When This Happens Again, Not If -Libby
Twenty Three
Iwoke to his mouth on my neck—as if he’d decided where to put it long before I opened my eyes.
Then his hand.
It slid over my stomach, fingers trailing lower, leaving heat in their wake, until they brushed the waistband of my panties, and I sucked in a sharp breath as they slipped inside.
He pushed in without preamble—two thick fingers, deep.
The sound that escaped me was embarrassing, low, and open-mouthed. I was soaked, slick, and throbbing.
“Fuck, Libby.” His mouth pressed hot against the shell of my ear, his voice rough with sleep and something darker, hungrier, underneath it.
“I’m sorry. I tried to let you sleep.” His fingers stroked inside me, knuckles pressing where I was most sensitive, and my hips jerked off the mattress.
“Apparently, I lose my goddamn mind when it comes to you.”
I gasped, my back arching, but he didn’t give me space for it.
His free hand clamped over my hip, pressing deep enough to bruise—claiming—and the roughness pulled a sound from me I hadn’t intended.
My thoughts scattered before I could catch them.
This version of him—greedy, half-feral with want—undid me.
“Finn—” I started, but a low, guttural growl cut me off. He flipped me onto my back in one smooth motion, pulled my panties down my legs, and before I’d drawn another full breath, his hands shoved my thighs apart—obscenely wide—and his mouth descended on me.
No warm-up. No teasing. No concession to patience whatsoever.
His tongue slid up my entire length in one slow, devastating stroke—tasting everything, taking everything—then his lips sealed around my clit, and he sucked hard. A sound I didn’t recognize tore from my throat, raw and broken and loud enough that I should have cared, but couldn’t get close to it.
“Fuck—Finn!” My hands flew to his hair, fingers knotting in the dark strands and gripping tight.
My hips bucked against his face on pure instinct—desperate, seeking—but he growled against my skin and slammed his forearm across my lower belly, pinning me flat with a strength that sent shivers through me.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t squirm. Couldn’t escape a single thing his mouth inflicted on me.
His tongue turned ruthless—flicking, circling in fast, relentless strokes while he sucked in a steady, maddening rhythm, drawing my swollen flesh deep into the heat of his mouth as if he had nowhere else to be.
He pushed two fingers back inside me without warning, and immediately set a brutal pace—pumping, targeting that spot. White light fractured behind my eyes.
“Oh god—right there—don’t stop.” My voice splintered into something high and unrecognizable.
He didn’t stop. The suction on my clit intensified, exquisitely painful, while his fingers drove into me with rough, unrelenting thrusts.
The slick sounds of my body filled the room alongside my ragged breathing.
Every time the intensity climbed too high and my hips tried to twist away, his forearm pressed down harder, pinning me, forcing me to take every last thing he chose to give.
He pulled back just long enough to spit directly onto my clit—hot, unashamedly filthy—then his mouth crashed back down, his tongue even more vicious than before.
His fingers drove deeper until I sobbed his name into the dark room as if it were the only word I still knew.
My entire body burned, pleasure so acute it dissolved the line between exquisite and unbearable.
My inner walls clenched around his fingers as another wave built.
He growled—a deep, vibrating sound that shot straight through my core—and sucked my clit between his lips again, his tongue rubbing the swollen tip in rapid, merciless flicks while his fingers hit that spot inside me without a single concession to mercy.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. My thighs locked around his head, heels digging hard into his back, every muscle in my body pulled wire-tight—
“Finn—I’m—fuck, I’m coming.”
My back arched so hard my shoulders lifted off the mattress; a raw, shattered cry ripped from somewhere deep in my chest. I came apart all at once—clenching hard around his fingers, my hips lurching up off the bed without my permission, a heat that started somewhere behind my sternum and tore outward through every limb until I couldn’t tell where one sensation ended and the next began.
He didn’t pull away. Didn’t ease up. His tongue kept working through every brutal contraction, fingers still pumping, pulling the orgasm out past the point where pleasure became something closer to pain.
My vision blurred at the edges. My legs shook.
Tears streaked down my temples, and I let them fall, didn’t try to stop them, just lay there completely unraveled while sounds I’d never made spilled from my mouth—gasps, broken whimpers, his name repeated over and over.
Only when the peak began its slow, shuddering retreat did he relent.
His tongue softened into long, lingering passes over my oversensitive skin, each one sending a full-body tremor rolling through me, prolonging the aftershocks until I lay beneath him a trembling, tear-streaked, completely incoherent mess—fingers still tangled weakly in his hair, chest heaving so hard my ribs ached.
Then—finally—he lifted his head.
His lips glistened. His chin dripped. His eyes—god, his eyes—were still hungry, pupils dark, not a trace of the edge taken off. He looked at me as if I mattered.
I couldn’t catch my breath, my body still twitching with residual electricity, my thighs still trembling where they’d fallen open around him, every nerve ending raw and ringing and completely at his mercy.
He dragged the back of his hand slowly across his mouth, held my gaze, and I knew—with absolute certainty—he had no intention of stopping.
I sagged against the pillows, boneless, gasping, and still shaking through the last of the aftershocks.
Finn gave me no time to recover. He crawled up my body with a slow, deliberate intensity that made my stomach clench all over again.
His eyes, dark and stripped of every civilized restraint he’d ever used to keep me at arm’s length, locked on mine.
Whatever tenderness had softened his edges in the hours before had burned away, replaced by something primal and unashamed.
It spiked my pulse and made my thighs press together despite everything he’d just done to me.
He was hard. Thick, flushed dark, the swollen head glistening in the dim light. My mouth went dry at the sight of him, and something deep in my core clenched with a hunger that surprised even me.
He swung a leg over me and straddled my chest, his solid weight settling against my breasts—commanding and completely without apology.
No hesitation. No question in his expression.
He fisted a rough hand in my hair and pulled my head back, sharp enough to expose my throat, sharp enough to sting, to send a jolt of electricity straight down between my legs.
The swollen head of his cock pressed against my lips. Hot. Slick. Insistent.
“Open.” His voice was low and guttural, dragged up from somewhere deep in his chest. Not a request.
My lips parted instantly, eagerly, without a breath of hesitation, because I wanted this.
Wanted him. Wanted him to take what he needed from me with the same single-minded devastation he’d just used to take me apart with his mouth.
Wanted to be the thing he hadn’t planned for, the variable that broke his careful math.
He didn’t ease in.
One brutal thrust drove him straight to the back of my throat.
I gagged—hard, involuntary—eyes watering, and the choked sound that escaped around him only pulled a deeper groan from his chest, his hips twitching forward.
He held himself buried for one long, agonizing second—my throat working around him, my fingers digging into his thighs—before he started to move.
Short. Punishing. Relentless.
“Take it,” he rasped, his voice shredded raw with need. His fist tightened in my hair, right at the edge of pain, using the grip to pull my mouth onto him with every snap of his hips. Wet, rhythmic slaps punctuated his grunts—flesh meeting spit-slicked flesh in a cadence that bordered on brutal.
My throat clicked and seized around him between the slick glide of his thrusts, punctuated by his ragged breathing.
The wet suction of my mouth releasing him fractionally before he drove back in created a vulgar percussion beneath our desperate sounds.
Saliva spilled from the corners of my stretched lips, running in warm trails down my chin, my neck, pooling in the hollow of my throat. I wouldn’t have stopped him for anything.
I moaned around him—loud and deliberate—the vibration making his cock jerk hard against my tongue as his breath hitched audibly above me.
Tears tracked steadily down my cheeks from the punishing pace, but I kept my jaw slack and my throat open, relaxing into each thrust so he could go deeper.
Every time he pulled back, I slid my tongue along the sensitive underside—swirling, tracing the thick vein that pulsed against my lips—then hollowed my cheeks on the drive back in, sucking tight enough to drag a ragged “fuck” from him that sounded torn loose rather than spoken.
“Goddamn, Libby—your mouth—” The words came out strangled as his hips thrust harder, faster, control dissolving with each urgent surge.
The head of his cock hit the back of my throat on every deep stroke.
My lips stretched wide, and I looked up through wet lashes, watching his abs clench and release.
His eyes burned down into mine, watching me take him, his gaze reverent, as if I were the most beautiful thing he’d ever witnessed.