Chapter 17
Isabelle
I moan, loud and completely unrestrained, leaning back against the porch railing, completely naked under the moonlight, holding the post for balance with one hand, my head thrown back as Alex devours my pussy like a man starving.
I look down at him, and I'm lost in sensation, in the wet heat of his mouth, in the way his fingers work inside me, in the scratch of his stubble against my inner thighs.
"Oh god, yes!" I cry out, unable to stop myself, unable to hold anything back the way I usually do. Every sound, every gasp, every desperate whimper just pours out of me.
He looks up at me while he eats me out and the sight of him on his knees, his mouth sealed over my clit, his eyes dark and hungry and locked on mine—I gasp and grip the railing until the wood bites into my palm.
I'm desperate for it, like I physically can't get enough, like I need him fused to me. He groans against my pussy like it's turning him on as much as it is me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my core.
I've always hated the vulnerability of this. The complete messiness of it, the exposure of being totally at someone's mercy while they work you over, the utter lack of control over my own body's responses.
But with Alex there is no self-consciousness, no fear of judgment or ulterior motive or being found wanting.
He's so completely present, so focused on me like nothing else in the world exists, sees me so clearly and wants me anyway, that all I can do is hold on and let him take me apart piece by piece, and bask in how absolutely incredible it feels to be seen like this, to be wanted like this.
I tip my head back and stare at the stars scattered across the black velvet sky like diamonds and can't help but think how small and constrained everything felt up until this moment.
I look back down at him and he's looking up at me with those brown eyes.
He pulls back slightly, slowly, and I almost whimper.
Then he presses a kiss directly on my clit, soft and reverent and deliberate, holding my eye contact.
Then another kiss, deeper, his mouth opening, his tongue coming out now, circling and flicking and sucking in a rhythm that's going to kill me.
I can't look away, like I'm bound by his gaze, pinned in place and held captive as his tongue works my clit in circles and figure-eights while his fingers pump inside me, two of them now, curling and stroking against that spot that makes my vision blur.
The waves build and build, the pleasure so overwhelming I think I might actually shatter from it, might break apart into a thousand pieces, and I grip him as though I might die if I don't have him anchoring me to earth, keeping me tethered to reality.
The orgasm crashes through my body, lighting up every cell and radiating outward from my core in concentric waves.
I cry out, loud and uncontrolled and probably waking up everyone in a half-mile radius.
He sucks my clit with more vigor, his fingers still working inside me, pumping and curling and stroking.
The pleasure threatens to overwhelm me completely, threatens to drown me, but I lean into it instead of fighting it, chasing it, riding it out.
When I finally come down, panting and shaking, my body like jello, boneless and spent and thoroughly wrecked, I can barely hold myself up.
"Oh my god," I manage, my voice completely shot, slumping forward slightly, and he pulls back slowly, his mouth and chin glistening with my wetness in the moonlight.
He's still on his knees and he grips me tighter so that I don't fall, his hand coming around my back carefully, steadying me, supporting my weight, and I can't help but smile at that, at how he's watching over me so tenderly even now.
"You're… uh… pretty good at that," I mumble.
My voice comes out embarrassingly breathy, but I'm feeling too good to really care.
"Well, I'm a fast learner," he says, smiling up at me, that devastating smile with the dimple, rising up from his knees and standing.
He leans in and kisses me deeply, slowly, and I can taste myself on his tongue, which should probably be weird but instead just feels intimate and right. Somehow my body lights up again already, impossibly, hungry and greedy for more of him despite having just come so hard I saw actual stars.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, pressing myself against him, and he scoops me up easily, one arm under my knees and the other supporting my back, carrying me like I weigh nothing at all.
He walks us through the door to the cottage, navigating in the darkness, and moves backwards toward the bed, sitting down on the edge with me cradled in his lap.
I shift to straddle him properly, my thighs bracketing his hips, my knees sinking into the mattress on either side of him, and reach for his shirt. He helps me pull it over his head and tosses it aside somewhere in the darkness, and god, he's beautiful.
Lean muscle and tan skin, the definition of his abs, the breadth of his shoulders, and I can't stop myself from running my hands over his chest, his shoulders, his arms, memorizing the feel of him, the warmth of his skin, the way his muscles shift under my palms.
"Your turn," I say, my voice still rough and raspy from crying out, and I slide off his lap to kneel between his legs on the floor, my knees hitting the cool wooden boards.
His eyes go wide and he lifts his hips to help me as I pull his jeans and boxer briefs down together in one motion. His cock springs free, hard and thick and flushed dark at the tip. I wrap my hand around the base, feeling the heat and weight of him in my palm, the way he pulses against my skin.
"Fuck," he breathes, his head falling back.
I stroke him slowly, base to tip, feeling every inch of him, watching precum bead at the tip of his cock. I lean in and lick it off with a flat tongue, tasting the salty-sweet of him, and he groans, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.
"Isabelle," he says, my name coming out strangled and desperate, and I look up at him through my lashes, holding his gaze as I take him into my mouth.
I start slow, just the head at first, my tongue swirling around the tip, exploring the shape of him, tasting him properly.
He's thick enough that I have to open my jaw wide to accommodate him, and I take him deeper, inch by inch, slowly working my way down his length until I feel him hit the back of my throat.
I pull back and do it again, finding my rhythm, using my hand on what I can't fit in my mouth, which is a decent amount because he's big and I can only take so much.
"Oh fuck," he groans, one hand coming to my hair. "That feels so good, you feel so fucking good, your mouth is incredible."
I suck harder, taking him as deep as I can without gagging, and his grip tightens in my hair, not painfully but firmly, like he's barely holding on to his control.
I pull off for a moment to catch my breath, still stroking him with my hand, and look up at him. His chest is heaving, his eyes are dark and glazed, his mouth is open as he pants. The sight sends a bolt of satisfaction and arousal straight through me.
"You look good like this," I say. "Falling apart for me."
"You're going to kill me," he manages, his voice strained.
"What a way to go," I say, and take him back in my mouth, working him faster now, bobbing my head and using my tongue on the underside of his shaft.
"Isabelle, I'm not going to last if you keep doing that," he warns, his voice breaking slightly, his thighs tensing under my hand.
I pull off with a wet pop, still stroking him, looking up at him with what I hope is an absolutely filthy expression.
"Good," I say simply, and take him back in my mouth, working him faster now, more deliberately, determined to reduce him to the same incoherent mess I was on the porch.
It doesn't take long. His breathing gets ragged and uneven, his thighs tense like iron under my free hand, and I can feel him getting even harder in my mouth, his cock pulsing and throbbing against my tongue.
"Isabelle, I'm going to—fuck, I'm close—" His voice is breaking and then suddenly his hands are on my shoulders, pulling me up with urgency.
"What—" I start, confused and a little indignant because I was enjoying myself, but he's already lifting me, his hands firm and strong on my waist as he hauls me up off my knees.
"I need to be inside you," he says roughly, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath coming hard and fast against my lips. "Right now. I can't—I need you."
He lifts me easily and I wrap my legs around his waist on instinct, my arms looping around his neck.
He takes three steps and my back hits the wall beside the door with a soft thud, the cool plaster a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressed against mine, his chest heaving, his heart pounding so hard I can feel it against my breasts.
He holds me there with one arm around my waist, his other hand already between us, lining himself up, the head of his cock sliding through the wetness between my thighs.
"Yes," I say, and he pushes inside in one deep thrust that makes me gasp and dig my nails into his shoulders.
The stretch is intense, almost overwhelming.
He's thick and I'm still sensitive from coming earlier and it's almost too much but also exactly what I need, that perfect edge between pleasure and pain.
He fills me completely, every inch of him buried deep, stretching me open, and I can feel myself clenching around him, my body trying to adjust to the fullness, the pressure, the way he's splitting me open and claiming every inch of space inside me.
"Fuck," he groans. His lips move against my skin, his breath hot.
His hips are already moving, pulling almost all the way out—slow, deliberately slow, letting me feel every inch as he withdraws—and then driving back in deep and hard, burying himself.
"You feel so good, so fucking perfect, so tight around me—"