Chapter 17 #3
I focus my attention. Circling with deliberate strokes.
Flicking with the tip of my tongue. Sucking gently.
Working her with the same methodical precision I bring to everything else in my life.
Paying attention to every gasp, every moan, every pull of my hair that tells me I've found what she needs.
Her taste fills my mouth. Coats my tongue. I'm drowning in it, in her, and I never want to surface.
When I slide two fingers inside her, she cries out. Loud. Echoing off the walls of the small closet.
"Shh." I press a kiss to her inner thigh. "Everyone will hear you."
"I don't care." Her hips rock against my hand, desperate and uncoordinated. "Don't stop. God, please don't stop."
Let them hear. Let the whole town know that she's mine, that I'm the one making her fall apart, that she chose me to put her back together.
I curl my fingers inside her, searching. When I find that spot that makes her whole body jerk and a broken sound tear from her throat, I press harder.
My mouth returns to her clit. Sucking with steady pressure. Licking in rhythm with my fingers.
She's so wet I can hear it. The obscene sound of my fingers sliding in and out, the slick evidence of her need coating my hand, dripping down my wrist.
I add a third finger. She's tight, gripping me, her inner walls fluttering around my knuckles. I can feel her getting close. Feel the way her muscles are tensing, the way her breathing has gone shallow and erratic, the way she's pulling my hair hard enough that it stings.
"That's it." I murmur against her. My voice is hoarse. Almost unrecognizable. "Let go. I've got you. Let go for me."
I press harder on that spot inside her. Circle her clit with my tongue. Once. Twice.
She shatters.
Her scream echoes off the walls. High and broken and beautiful enough that I almost come in my scrubs just from the sound of it. Her whole body goes rigid, back arching off the wall, thighs clamping around my head.
I don't stop. I work her through it. Fingers pumping. Tongue moving. Drawing out every aftershock, every tremor, every pulse of her orgasm until she's sobbing my name and pushing at my head because it's too much, too intense, too good.
Only then do I gentle my touch. Slow my fingers. Press soft kisses to her thighs as she comes down, as her breathing slowly evens out, as the grip on my hair loosens to something almost tender.
When she finally goes limp, boneless and spent, I press one last kiss to her center and pull back.
She's thoroughly undone.
Her hair has fallen completely out of its bun, wild around her face.
Her cheeks are flushed bright red. Her eyes are glazed and unfocused, pupils blown so wide there's almost no brown left.
Her mouth is open, gasping for air. Tear tracks streak her face but these tears are different. Satisfied. Released.
She's beautiful and it hurts to look at her.
I rest my forehead against her thigh. My own breathing is ragged. Unsteady. My hands tremble with the effort of not touching her more, not stripping her completely bare, not taking what my alpha is screaming that I have every right to claim.
"You taste so sweet." The words come out hoarse. Reverent. "So perfect."
Her hand is still in my hair. Gentle now. Her fingers card through the strands, soft and soothing and affectionate in a way that makes my chest ache.
"Pedro." My name is whispered. Satisfied.
I look up at her.
She's looking down at me with an expression that makes something in my chest crack open. Vulnerable. Grateful. Tender.
We stay there for a long moment. Me on my knees between her thighs. Her hand in my hair. Both of us breathing hard. Both of us aware that everything just changed.
Finally, because staying on my knees looking at her will make me do something even more reckless, I move.
Helping her stand on unsteady legs. She wobbles. My hands on her hips steady her until she finds her balance.
Then pulling up her underwear. Slowly. My knuckles dragging against her oversensitized skin making her shiver. Then her pants. Gentle. Careful. Treating her the way she deserves.
Straightening her clothes. Smoothing her hair as best I can. Trying to make her look less thoroughly debauched.
It doesn't work. Anyone who sees her will know exactly what happened. The flush on her cheeks. The swollen lips. The glazed eyes. The smell of sex and satisfaction clinging to her skin.
The territorial part of me doesn't mind at all.
"Okay?" My voice is still rough. Unsteady.
She nods. Swallows hard. Still doesn't trust herself to speak.
A strand of hair has fallen across her face. I brush it behind her ear. Let my thumb linger on her jaw.
"Come back tomorrow," I hear myself say.
She blinks at me. Slow. Still dazed. "What?"
"Come back. We'll do proper training." I lean in closer. My lips brush her ear. "And maybe, if you're good, I'll do this again. Make you scream my name again. Remind you how perfect you are."
A slow smile spreads across her face.
"Okay," she whispers. "Tomorrow."