Chapter 8 #2
“My God, you talk some shit, Cassie Everard,” she tells me in an icy cold voice, but then her mouth slams against mine and we’re lost in another kiss so passionate I’m breathless.
Suddenly, it’s impossible to keep track of her hands or mine. They’re everywhere. Roaming, grabbing, gripping, stroking, claiming. I can’t keep up with where she touches me, and I don’t know where I’m touching her, I just know it’s not enough. What I want is more.
“Please,” I pant as she drags her teeth across the sensitive skin of my throat. “Please, can I…”
“What?” She pulls back.
“I want to…”
Her crafty smile riles me up in more ways than one. “Spit it out, Cassie.”
“I want to … taste you.” I drop my eyes to her naked crotch and then bring them up again. “Down there.”
She leans back even more, and her expression is not forgiving. “It’s not an official rule, but in my opinion, if you can’t say the words ‘eat pussy,’ you shouldn’t be allowed to do so.”
“Pia!” I protest, pushing her shoulder, but she barely moves. She’s completely serious.
“And say it loudly, so I can hear it clearly.”
“I … I want to…Just let me.”
She glides a hand down her body, and it disappears under that triangle of black curls. “If you can’t say it, you don’t get to taste it.”
My frustrated groan echoes off the bedroom’s walls. “But Pia…”
“You should say it, Cassie.” Her hand is back where I can see it. My eyes follow loyally as her fingers come to her mouth. She sucks on them so hard her cheeks hollow out. “You should say it because, fuck, I taste good.”
I pull in a deep breath. My nipples are painfully hard watching Pia lick her fingers clean. My core is tightening all over again like the last two orgasms never happened. I want this. I want this so much.
“Fine,” I say resolutely. “Pia, please can I…Please can I eat your pussy?”
“Now, see,” Pia says, her self-satisfied smile wider than ever. “That wasn’t so hard.”
Buoyed by my pathetic achievement, or possibly just fed up with her teasing me, I move quickly, pushing her back and falling on top of her.
I give her a quick, firm kiss, and then I find her arms with my hands and pin them above her head.
It’s a confidence boost like no other when she gasps in surprise.
“I’m going to taste you now,” I tell her. “And you’re going to be a good girl and let me.”
Pia’s eyebrows lift.
“Unless, of course, you don’t want me to at any time, then you should definitely stop me.”
Pia’s laugh is loud and musical. It instantly makes me smile.
“What?” I ask, before laughing with her.
“You are fucking ridiculous and therefore fucking adorable.”
Pride swells in my belly and inside my ribcage. “And you are going to behave for once in your life so I can do what I want.”
“Finally,” Pia says as I keep my hands on her wrists but move my body down hers. “You’re learning.”
When I release Pia’s arms, I half-expect her to use them to extract herself from this position. But she doesn’t. She keeps them above her head, wrists on top of one another, and it makes something inside me expand like a balloon.
But then I reach my destination. The apex of her legs.
She spreads them wide, giving me more space, and it tells me how ready and willing she is for this.
Me, I am only one of those things. I am willing.
So very willing. However, I am not ready.
I should be. I’ve thought about doing this for years, but apparently fantasising and wondering about something is not the same as mentally preparing oneself.
It's just as well that my eagerness is so strong that it is a fair match for my sudden, paralysing fear.
It keeps me crouched down between her legs, looking at the thick hair covering her pubic bone, at the hint of pink I spot and the way what I see reminds me of flower petals.
Specifically, flower petals in the early morning, glistening with dew.
It takes me a moment to realise how laboured my breaths are, but I know Pia can hear my hefty inhales and jagged exhales when I feel her hand land on my shoulder.
“You don’t have to,” she says in a voice that doesn’t sound like hers. Or rather, it does, but just not a version of her I’m familiar with. I’d like to get to know that version better, I think, out of nowhere. I’d like to know all the different versions of Pia.
“I want to,” I reply. It’s my truth.
“But you don’t have to,” Pia repeats, sounding more like the version of her I already know. “You don’t need to prove anything to me. Or anyone else.”
I lift my head so I can catch her gaze. “What about myself?”
Pia smile is thin and wry. “Well, I can’t help there.”
“Actually, you can,” I say, and I lift her hand off me.
I raise it above her head and then settle between her legs again.
This time, a little closer. Close enough to smell her.
Maybe that’s what I needed. To fill my nostrils with the sweet and salty tang of Pia’s pussy.
Because all at once, my desire delivers a perfect sucker punch to my fear and I’m nothing but eagerness to touch, to taste, to commit her scent to my memory. “Keep your arms above your head, Pia.”
She doesn’t say anything. Not until I touch my tongue to her outer labia.
Then all I hear is a long sigh, the kind someone makes when they hug a dear loved one they haven’t seen in years or when they eat food that is surprisingly delicious.
In many ways, that’s what I feel I’m doing all at once.
Because I am surprised by how good Pia tastes as my tongue begins to explore with my eyes closed.
I’m surprised and enamoured all at once.
At the softness, the slickness, the way there is always more to discover, and the way Pia makes a much deeper rumble of a sound when my tongue finds a hard little knot where I believe her clitoris should be.
My suspicion is confirmed when I wrap my lips around it and kiss it, flicking my tongue over its peak.
As I start to suck, I feel like it swells in my mouth, getting bigger and harder, and that urges me on just as much as Pia’s moans, which are indulgent and unfiltered.
“Keep going, English rose,” she tells me. “You’re good at this.”
I’m pleased my face is buried between her legs so she can’t see just how much her praise affects me. As happy as I am getting such a reaction from sucking on her clit, I move away and find her entrance. It feels hot and silky smooth and so very wet. That could be me; that could be her.
“Oh, yes,” Pia encourages me. “Put your tongue inside me. As far as you can. I want to squeeze it. I want to squeeze you.”
I do as she says, and so does she. And it all feels like a reward.
“Now your fingers,” she instructs. “Two. Stretch me.”
I adjust my position, redistributing my weight, and when I slide a finger inside her, I’m amazed how tight and strong she feels. I felt it on my tongue, but this is different. I’m so much deeper inside her, and her clenching is more intense, more intentional.
It’s funny the things you imagine when you think about a brand-new experience like this.
I always imagined this would be a very transactional experience.
One person gives pleasure, the other receives it.
But this is not the case. I am getting so much pleasure from filling Pia with my finger, from feeling her tense and tighten around my knuckles.
I’m pretty sure if I only had a bit more pressure on my own clit, I’d be coming again.
But I don’t move to test that hypothesis.
Instead, I focus on Pia by adding another finger.
“Now go back to sucking my clit at the same time,” Pia tells me. “Just keep your fingers inside me. You can move them in and out. Fuck me with them. But keep it slow, be gentle.”
Slow, gentle. Who knew that the world’s toughest female rockstar liked it slow and gentle?
I focus intently on doing as she asked. It takes more energy than I expect, and my face is getting hotter and hotter the longer I spend pressed up against her cunt, the base of my tongue aching, my jaw too, but I love it.
I love every second of it, and when I move my foot so I can press my heel up against my own clit, I am quite sure I’m experiencing a version of heaven on Earth.
“Oh, Cassie, fan, fuck!” Pia calls out as I press my fingertips up, feeling a different texture. “Stay there. Stroke me. Right. There.”
I do. And I keep licking and sucking and kissing and thinking this is already the best night of my life.
“Fuck, yes, oh, fuck. I’m…” Pia doesn’t finish her sentence.
Instead, she groans, rough and low, just like she does in some of her songs.
It’s guttural and unladylike, and I love it.
I want to record it, put it on a cassette tape and play it, stop, rewind and play it over and over again.
And then she’s clenching around my fingers in a perfect 4/4 time signature, and I know the next song I write in that rhythm, I’ll be thinking of her.
Her moans continue until she stops squeezing around my knuckles, and I keep my mouth on her until she reaches down and lifts me off.
“Enough,” she says, sitting up. Her cheeks are flushed red, and her eyes are so very, very dark. “Come here.”
She gestures for me to join her, to climb on top of her, so I do. Just as I begin to settle in, she taps my right leg.
“Let me put my leg over you, here,” she says, and I lean back so she can place her thigh above mine. We’re locked in place, like this, but we can’t get close. It’s not easy to sit up and wrap my arms around her, like I want to, really want to, but little do I know what’s coming.
With a deft wriggle of her body and a shifting of her weight, Pia slides down slightly, and then … oh, wow…then she presses her pussy up against mine. Like, right on it. She places her arms behind her and leans back, angling her hips so they can push against me, against my clit.
“Oh!” I exclaim, feeling her slickness stroke mine.
“Yeah,” she says, a wicked grin back on her face. “How does that feel, pretty girl?”
I copy her position, leaning back so I can press up against her.
It takes me a second to match her rhythm, but eventually we keep the beat together perfectly, grinding against each other in a soundless harmony.
Except it isn’t completely soundless. There are my rough breaths as I give my all to meeting Pia’s thrusts.
There are her curse words and her satisfied grunts.
There’s also the occasional obscene squelch.
It's the most perfect song.
Just like earlier, the thrill of it all becomes too much for me. I start to laugh, not hard enough to slow my pace, but still, enough that my giggles fill ears.
“Share the joke,” Pia says, and I hear then how she’s also out of breath. She’s exerting herself too.
“I can’t believe how good this feels,” I exclaim. “I can’t believe that I ever thought this was … was bad!”
I expect Pia to berate me, or at the very least to tell me how fucked up I used to be.
But she doesn’t. Instead, her face melts into a huge smile.
Then she twists her body a little so she can hold onto my knee, and I don’t know why but that extra contact, the way her fingers grab my leg, silences my laughter and has me consumed with nothing but a fiery need to climax again.
“Oh, God,” I say.
This time, it’s Pia’s laughter that fills the room, although it’s more of a cackle. “That’s it, my pretty English rose, take the Lord’s name in vain. Fuck that religion bullshit you grew up with. Fuck anybody telling you this was wrong.”
Her words are a balm, but the way she pants them out, breathless and rushed, has me really tipping over the edge.
“Pia!” I call out, although I don’t know why. I don’t want her to stop. I want her to stay exactly where she is. I want her to keep rolling her body against mine. I want her to stay with me while I crash into this orgasm that threatens to consume me.
And it is a crash, a blast, an explosion.
Detonating between my legs and spreading through my body and down each of my limbs.
My toes curl, my breath hitches, my eyes close.
I’m all gasps of air and drops of sweat running along the side of my face and down the valley of my back.
I’m trembling and fisting the sheets in my hands and wondering what part of me this orgasm has unlocked because it’s never been like this before.
It’s never – ever – been like this before.
My eyes open and immediately focus on Pia. Her head is thrown back. Her nipples are rock hard. Her stomach tenses as she thrusts into me hard and fast.
“Oh, Cassie, fuck!” she yells, and I smile. My name on her lips. My name in her orgasm. It drags out the sweetness of my own fading climax.
And then she’s saying things I don’t understand. Swedish words, I think. No, whole sentences in Swedish. A whole conversation as she rides out her orgasm against me.
When she rights her head and stills her body, I expect her to explain what she was just exclaiming, but she doesn’t. She just looks at me, her chest heaving as it tries to get more oxygen in her lungs. I’m doing the same as I look back at her.
We stay like that. Naked, locked together, our chests rising and falling, our throbbing clits pressed close, staring at each other and waiting. Waiting for whatever happens next.