8. Shanay
Eight
Shanay
His mouth is on me.
Mike Costa—gruff, quiet, too-old-for-me Mike—is on his knees, holding my thighs open and devouring me like I’m his last meal.
And I can’t think.
Can’t breathe.
Can’t even remember my own name.
All I know is that his tongue is circling my clit, slow and steady, while his fingers press deep into my thighs to hold me still—like he knew I’d try to squirm away from the overwhelming pressure.
“Mike—” I gasp, head falling back against a bookshelf.
I feel his growl before I hear it. The vibration rips through me and I nearly come right there.
My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling, desperate, and he groans like he likes it.
“This sweet little pussy,” he rasps between licks, voice all wrecked and low. “Never been touched. Never been tasted.”
He sounds possessed.
And I love it.
I want to tell him I’ve never felt anything like this.
That I didn’t know it could feel this good.
But the words won’t come.
Because his tongue is working magic—circling, flicking, flattening against my clit, pushing past the entrance of my pussy—and my thighs are trembling so hard I don’t know how I’m still standing.
Then he presses a single finger against my throbbing opening—just barely—and I whimper so loud I’m embarrassed.
But he looks up at me, eyes burning, beard wet with me, and growls, “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.”
He slides that one long, thick finger inside me—slow, careful, but so big—and I cry out.
It’s not pain.
It’s too much.
Stretching, burning, pressure I’ve never felt.
But he doesn’t stop.
He strokes me inside with the same rhythm his tongue works my clit—slow, filthy, relentless.
“I’m gonna break you open,” he whispers. “Gonna make this tight virgin pussy mine.”
I shatter.
Right there.
Against the bookshelf.
His name on my lips.
My soul in pieces.
I come hard—legs shaking, thighs clamping around his head, hands gripping his shoulders like they’re the only things keeping me together.
And he keeps licking. Keeps worshiping me like I didn’t just fall apart in front of him.
When I finally slump down, boneless and breathless, he catches me.
Cradles me against his chest like I’m something precious.
Like I didn’t just come all over his face in a public building.
“You good?” he murmurs against my hair.
I nod. I don’t even try to speak.
Because I already know what’s coming next.
And I want it.
All of it.
—-
He doesn’t say a word when he lifts me.
Just slips his arms under my knees and back, and carries me out of the library like I weigh nothing. Like this happens all the time. Like he’s not walking around with my slick still on his mouth and a look in his eyes that says mine .
The truck door slams shut and my brain finally catches up.
We’re really doing this.
No going back.
No pretending we don’t want it.
I glance over, and he’s gripping the wheel so tight I swear it might break.
“Mike.”
He looks at me. And that’s all it takes.
“Where are we—”
“My house,” he growls. “Unless you want me to take you right here in this fucking truck.”
I go silent.
Because either option sounds perfect.
—-
The second we’re inside, he pins me against the door and kisses me like he’s starved for it—hands sliding under my thighs, lifting me until my back hits the wall and my legs wrap around his waist.
“I should go slow,” he breathes into my mouth. “Make it special. Make it soft.”
I nod. “Okay.”
He stills. Smiles.
Then bites my bottom lip, hard.
“But I’ve been hard for you for days, baby. You know what that does to a man like me?”
“No?” I whisper.
“You’re about to.”
He carries me to the bedroom like he’s on a mission.
Tosses me on the bed, stands back, and…
Holy. Shit.
His chest is carved, dusted with hair, thick arms rippling with every breath.
He’s big. Everywhere.
And when he strips off his jeans and boxers in one move and that cock springs free?
I forget how to breathe.
Thick. Heavy. Veined.
The kind of dick that makes you question your life choices and then beg for more.
He crawls over me, nudging my thighs apart with his knee.
“You sure?” he asks, voice tight.
“Yes.”
“Say it again.”
“I want you.”
He exhales hard—like he’s been holding that breath since the day we met.
“I’m gonna be your first. And your last. No one else touches this perfect pussy, you hear me?”
“Yes, Mike.”
He’s kisses me again—soft and reverent—then grabs a condom from the drawer and rolls it on. I watch, transfixed.
“I’ll go slow.”
And he does.
He presses in, inch by inch, thick burning and deep.
I clutch his shoulders, gasping.
Not only because it hurts.
But because it’s him.
Inside me.
Filling me.
“Fuck, baby,” he grits out. “So tight. So perfect.”
He holds still, forehead pressed to mine, letting me adjust.
Then he starts to move.
Slow, grinding thrusts that have me gasping his name in seconds.
“Good girl,” he whispers. “Taking it so fucking good.”
The stretch. The pressure. The fullness.
I’ve never felt anything like it. It hurts so good.
My body lights up from the inside out.
And when he reaches between us and circles my clit with his thumb—
I come again.
Harder.
Louder.
He groans, hips jerking, and then he follows—thrusting deep one last time and spilling with a growl so deep it vibrates through my bones.
—-
He doesn’t move for a long time.
Just keeps me close.
Wrapped in his arms.
Breathing like he just came back to life.
Then he kisses my temple and says it—low and sure.
“You’re mine now, Shanay.”