Chapter 33 #3
Her smirk deepened as she dragged her hand lower. “Are you ready?”
Oakland whimpered, barely managing a nod, her body already answering for her.
Christine pressed a teasing kiss to the inside of her thigh, her lips barely there, the softest brush of heat that made Oakland twitch, already too sensitive.
“You’re so fucking pretty…” Christine murmured against her skin, dragging her mouth slowly upward, pressing another kiss higher, then another. “I could kiss you all night.”
Oakland groaned, shifting restlessly.
She didn’t know what to do with her hands. Didn’t know how to breathe. She had never felt anticipation like this before.
Christine kissed higher.
Then, just as her mouth reached the edge of her soaked underwear, she paused.
Lingered.
And then, she looked up.
Their eyes met, and Christine held her gaze as she hooked her fingers into the fabric.
“Let me see you, baby.”
Oakland’s stomach flipped violently.
Christine was still waiting, still giving her the chance to stop this.
But fuck, she didn’t want to stop.
She didn’t want distance, hesitation, or to be anywhere but under Christine, entirely at her mercy.
“…Take them off.”
Christine grinned. “Let’s make a mess, then.”
And then, she dragged the last piece of clothing down her legs, baring her completely.
Oakland shivered, pulse thundering, her whole body wired tight with anticipation.
Christine tossed the fabric aside without looking away.
Then, she leaned in.
Close. So close.
Her fingertips traced up the inside of Oakland’s thigh, inching higher, spreading her open just a little more.
Oakland moaned, twitching, her hips lifting, already seeking more.
Christine kissed her way back up, hands sliding under Oakland’s thighs, lifting them slightly, positioning her exactly where she wanted her.
Then—finally—Christine’s lips brushed over her.
Just a tease. A whisper of heat. The barest flick of her tongue against wet, aching slickness.
Oakland whimpered, whole body clenching, muscles tensing in desperation.
Christine hummed, clearly enjoying this.
“You’re so fucking wet for me…” she murmured, dragging her tongue through it, tasting her for the first time.
Oakland gasped, head tipping back, hands gripping the sheets.
Fuck. Fuck.
She was so sensitive, so unbearably on edge, every flick of Christine’s tongue sending shocks of pleasure straight through her core.
And while she wasn’t exactly experienced, she knew enough to recognize that finishing in twelve seconds flat would be deeply humiliating.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to quiet her mind, to slow the rising tide threatening to crash far too soon.
But Christine wasn’t making it easy.
Not even a little.
Christine dragged her tongue slowly, deeper this time, letting a soft moan vibrate against her.
Oakland whimpered, thighs tightening around Christine’s head, desperate, overwhelmed, drowning in sensation.
Christine’s fingers flexed against Oakland’s hips.
“Fuck, baby,” she murmured, breathless. “I want you to come so I can taste all of you.”
Then—she went back in.
Deeper. Slower.
Oakland sobbed, toes curling, body twitching with every pass of Christine’s tongue.
She felt Christine’s hand slip back between her thighs, fingers teasing, lingering near her entrance.
A faint pressure. A suggestion. It was too much. Not enough.
Oakland’s breath shuddered, hips rolling instinctively, chasing more.
She touched herself before—of course, she did—but it was never like this.
She never let herself go that far, not even alone.
She never pushed inside, never tested how much she could take, never permitted herself to lose control like this.
Her hands moved to Christine’s hair, fingers twisting in damp, dark strands, not pulling her away but clutching, grounding, pleading.
Christine felt it. The silent desperation, the wrecked, trembling need shaking through Oakland’s body.
Christine flicked her tongue once, twice, then lifted her head, just barely.
Just enough to make Oakland whimper.
Christine’s breath was hot, her lips slick from Oakland, and her voice a low, knowing rasp that sent shivers through her.
“Do you want me to fuck you, baby?”
Oakland’s body arched, legs trembling, fingers digging into the sheets. The answer was already ripping from her throat, desperate, wrecked.
“Yes. Christine. Yes—please.”
Christine kissed the inside of her thigh, voice softer now but no less firm.
“Tell me if anything hurts or if you become uncomfortable. I’ll stop.”
Oakland shuddered, her breath catching in her chest, overwhelmed by the care in those words, by how much Christine wanted this to be good for her.
She nodded frantically, voice barely above a whisper.
“I don’t want you to stop.”
Christine smiled against her skin, pressing another soft kiss just above where Oakland ached for her.
And this time, she didn’t make her wait.
She pushed in, slow and steady, stretching her open, filling her, giving her everything.
Oakland gasped—sharp, wrecked, wholly overwhelmed.
She never felt anything like this before.
The fullness, the heat, the way Christine’s fingers curled just right—a sharp, sweet ache that made Oakland’s back arch.
Just enough to sting. Just enough to make her gasp. Just enough to make her want more.
She cried out, her body trembling, caught between pleasure and something deeper—something overwhelming, something she welcomed.
Christine watched her, memorizing every reaction, every sound, every way Oakland’s body surrendered to her touch.
She ran her tongue along the inside of Oakland’s thigh. “You’re everything,” she murmured against her skin, pressing a kiss to her hip as her fingers thrust deeper—firmer—curling into her just right.
Oakland whimpered, shaking, panting.
Christine moved slowly at first, testing, waiting, drawing out every ounce of pleasure she could wring from her.
Then, when she felt Oakland’s thighs trembling, when she felt her body start to tighten around her fingers—she moved faster.
Oakland cried out, gasping, clenching around Christine’s fingers as the pleasure built higher, higher, higher.
Christine groaned, pressing deeper, stretching Oakland open, fingers buried down to the knuckles.
She angled her palm just right, letting it grind against Oakland’s clit with every movement, every deep push inside.
The pressure. The friction. The unbearable, perfect rhythm.
Oakland gasped, her body tightening around Christine’s fingers, already trembling, already so close.
“You gonna come for me, baby?”
Oakland couldn’t even answer. She was too close. Too wrecked. Too fucking gone.
Christine knew.
She worked her faster, harder, curling just right, dragging her over the edge.
And then—she pressed her tongue against Oakland’s clit, flicking over it once, twice?—
Oakland broke.
Her whole body seized, back arching, a strangled sob ripping from her throat as the orgasm slammed through her.
Christine held her through it, never slowing, never stopping, dragging it out until Oakland was nothing but a trembling, wrecked mess beneath her.
Only when the aftershocks faded into slow, shuddering gasps did Christine finally ease her fingers out, leaving Oakland sensitive, shaking, and completely undone.
This was the part where the guilt usually slipped in—quiet, sharp-edged, familiar.
The moment right after the high, when Oakland’s body still hummed, but her mind turned cruel.
When shame slipped in like a shadow, wrapping tight around her ribs and murmuring the same old accusation: you’re not right.
But it didn’t come.
It couldn’t. Not with Christine still between her thighs, mouth soft and unrelenting, fingers stroking slow and sweet, easing her back down from the edge like she deserved to be held there.
Christine licked through the mess she’d made—her mess—gentle and thorough, cleaning up every drop with a kind of hunger that made Oakland’s chest ache.
Oakland whimpered, thighs twitching, muscles jumping from overstimulation, but Christine didn’t stop. Didn’t let her go.
She hummed low against her, satisfied, languid—pressing soft, lazy kisses to sensitive skin between strokes that bordered on torture.
Oakland made a broken sound, trying to pull away, her body trembling with too much.
Christine chuckled, voice muffled and smug.
“Mm, baby… almost done.”
She dragged her tongue over her again, slower this time, until Oakland gasped, one hand twisting in Christine’s hair, not sure whether to pull her closer or push her away.
Finally, Christine pressed a final, lingering kiss to her swollen clit, her breath ghosting over the skin as she murmured against her.
“There. Now you’re perfect.”
And when she finally crawled back up, stretching out over Oakland’s trembling body, she grinned down at her, wicked, knowing.
Oakland couldn’t move.
Couldn’t think.
Couldn’t do anything but lay there, completely changed.
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