Chapter 9 Beyond The Edge #2
"Look at me." Her eyes drop to mine at my command, her brow furrowed with wide eyes, mouth hanging open; I hold her gaze without blinking as I drive a finger inside her channel, withdraw it dripping and slick, and then lick it clean like a kid with a bowl of brownie batter. "Your turn."
It amuses me that this makes her cheeks flame.
But yet, she obeys. Hesitantly, her hand drifts to her core.
I carve my hands up the backs of her thighs and take this moment to enjoy the broad, round wonder of her perfect ass.
She pauses, one finger at the apex of her seam, and then she's got her finger in her pussy, pulls it out, hesitates again…
and then pops it into her mouth. Her face goes through multiple expressions in a quick sequence.
"Oh." A blush, a shy smile. "Oh, wow. I…Oh."
"My turn."
"Oh god, yes, please." Her hands feather through my hair as I bring my face between her thighs, and she whimpers when my tongue drags up her seam. "Jakob!"
No more games. It's time for Brys to come.
I drive two fingers inside her pussy without warning, and she jerks, panting.
slow thrusts of my fingers at first, and then I taste her slit, lick away the juices coating her lips.
Find her clit, a hard, erect little nub of nerve endings—more than ten thousand of them, to be precise.
I devour her as if trying to lick each individual nerve fiber.
That is to say, greedily, ravenously. She's quiet for the first few minutes.
Gasping, panting, whimpering, all sotto voce.
But then, when she begins to shake and tremble, and I give her a third finger and thrash her clit with my tongue in a relentless barrage, she begins to wail and sob, and then to cry out, shrill and breathy.
I feel her pussy clenching around my fingers, feel her belly go taut, and she hunches over me while dipping at the knees and thrusting against my face.
She slaps a hand on the window to brace herself, clutching my head between her shaking thighs with the other, and she rides my face, grinds against me rabidly, desperately.
Her grip on my head is fierce and powerful—holding me where she needs me as I ravage her with my tongue and fuck her with my fingers. "Yes! Oh fuck yes! Oh god, oh god. Jakob, please. Please. Oh god, please. I'm—I'm gonna come, Jakob. Oh god, I’m gonna come so hard."
"Give it to me, Brys," I demand. "Now. I want you to come for me right now."
"YES!" It's a scream.
She comes.
She screams again, wordless and breathless. Her legs give out all at once and I barely catch her in my arms before she collapses. I guide her to her back on the floor. She's quaking, shaking, spasming, panting.
"Jakob! Oh god, oh god, oh my god." Her eyes are wet and wide and wild. "That was—holy shit."
I brace above her, a fist planted beside her ear. Dip and claim a kiss.
I wish she knew, I wish I could explain to her the significance of a kiss to me. But where would I begin the telling of that tale?
Brys lifts to meet me, one hand clasping my nape, and then her fingers trail through my hair and trace the shell of my ear.
The delicate affection in those small, simple touches savages my soul, leaving me gutted and unable to draw breath. My eyes burn, and I turn to the only means of expression I know.
"I didn't say you could stop coming, Brys.
" I glide down her body, cup her heavy breasts, and twist and pinch her nipples as I settle in the sweet, soft, warm cradle of her thick, strong thighs, and I mate my mouth to the lips of her pussy, and I taste her essence, and I devour her with a ravenous fury that shocks her.
"Jesus Christ, Jakob!” she screams, jackknifing forward and then collapsing to her back and bucking her hips upward, hands clutching my skull fit to crack it.
She fucks my face, holds me where she needs me, and writhes against my hungry, eager tongue, and she bucks and thrusts and writhes and screams until she has no breath left in her lungs.
Her mouth opens in a silent cry, head thrown back, hips frozen in an upward thrust, trembling, she comes and she comes and she comes, tits jiggling and swaying, thighs tensing to push her ass off the floor.
She sucks in a ragged, shocked, shrill breath, like a scream in reverse, and her whole body contorts in a jackknifing spasm, and her thighs crush my head and neck with unbelievable power as the waves of climax smash through her like an onrushing flood-tide.
"Stop," she pants, legs suddenly going slack. "Please, please—Jakob, stop, stop. Please, oh god, I can't take any more. I can't—I can't take any more."
Greed for her ecstasy makes me merciless.
I rise up over her and drive three fingers into her clenching wet channel, and she grips my fingers like a hot, slick vise, and I fuck her like that, fingers in a delta inside her pussy, smashing and driving and thrusting and demanding and taking more and more from her.
She cannot even scream, can only tremble beneath me with tear-stained eyes wide, searching me with a complex array of emotions as she climaxes beyond her mind and body's ability to tolerate or comprehend.
And then she shatters.
I feel the wet rush flood my hand as she gushes around my fingers, a tight wail scraping out of her throat, eyes disbelieving and even afraid as her orgasm wrenches her apart.
She curls forward again, gasping a shriek as she continues to detonate, spasming wave after wave all over my hand and the floor.
At long last, with Brys writhing and panting and whimpering and trembling, naked curves sheened with sweat, I take pity on her. "Now you may stop."
Her eyes, when they open, are stunned. Tear drops cling to her lashes like liquid diamonds. Her lips quiver as she struggles to breathe past shuddering sobs. "Jesus," she whispers. "Jesus fucking Christ, Jakob. What did you do to me?"
"When you please me, I reward you." I lean on an elbow, half on her, half on the floor beside her. I idly trace the outline of her areola. "That was your reward for being a good girl."
She shakes her head, at a loss for words. "I feel half paralyzed." She levers upright and scoots back, patting the thin, industrial carpet between her thighs. "Um. So I sort of soaked this."
I grin, and I know it must look predatory and arrogant and supremely self-satisfied. "Yes, you did." I caress her breast, trail a fingertip along the tender underside, purely for my own pleasure. "Have you ever squirted before?"
Her cheeks blaze scarlet, and she covers her face, shakes her head. "No." It's a tiny breath of a word.
I pull her hands down. "Why are you embarrassed, Brys?"
"I…" she shrugs, refusing to look at me. "I don't…I…" she dares a peek at me from the corner of her eye. "I peed on the floor like a bad puppy."
"There is some debate as to the precise composition of the substance, but I am of the opinion that it doesn't matter if it's pee or not.
" I squeeze her nipple until she gasps and flinches.
"It's the natural result of a particularly intense orgasm.
It is a beautiful thing, Brys. You are not to be ashamed of it.
You are to celebrate it. Be proud. Many women are unable to achieve even a fraction of such ecstasy. "
"Being able to climax is not an achievement, Jakob." Her tone is sharp and hard. "To say that orgasm is an achievement is to say that a woman who struggles to reach orgasm is a failure."
"I stand corrected. That is not what I meant, and I take your point. Thank you for correcting me, Brys."
Her gaze is suspicious. "Is that sarcasm?"
I frown at her. "No. I am not prone to sarcasm."
"You are actually, truly thanking me?"
"Yes. Why is this surprising?"
She snickers. "Um, because men generally don't take correction well. Especially not billionaire CEOs who can buy companies on a whim just to fire some rude bitch."
I clear my throat. "I am not a billionaire anymore."
"Perhaps not financially, no, but your attitude and demeanor are one hundred percent billionaire-coded."
"Is that a bad thing?" I ask.
She frowns, shrugs. "Not necessarily, no. It can be, but it is not by nature a criticism. Just an observation." Brys climbs to her feet, grunting as she wobbles, arms windmilling as she finds her balance. "Geez, my legs don't work." She traipses to the window—peering out from the side, now.
"Is our friend still there?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "Nope. He's gone." She yanks the curtains closed and turns to face me; I'm still seated on the floor, legs crossed. "We need to talk about some of what just happened, Jakob."
I rise to my feet and go to her. Press a finger over her lips. "I will never cause you real pain. If something crosses the threshold from pleasure into discomfort, simply tell me and I shall stop whatever I am doing immediately."
"Like a safe word?"
I shrug. "If you wish. Or simply tell me to stop. But you must be certain you want to stop. I do not play games in that regard, Brys."
"I told you I couldn't take any more, yet you kept going," She points out.
"I stopped doing that particular thing, did I not?" I say. "And when I put my fingers inside you, did you want me to stop?"
"I…"
"Did you?"
"No."
"I know you didn't. You didn't tell me to stop because you didn’t think you could take any more, Brys; you told me to stop because you were afraid of that edge.
You could feel yourself reaching a breaking point which you have likely never had the courage to go beyond on your own, and which no one else has had the knowledge or skill to get you past."
Her mouth opens and closes a few times. "I was scared of it."
I inch closer. Hold her eyes. "I know. You trust me to keep you alive out there, yes?" I gesture at the window.
"So far, yes."
I point at the bed. "Then trust me to know your limits there, as well."
She shakes her head, pushes past me. "You don't know what you're asking, Jakob."
"Oh, but I do."
She whirls. "No, you don't!" She's in my space, angry and wild, eyes blazing fury. "You don't know anything about me or my past. You don't know what I want. What I like. What I don't like. You don't know what I'm afraid of. You don't know what I fantasize about."
"Yet." One syllable, emerging from my lips unbidden.
It reveals truths I am terrified to examine within myself.
At that moment, tires squeal outside.