CHAPTER 47 #2
I gripped the frame of the bed above me and slid my bottom lip between my teeth, biting down as the delicious pull of his mouth tugged the ache that throbbed at my pussy.
My fingers curled tight around the metal bar above me, knees pressed together while the soft trickle of my arousal spilled into my cotton panties.
I squirmed as he moved to the other breast, sucking that nipple to a hardened peak and flicking his tongue against the sensitive tip.
Seeming to notice the torment, he skated his hand lower, his palm flat against me, until he reached the apex of my thighs and rubbed his finger over my panties.
“Of course you’re wet.” His voice held a sharp bite of anger at the discovery.
My body slid closer to his chest, one of his arms wedged beneath me and across my chest, holding me to him as if I’d try to get away. Like I would’ve attempted such a thing right then.
Determined fingers breached the hem of my panties and I bowed in exquisite agony, as he painted gentle lines over my undoubtedly drenched seam.
“Fuck me.” That deep baritone voice in my ear innervated this frantic need for him that pulled like a taut string, ready to snap.
Whether intentional, or a mindless act, his other hand gripped my throat as he ran his finger up and down my slippery seam, gathering the slick dew he’d worked up.
In my periphery, he brought his hand to his mouth, and a deep throaty sound of satisfaction rolled through his chest. “Why do you have to taste like a sweet forbidden fruit? Goddamn, you’re killing me, Lilia. I can’t do this. I can’t.”
“Don’t stop. Please, I’m begging you. So many nights I’ve–” I cut myself off, embarrassed to admit that I’d fucked my own pillow to thoughts of him.
“You’ve what? Tell me everything. Every detail. I want to hear what you do when you’re alone.” It seemed to keep him interested, and though I risked the most humiliating confession of my life, I was too intoxicated to care right then.
“I dream that you come into my room. And …”
He flicked a wet finger over my clit, and I arched into him on a moan. “And what?”
“And you … climb into bed beside me, just like this.”
“Are you sleeping?”
“Yes.”
Teeth grazed the shell of my ear, his shaky breaths telling me the story turned him on, so I kept going.
“You shove your hand down my panties … just like this.”
He spread me wider and pressed into my clit, giving just enough pressure that I clenched my teeth as he rolled the sensitive flesh between his fingers.
“Do I fuck you with my fingers?”
“Yes, definitely.”
At that, he plunged two fingers up inside of me, his thumb still pressed to my clit. The man knew exactly what he was doing, as if he’d earned a goddamn degree in fingering. Wet sounds reverberated in my head as I relayed the fantasy. “You…choke me a little. Not hard. Just enough to make me gasp.”
“I like this dream.” His palm pressed into my throat, the pressure parting my lips, and fucking hell, it was perfect.
The lack of breath. The disheveled state of my clothes that made me look ravished, the feel of his fingers plunging and stroking while he held me captive against him.
Every detail culminated into the flawless visual inside my head.
“Tell me, Little Moth. Have I ever eaten your pussy in these fantasies?”
“Not yet. But … mostly because I’ve …” I hesitated to admit the truth that played on the tip of my tongue. It was stupid. Every other girl I knew had had a boy go down on them before. I’d had fingers prod and poke me there, but never a mouth. “I’ve never done that before.”
To my utter disappointment, he stilled against me. “Tell me you’re joking.”
My cheeks heated with humiliation.
“Are you a virgin?”
The question brought to mind the incredibly awkward and dissatisfying attempts at fifteen years old with Ghostboy.
No, technically I wasn’t a virgin, but that didn’t mean I’d actually experienced sex.
At least, not the kind of sex Professor Bramwell undoubtedly excelled at.
The rest of my sexual experiences had boiled down to blow jobs and hand jerking–two skills I’d honed during my tutoring sessions.
“I’m not a virgin, but I haven’t done much at all in the last couple of years.
I just … never had time for boys, so I never really dated after my mother died. ”
“Fuck.” He released me and rolled onto his back, rubbing a hand down his face.
The humiliation squeezed me harder, and I settled on my back beside him. “I want to do this with you.”
“No. I’m not going to be your first anything.”
“Right. So, it’s better for me to experience that with some asshole in the back of his car who’ll ghost me the next day.”
He made a gruff sound of disapproval, and I turned to see his jaw grinding, as if I’d pissed him off.
“Please, Devryck. I want this.” Flares of mortification arrived in rapid fire, when I realized I’d just called him by his first name.
Clearly, he’d caught it, too, as he slowly lowered his hands and turned toward me. “Say that again.”
“I want th–”
“Not that.”
“Please … Devryck.”
Another agonizing moment of contemplation followed, and I was certain he was about to roll away again.
Instead, he pushed up from the bed and rolled over top of me.
A carnal darkness shadowed his eyes as he stared down at me, stroking his long, hard cock.
He tore away the sheet, exposing my lifted shirt and soaked panties.
“I’m not fucking you tonight. But I am going to dine on this obnoxiously wet pussy, and I’m going to enjoy every moment of knowing I’m the only man who’s ever tasted you.
” Eyes locked on mine, he slid my panties down my thighs slowly, until they reached my knees, and only then did he break contact.
“And because I’m a selfish prick who has to live with the fact that I cannot have you to myself, I’m going to ruin you so that any boy who comes after me will leave you deeply unsatisfied, and you’ll be left fucking your own fingers, desperate to remember the time you had your professor’s face between your legs. ”
The crass edge to his words titillated my nerves and sent a tremble of excitement fluttering in my core.
His tongue swept across his lips as he slid the panties over my ankles and tossed them away. “Panties are for the modest,” he said with an air of disgust. As if I was the one who’d brought him to this place of desperation. As if I alone shouldered the blame for what was to come of this night.
Once that little layer of cotton was out of his way, he pushed my knees apart, and the disgust carved in his furrowed brow withered to a shimmer of gratitude as he stared down at me.
Chest rising and falling, he kept his gaze fixed between my thighs and bit his knuckle, falling back onto his heels.
“Damn you, Lilia. Goddamn you.” He reverently ran his hand down my inner thigh and dropped forward, propping himself up on muscled arms. He kissed the inside of my thigh, the softness of his lips sending a tickle to my stomach.
Lower and lower, he trailed his kisses, and when he finally reached the apex of my thighs, I held my breath, my heart so wound up, it was a wonder he couldn’t hear it rattle across my ribs.
He rested his nose against my folds, and I twitched on contact.
A deep inhale sent my pulse rate soaring. He was smelling me. There. Oh, God. All I wanted to do was slam my legs closed right then, but his head would’ve gotten crushed.
A whimper slipped past my lips, and I reached down to grab the top of his head. I wanted to tell him to stop, but the humiliation exhilarated me. What the hell was wrong with me? It was so primal. Hot. So hot, I felt the shameless urge to grind against the ticklish stubble of his face.
He took hold of my wrist and pried it from where I’d clutched the top of his skull.
“Devryck, I’m nervous.”
“You should be. Your professor is about to eat your pussy, Lilia. There’s a whole host of reasons why that’s fucked up, but I’m too far gone to stop myself.
At this point, there is nothing I want more than to feel that obscenely pink clit of yours against my tongue.
And we will never do this again after tonight.
Do you understand? This cannot happen again. ”
“I understand,” I rasped.
Wearing that same stern, unyielding expression that he wore in lecture, when he refused to entertain further questions, he lowered his head.
Legs spread wide, I turned away, closing my eyes.
In the silence of my mind, I prayed that I smelled okay, that I hadn’t missed a spot when I’d shaved earlier that morning.
Oh, God, what was taking so long? I felt completely open and on display.
The anticipation curled in my belly, and when he finally made contact, every nerve ending flared inside of me.
My muscles violently twitched, and I dug my fingers into the bedsheets.
It occurred to me how much I’d ached for the man, as I bit down hard on my lip and pressed the crown of my head into the pillow, desperate, needy, hungry.
At a long, delirious drag of his tongue, I arched upward, my fingers clawing the sheets while the shock of his invasion seared my insides.
Prickles of stubble grazed my thighs, his warm, wet tongue dancing against my clit, while his fingers held me open for his assault.
I wanted to bite, scratch, scream, but instead, I dragged the pillow over my face, pressed it there, and focused on every sensation he’d commandeered.
The sounds he made in his throat. The way his fingers plunged in and out of me, working in tandem with that relentless mouth.
It was a level of mastery I couldn’t even fully appreciate, because I’d never had someone so boldly dive between my legs before.
In my limited experience, boys took. They took without much thought, and they rarely ever reciprocated.