Summer #2
My laughter is promptly disrupted by the sensation of a finger plunging deep inside me. I yelp at the intrusion, attempting to pull myself up, but he doesn’t let me move an inch from my spot, pinning me under him.
“Fuck! Your cunt is so insanely tight!” he utters those words against my neck, the scorching desire in his tone fanning a fire inside me. “You sure you’re not a virgin?”
“Are you deaf? I just told you I am in my ears. The armpits, too,” I joke on a breathy exhale, hanging on by my eyelashes not to move my hips against the hand between my legs.
“A paradigm of chastity,” he quips, with a nibble on my neck, stealing a shudder out of me.
Apparently, after such a long dry spell, him on top of me, along with his magnetic scent, plus one finger inside me, and I’m already teetering on the edge.
He works me up torturously slow, and it takes everything in me not to give out a single sound at his ministrations.
“If it’s pleasure you’re hoping to draw out of me . . . you wouldn’t know how to find my G-spot . . . even if it was a huge red button . . . with a label on it.” I’m barely holding down a moan to finish the sentence.
He stops, leaving only a thumb to circle my clit, turning up a notch the level of torture. Count to three, and Atlas’s hand leaves my private parts without a proper goodbye, and I’m about to cry at the emptiness.
But then he starts lowering himself onto me, and I’m biting my lip to stop myself from smiling.
“Tell me to stop,” he taunts again, before going all the way down between my legs.
Crickets!
The whole army in my head rebels, screaming: Don’t you fucking dare tell him to stop!
Atlas glides his palms on my thighs, pulling down my panties. I should fight him, but my brain seems unwilling to give the command, and my legs part for him without any resistance whatsoever. There isn’t a single cell inside me that would protest what he’s about to do.
“Look at that, honey . . .” He gently blows over my private parts, teasing me, stripping all shreds of self-control, as my walls choke the shit out of air. “Your perfect little pussy is weeping for me not to stop.”
I open my mouth for some semblance of rebuttal, but he knows how to silence me.
My words at least. They all but die out in some deranged gibberish when his tongue runs up my slit before diving inside me.
I can no longer keep that moan at bay, and it’s ripped loose when my back arches off the mattress.
Can’t pretend what he’s doing isn’t what I yearn for, nor protest against it, shamelessly grinding on his tongue.
I’ve been with two men before him, but I’ve never been eaten like this, making my whole body tremble when he sinks into me.
But then the sweet pressure vanishes, and right now, I might be ready to plead with him not to leave me high and dry if that’s what he’s up to.
“So fuckin’ delicious! You’re more addictive than a drug.” His hot breath fans over my pussy before he yanks my thighs wider and seals his lips back on me with a hungry grunt.
As soon as his tongue lashes my clit, two fingers enter me, setting every nerve in my body on high alert, every strand of hair standing on end, and the knot in my belly tightening, ready to explode.
He fucks me with deep, steady strokes, all the way to his knuckles, like he owns my pussy and knows precisely how to ruin me, where to press, how fast or slow, every thrust pulling me deeper into torturous bliss.
My eyes shut tight, a second away from falling off the edge, but I don’t get to take the leap, because his mouth and fingers abandon me abruptly.
No, no, no, please don’t stop! I want more! I’m so close.
“Eyes on me when I eat you! I want you well aware of who gives you pleasure. If you look away or close them, I’ll stop.”
My gaze darts to him on command, and the smugness spills all over his face while he lowers himself once more, starting right where he left off, only to catch on my clit with his teeth, just as I did with his finger.
I want my hands free. I need to touch him.
Atlas adds a third finger, hitting a spot inside me that makes my head start to fall back, too lost in the pleasure he gives me.
When he halts, my eyes are back on him instantly, so he will proceed.
And he does, while staring straight into my soul.
That alone turns me on even more, if it’s even possible.
But with every stroke, he chips away a piece of my control, and I’m the one who’s supposed to take it from him.
A rumble of pleasure vibrates through my clit when he sucks on it and his fingers curl inside me, forcing the orgasm to build up so fast, coming like a tidal wave, crashing into me, leaving me crying out loud.
I do close my eyes when that climax hits, but he doesn’t stop, even though my walls are cinched so tightly on his fingers, like I want to keep them there permanently as a keepsake.
He prolongs my high to the point it seems endless, making pink bunnies dance across my vision.
I can’t even catch my breath, let alone form a coherent thought.