sill feel I need to tell him, “Hold tight. Don’t let go.”