23. Julia #3
The mattress dips beneath my weight when he guides me backward onto the bed.
His mouth finds the inside of my thigh, as he kisses the sensitive skin there first, open-mouthed, then higher, so close to where I need him that my hips lift without my permission.
A pulse of anticipation tightens low in my stomach.
His hands spread my legs and when his mouth finally touches my pussy, my entire body seizes.
“Oh my God,” I breathe.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he lets his tongue do the talking.
He moves slowly enough that I feel every inch of it, dragging from my entrance up over my clit, then circling there with maddening patience.
A helpless sound leaves me while my hands search through the dark until they find his shoulders, then the back of his head, the knit of the balaclava under my fingers where the rest of his face stays hidden.
There is something obscene about having no visual reference for where he is.
I know he is between my legs because I feel his breath and mouth there, feel the strength of his hands holding my thighs apart and the faint rub of fabric where the mask still covers everything I am not allowed to see, but the darkness removes everything except sensation.
Then his tongue changes pressure which makes my hips jerk, and he notices immediately.
Of course he does. Within moments, he has found exactly what makes my legs tighten around his shoulders, that slightly firmer stroke just to the left of my clit, and he keeps returning to it with a patience that feels almost cruel.
He flattens his tongue and works me in slow, wet circles until I am dripping against his mouth, then sucks gently, then harder, until my thighs start shaking around his head.
“Oh, fuck.”
A low hum vibrates against me and his mouth eases away, letting the cool air reach my wet skin. I make another helpless sound, nothing coherent, just need.
“Words, little ember.” He repeats because obviously he won’t move until I use them.
“Please don’t stop.” I whimper.
I can hear the smile I can’t see right before his mouth comes back harder. A cry tears out of me.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice so low and rough the words become almost another vibration. “Let me hear you.”
I do. There is nothing left to protect from him. He has spent weeks watching expressions through glass and trying to imagine the sounds attached to them; tonight I want him to know exactly what he does when he is close enough to hear everything.
One finger slides inside me, then another — he fucks me with them while he eats me, curling up into that same spot he found downstairs, his tongue never leaving my clit.
My hips lift from the bed before his free hand presses firmly over my lower stomach and holds me down.
The control in it sends another wave of heat through me and I stop fighting the pressure.
“That’s it,” he murmurs again while curling his fingers so perfectly that my hands tighten around his shoulders.
He brings me close enough that my body starts to shake, then slows until the pleasure retreats just enough to make frustration burn through me. I groan and he does it again. The second time, I nearly swear at him. The third, I’m too close to care about pride.
“Please.”
He stills. I hate him a little for making me feel the silence.
“Again.” The single word reaches me from between my thighs.
“Please.”
His fingers move lazily inside me, spreading me, stroking that swollen place until I am writhing under his hand. I know what he wants.
“Please make me come.” His mouth returns immediately and I exhale. “Better.”
The orgasm builds so quickly after that I barely have time to understand what is happening before every muscle begins drawing tight. His fingers keep curling against exactly the right place while his tongue works me without mercy, and the pressure becomes almost unbearable.
“Oh my God.” My voice cracks.
“Let me hear you.”
That is all it takes. The release hits hard enough to lift my body despite the hand holding me down, pleasure tearing through me in waves so sharp that I cry out without caring how loud I am.
I come on his tongue, on his fingers, shaking so hard the mattress complains beneath us.
He stays with me through every second. When the sensation finally tips from overwhelming to too much, I press weakly at his shoulder.
He stops immediately, the response so fast that for a second it registers more strongly than the orgasm itself. There was no hesitation, no attempt to steal another few seconds. Just stop.
His fingers slide out slowly. The mattress shifts.
His body travels upward through the dark and when his mouth finds mine, I can taste myself on his lips and make a small startled sound that disappears into the kiss.
His hand settles around my throat, not squeezing, simply holding me there while the rest of his body comes over mine.
I slide my palms down his chest, over his stomach and lower, to the waistband of his jeans still between us. I find the button in the dark which alternates his changes. A smile pulls at my mouth.
Finally.
The zipper follows, and my hand slips inside far enough to close around the hard length of his dick.
He is thick, hot, already wet at the tip, and when I stroke him from base to head, a rough breath leaves his mouth.
There’s nothing altered about that sound, nothing controlled either, and the satisfaction I feel is immediate.
I stroke him once more, twisting my wrist the way I imagine he likes it, which makes his forehead drop briefly against mine.
“Jesus Christ.” He hisses.
My fingers tighten slightly, but his hand closes around my wrist so I stop.
For a second, I think he is going to end it there.
Instead, he releases me and moves away just long enough for denim to slide down his legs.
I hear it hit the floor somewhere beside the bed, followed by the softer sound of what I presume is his removed underwear.
When he comes back over me, there is nothing between our bodies, nothing but the heat that pours from him.
His knee settles between my thighs and the head of his dick presses against my pussy, thick enough that my breath catches for an entirely different reason.
He drags himself through the wetness there, coating himself, teasing my clit with the blunt heat of him until I am lifting my hips in a silent plea.
He moves away briefly and I hear the faint tear of foil in the dark.
A small detail, almost mundane compared with everything else about tonight, but it makes me smile into the pillow because apparently the masked man who stalks me through the woods still plans ahead.
A few seconds later, he settles between my thighs again.
His hand runs slowly along my leg, from knee to hip, and despite how little he has spoken all night, I know exactly why he pauses. He is waiting.
“Yes.”
His mouth brushes near mine. “Again.”
I wrap one leg around his hip and pull him closer until I feel him lined up against me.
“Yes, Ghost. I want you.” That is enough.
He pushes inside slowly. The first stretch steals the breath from my lungs, my body tightening around the unfamiliar fullness while he stays still enough to let me adjust.
“Fuck.” The word tears out of him, low and wrecked, like he did not expect me to feel this good.