15. Drake #3
We’d lived through a similar moment before, clashing into one another with the certainty of stars on a collision course. There was an inevitability to it—to us. And no time to second guess or hesitate when the heat erupting between us was all-consuming.
Those moments from our past reared to life in the tension tying us together, and the familiarity of it fell into place like pieces of a puzzle.
It was amazing and wonderful, and easier than breathing to fall into her, to consume her.
The natural perfume of her arousal and grapefruit shampoo mingled with the feel of her melting in my arms, moaning into my mouth, sliced through the leash on my restraint.
My tongue demanded entry between her lips, and she sighed as the kiss deepened.
Regardless of all the things that needed to be said, or perhaps in spite of them, we shoved everything out of the way.
And that somehow led to her shoving her hands through my hair and my hands sliding around her waist. Then her nails scratching over my scalp when my mouth littered kisses along her jaw, bites along the column of her throat, and hot open-mouthed kisses at her neckline.
She dropped her head back and whimpered when I located a hardened nipple, mouthing it through the fabric of her dress.
Helen rolled her hips, and I moved with a one-track mind, eager to relieve her. I looked up at her, heart racing and losing the air in my lungs at the ravaged sight of her. The kiss-swollen lips, her flushed skin, and the narrow ring of blue around her pupils dazed and salacious in her wanting.
Hands on her hips, I steered her onto her desk, laid her back on the surface. Her pulse thrummed in a vein in her neck and her chest rose quickly, but she didn’t stop me when I went to my knees and ran my palms over her bare legs.
Fingers barely under her dress, I paused.
She nodded, biting her lip.
“Open your legs.”
Dark green material fisted in my hands. I bunched it up around her waist, revealing white lace. Already soaked through, giving the perfect sight of her pussy lips through the fabric.
“Fuck,” I groaned.
She whimpered.
“I have to taste you. Fuck, I want to suck that pretty clit until you’re crying.” I slid her underwear down her smooth leg, swiftly pocketing the damp lace in my back pocket. Then I dove in, swiping my tongue over her slit. “Having my tongue on you is a gift. You taste so good, Monty.”
My cock strained against my zipper, but I ignored it.
Everything was about her, her pleasure, her taste on my tongue, and the dulcet little noises she made when my tongue lapped at her clit.
I hooked her legs over my shoulders and draped one arm across her hips to hold the squirmy, wanton creature in place.
Her hips bucked against my face, moaning as I tongue-fucked her until her juices coated my lips and dripped down my face.
She scratched her nails over my head and trapped my face against her sweet cunt as if there was a world in which I needed to stop for air.
I had no intention of rising until she trembled.
“Ne vous arrêtez pas. S’il vous pla?t, ne vous arrêtez pas.”
And she was close.
“Drake. Drake. Oh, s’il te pla?t… Dieu, oh mon Dieu!”
I brought my free hand up and slipped two fingers into her fluttering channel.
Her inner walls gripped me, pulling my digits deep against her g-spot.
She keened, and some primal, male part of me hoped every fucker on that floor heard her reaching an orgasm on my face.
And when she shattered with a desperate cry, pulling my hair so hard she might have scalped me, and her thighs quaking against my head, I wished to imprint her noises and her taste in my memory.
Monty’s body quivered, chest heaving with deep, heavy breaths. She looked gorgeous splayed out on her desk, thighs slick with evidence of her pleasure. A layer of perspiration coated my temples and my heart hurtled against my ribs. I sucked my fingers into my mouth, licking up every drop of her.
She noticed the lascivious act and bolted upright. She ran a hand through the curtain of her hair, tugging it away from her delightfully pink face.
“Get out?—”
“Monty, not this again.” Irritation boiled through me. The taste of her cunt lingered on my tongue, and she was kicking me out as if I hadn’t just made her see stars.
“Get the fuck out,” she snapped, scooting her dress back over her legs even as she glared at me.
“We need to have that talk we keep putting off. We’re about to get married.” My tone remained low, deceptively calm, even as the sea monster in my chest poked its head above the frothing surface.
Helen shoving me away, snarling with all the vitriol in her blood and marrow. “This marriage is a farce. Just because we fucked ten years ago doesn’t mean I’m yours.”
I crowded her space, caging her against the desk again.
I didn’t miss when her clouded, icy gaze dipped to my mouth again, gleaming as she noted the gloss of her cum on my lips.
Her breath caught in her throat, and I took one final deep inhale of her scent.
“When I fuck you again… you will be.” And I left her alone to simmer with that promise.