Forty-Two #3
I can’t think, I can only feel. My eyes close, my hands reach for something to hold onto, but there’s nothing.
I vaguely recall wanting him to do this while I was standing up, but that was wrong.
This is so much better. I don’t have to worry about balance; I can lose myself in the moment.
I can let him do what he wants, and God does he know what he’s doing.
His tongue finds my clit, circling it and teasing it, and my back arches. I run one hand over my breast, squeezing, and slide my other into his hair, pulling him in close.
“I’m going to keep you there… until I’m satisfied,” I say between gasps. “Winner’s… prerogative.”
He gives a contented chuckle but says nothing, his mouth too busy for words.
His tongue teases around my clit then dips down to push back into me.
I’m already so wet, my arousal ramping up so fast it’s almost painful.
If he cares about the taste of chlorine, he’s not protesting.
Instead, he pleasures me with long, slow licks, covering every inch of my pussy, up to my clit each time.
He flicks it with the tip of his tongue, then does it again. And again.
It’s intense, it’s torture. I want more.
Tightening my grip in his hair, I pull his mouth to where I want it. “Don’t tease me, you bastard.”
“Lukas,” he says, the word muffled against me.
I know what his name is, but after so long, it just feels odd calling him that. “Don’t tease me, husband.”
“Close enough,” he murmurs, and sucks my clit into his mouth.
His lips envelop it, his tongue playing over it, around and around, back and forth, and my hips buck. It’s so much, the pleasure building fast and hard. I release my grip on him, pressing my head back against the tiles and letting out a soft cry.
Then he slides two fingers inside me.
The man is a magician. He knows exactly what to do, how to touch me.
His fingers curl within me, playing my g-spot like he’s trilling piano keys, and his tongue doesn’t stop.
His other hand reaches up, his thumb brushing one nipple.
Electricity dances across my flesh, my wet skin more sensitive.
I can’t even feel the hard tiles anymore; it’s all about his touch.
My orgasm arrives from nowhere, tearing through me and exploding in my core and against the back of my eyelids in the same instant.
I clench around his fingers, stomach tightening as I reach for his head again, pulling him hard against me.
My cries fill the night, but I don’t care.
There’s no one to hear except him, and he’ll want them.
He doesn’t stop sucking and licking my clit, riding every twitch and jerk of my hips, and it drives my orgasm on and on. I’m gasping through it, trying to get air, and just when I think it can’t go any higher, he bites me.
Sharp pain bursts through the pleasure and I choke out a scream.
But it’s fleeting, his tongue lapping the sting away, and the contrast sends lightning shooting from my clit to my skull and back again.
I can’t draw breath to gasp or cry out, I can only ride the waves of ecstasy he’s inflicting on me.
I don’t know if it’s one orgasm that never ends or many forced upon me, but my mind melts.
The next thing I know, he’s lapping softly at me. My vision is blurry, and I’m not sure if my cheeks are wet with pool water or tears.
He props his chin on my vulva and looks up at me. “Did I break you, Little Stray? You passed out there for a moment.”
“You… bit me.”
“Mmm-hmm.” How does he make that noise sound so smug?
“Don’t ‘mmm-hmm’ me! Explain yourself.”
“You liked it.”
“That’s… it’s… that’s not an excuse!” Except, for him, it always has been, since the very first day we met.
“I wasn’t making one,” he says like I’m not glaring at him, and places a kiss on my mound. “And it’s bedtime.”
“Oh, no,” I tell him, using my firm voice. “After that, I’m not letting you anywhere near my bits.” I push him away and close my legs to emphasize my point.
“I meant for you,” he says, lifting himself out of the pool in one flowing, graceful move. He stands naked over me, offering me a hand. “I doubt you can walk. Come on, I’ll carry you.”
I put my hand in his, and it’s like I’m giving him my trust. But he only pulls me to my feet then sweeps me into his arms, princess style.
“Our clothes?” I ask feebly as he passes them.
“I’ll get them in the morning,” he replies. “Right now, all I want is you asleep in my arms.”
If I had the strength, maybe I’d argue. But my limbs are weak, my body aches, and my pussy is throbbing. I can’t decide if it’s pleading for mercy or begging to be filled.
As we walk back, I’m worried I’ve caved too fast. I’m still angry with him, and that hasn’t faded.
Okay, maybe a little.
But damn it, I’m going to make him work for anything more. I’m going to keep saying no as long as I can. Even if, ultimately, it won’t have any effect.
It never has.
He’s winning me over with a combination of charm and mind-blowing orgasms, and one of those is new.