Chapter 13 Bellatrix #2
He’s like a surveyor, mapping out routes I didn’t know existed. He parts me with one hand, leaking beads of moisture that might not be all tea. I’m drenched, and he’s loud, but he punctuates the sounds with groans of pleasure that let me know just how much he’s enjoying it.
My breath stutters to a standstill, and my head drops back. There’s nothing but him, plying my slick center with his fingers, discovering me, mapping me, and eating me like I’m as delicious as ice cream cake.
There’s nothing more delicious than that, but I’m willing to cede that maybe I’m on par with it for him.
Then again, perhaps he has never tried the ice cream cake from the world’s best ice cream cake store, and we should have gone straight there instead of attempting to get tacos and—
He lashes his tongue against my clit, and my brain stops worrying about ice cream.
He dances away, teasing me and edging me by not giving me exactly what I need. Instead, he kisses and licks my thighs before brushing his nose over my clit as he inhales my pussy.
“You’re delicious,” he pretty much moans. I didn’t know men could moan, but Rowleigh does, and it’s sexy as hell.
The vibration of the noises he makes travels straight through my pussy.
I clutch his hair when he drives down again, parting my folds with his tongue until he dips his tongue into my entrance.
I tug at his hair like he’s a marauding T-rex I just jumped on top of, and I hold on for dear life while he does mythical things to me. Dinosaurs were real. I suppose I mean dragon.
He tortures my clit sweetly with his tongue, and I can’t hold back.
I buck against his face, pretty much riding it like I’m a dragon tamer and rolling my hips while he eats me like there’s no tomorrow.
I don’t know about tomorrow, but as for things that have disappeared, it’s the counter beneath me, the world around me, and all my objections. There’s only us, and it’s beautiful.
He keeps torturing me, teasing me, and fucking me with his mouth until I’m barely a body, I can’t catch my breath, and gravity and all the other laws of the universe don’t apply to me.
“I’m…g-going to c-come,’ I stutter and pant out, grinding and rolling my hips. I have to clutch the counter, or I’m going to do serious damage to his hair and scalp. “S-so g-good. H-hard. Ep-ic.” My teeth knock together as cold chills rack me.
We technically haven’t even had a first date yet, and I don’t know if it’s appropriate or ladylike to come on someone’s face and tongue, so, so wet and so, so earth-shatteringly, but Rowleigh responds between attacking my clit.
“Yes. Yes, please.”
He asks so nicely, but he punishes me like a demon, doing things to my vagina that I will never recover from. He’s a vagina wrecker. In a good way. But also in a bad way because now I’m going to crave him like sweet and salty, and that basically covers all the cravings.
He drives his tongue into me and pinches my clit.
My brain goes haywire, and my body follows, crashing apart and bursting into ecstasy.
I scream weakly, the sound tapering off into a little whimper as my lungs forget how to work while the pleasure embraces me, but the rest of me is wild, riding out the climax as I come and come, harder and harder, until the pleasure finally crests and winds down.
It’s like a brutal muscle cramp, where the soreness leaves one spent, breathless, and aching mildly in that spot for days.
But also not at all like a muscle cramp because those suck.
Nothing about this sucked. At all.
Rowleigh slowly stands, and I open my eyes.
The island lights above us illuminate how wet his chin and mouth are.
I surge up and grasp his neck, dragging his face down to crush my mouth to his.
I sweep my tongue over his bottom lip, tasting myself and biting gently, so eager to taste him too that our teeth nearly crash together.
I’m not just eager for the kiss.
I need him. I want to feel him inside me, losing control and finding that same harsh, delicious pleasure as his world fractures apart.
I reach for his jeans, tugging at the button.
Considering that I can barely feel my fingers or any other non-essential parts of my body, I do a decent job.
The jeans are worn in, and the buttonhole has slight fraying.
It’s soft under my fingertips, and the button gives without much of a struggle.
I wrench the zipper down, then shove both my hands into the waistband and maneuver it all down. Jeans. Boxers.
Clothes, bad.
Pants, bad.
He deepens the kiss when I free his cock and wrap my hand around the hard, thick length of his shaft.
He’s impossibly hot, the skin burning and silky.
I roll my hand down his length, applying more pressure at the tip.
He’s soaked there, and when I guide that slickness back down his shaft and pause, he throbs in my hand.
He plants both hands under my ass and tugs me to the edge of the counter.
I line his cockhead up with my entrance, twine my feet around the backs of his thighs, and wriggle against him until his forehead drops down to mine.
I look up at him, blinking quickly. His eyes are closed, his face twisted with feral pleasure and the need to keep his control over it.
I don’t want control. I want him filling me up, fucking me hard, losing it.
His hands are still on my ass, and I mirror him, reaching as far as I can around his hips and digging my fingers in.
I’ve never been this bold before, but I’ve also never been this desperate. I’ve never needed anything so badly in my life.
I watch as he surges forward and flexes his hips with so much power that he drives me back a few inches on the counter despite also holding me in place.
I hiss as he fills me halfway with that single stroke.
I spread my legs and angle forward, pulling myself to him so I can take the rest of him.
If he’s feral, I’m just as much of a beast.
“Holy chicken fries,” he mumbles.
Yeah, holy chicken fries is right.