Chapter 32 #3
But then I watch as he pulls the Twizzler away and slips it into his own mouth.
Oh. Fuck. My Ovaries.
He closes his lips around it and sucks on it, like he's tasting something far more decadent than sugar. His pink tongue drags along it in a slow, sensual slide, eyes locked on mine through the mirror like he wants me to watch every single second of what he's doing.
Jealousy blooms inside me.
Ridiculous, irrational jealousy.
I can't believe I’m jealous of a sweet.
Watching him taste me from my favourite sweet is unfairly intoxicating. He looks completely composed while doing something so filthy. The moan that rumbles out of his chest is deep, vibrating through me even though he's not touching me directly anymore.
I want to be a good girl for him. I really do. But the need for him is harder to ignore.
So I drop my leg, turn quickly, ignoring the numbness and catch his wrist before he can pull it away. I lean up on my tiptoes and lick the Twizzler too, dragging my tongue along the same place he just tasted, just as it meets his.
His pupils widened. Darken. Go almost completely black like a night sky with no stars.
“Does it taste better?” I ask, voice thick with heat.
Elijah doesn't answer me.
Instead, he pushes me back until my spine meets the cold surface of the mirror, and the solid frame of the barre presses into my lower back. I’m still gripping his wrist, not willing to let him go.
“See for yourself.”
My brows lift slightly.
“Open.”
He taps lightly at my lips.
I hesitate for only a second, but Elijah beats me to it, unable to wait. His fingers curl under my chin and tilt my head back, controlling the angle.
“Open, Princess,” he repeats with a possessive need.
I obey him.
He leans closer, hovering over my parted mouth, and lets his spit trail downward, dropping onto my tongue. The taste of me is overwhelming, heady, dirty in the best possible way.
My eyes close, but I keep my mouth open for him.
Good girl.
I can feel the praise even if he doesn't say it. It's written all over his face.
His fingertip drags across my tongue next, slow enough to make my hips twitch against him impatiently. He pushes forward at the same time, his body against mine, feeling perfectly right.
I can feel it.
He's close to snapping and taking what he wants.
And I want him to do it more than anything.
His mouth crashes onto mine with a rough groan, all restraint slipping as he kisses me harder, deeper, tongue sliding against mine in a heated battle that makes my head spin.
The taste of him is addictive. I’d even say it was better than the sweets I have an unhealthy obsession with.
I’m placed onto the barre behind me, hands fumbling with the button of his pants while he pushes the straps down my arms, freeing my breasts. Fingers pinch both nipples firmly enough to make me moan sharply into his mouth.
I whimper, still kissing him, biting lightly at his lower lip before finally freeing him completely.
He's hard in my hand. Hot. Heavy and alive with need.
I drag my fingers over the edge of his dick, gathering the wetness there and spreading it down, with unhurried, teasing strokes. He jerks against me, breath catching in his throat.
“Do you want my cock?” he kisses along my jaw, down my neck, teeth sinking in hard enough to make me jolt.
He's so good at this. Too good. He knows exactly how to pull every thought from my head until all I can feel and think is him.
There are no words to describe my need for him. It is beyond anything I have ever felt.
I push the fabric of my leotard to the side, guiding him with shaking hands, positioning him at my entrance, and he drives inside me in one rough, brutal motion.
The shock of it rips a scream from my throat, the sound bouncing widely off the studio mirrors and empty walls. It's overwhelming—heat, pressure, pleasure, possession—all of it flooding through me at once.
Elijah groans like the sound itself is pulling something feral out of him.
Somehow, my legs end up over his shoulders, my hands scrambling to grip the barre under me as he holds me in place. My head knocks softly against the mirror with every forceful thrust, but I don't care. I can't care. All I can do is hold onto him and let him take what we both want.
He moves fast. Hard and unrelenting.
The rhythm of his hips is brutal and perfect all at once, dragging pleasure through me in waves that build faster than I can breathe through. My body tightens around him, chasing more, always more, because he knows exactly how to make me fall apart under his hands.
The sound of us fills the quiet studio, mixed with my broken breathing and his low, satisfied growls of approval.
Once.
Twice.
Pleasure crashes through me hard enough to make my vision blur. My body is trembling against him as he keeps going, chasing his own release while pulling mine from me again and again. And when he finally fills me, I don't even feel a tinge of guilt for the mess we’ve made here.
There's only warmth.
Only him.
The feeling of being completely, dangerously, wonderfully wanted.