Chapter 15 #4
I feel his body cover mine, feel his erection sliding against my skin. "Does it feel like I'm disgusted?"
“No."
His lips find mine, teasing a kiss. "You sure?"
His hard-on rubs against my thigh, scrapes over my sex, up my belly. Slides between my breasts. Nudges my chin. My lips part, my mouth opening, begging to taste him…
"Are you disgusted, Morgan?" He growls, teasing and nuzzling, seeking my lips with his cock.
"No!" I pant. "Let me taste you."
He eases his tip against my lips, and I wrap them around the plump, fat, round head of his thick, hard cock. My belly flutters and my sex weeps at the salt of his skin and the heat of his flesh, and I slather my tongue over his tip, tasting him.
And then he's gone.
"Does that say I'm disgusted?"
“No."
"What does it say, Morgan?"
"You want me."
"What do I want?" his lips touch belly, hip bone.
"Me."
"Be more specific."
“To…taste me."
"Taste what, Morgan?"
"My pussy."
"Show me, sweetheart."
Panting, fighting my irrational but potent fear, I ease the tension in my thighs, oxymoronically forcing them to relax. "Noah. I'm trying. I want to let you. I need to come, Noah. I'm trying, but I…I'm too—too…"
"I have a solution," he whispers. "You still trust me?"
"Yes."
"How much?"
"I'm blindfolded and my hands are bound, Noah. How much more trust can I show?"
His laugh is not reassuring. "An excellent question, Gorgeous. You're about to find out."
He moves. Lifts my left ankle off the floor and something hard and cold touches my Achilles; cold smooth silk wraps around my ankle, tightening, knotting; he’s tied my ankle to an object.
His lips touch my thigh, high up, close enough that his nose nuzzles my sex. I cry out in shrill shock and my right leg clenches around him, trying to snap shut like an oyster hiding its pearl.
"Now comes the trust, Morgan."
His lips skate and stutter down my right thigh, and I feel his fingers wrap around my ankle. Slowly but firmly, he eases my leg away, opening me.
Wider.
Wider.
My thighs shake and I squirm, writhe. I'm bared, exposed. My sex is drenched and clamping on nothing, aroused into panting paroxysms of conflicting feelings—scared, shocked, ecstatic, turned on.
He fits the cold hard thing to my ankle and ties a tight knot, and now I'm fully trussed up for him.
My hands are bound overhead, tied to, I assume, the coffee table.
My legs are tied spread-eagle, and the cold, hard thing keeps them spread apart.
Now, no matter how I fight and writhe, I can't close my legs.
Oh.
Oh god.
"Noah?"
Hot breath huffs over my sex. I jerk, but I can't close my legs.
"Noah, oh god, Noah. Wait, wait."
Immediately, his breath is gone and his hands are at my ankles. "You're in control, Morgan."
"I…" my teeth clack together, and I fight for a deep breath. "Don't…don't untie me. Keep—keep going."
"As you wish."
Half a dozen different Princess Bride quotes swarm through my brain, but I can't make any of them come out—not with his mouth kissing here and there of me, this and that of me.
Ankle. Calf. Knee. Thigh. Hip. Belly. Breast. Nipple. Throat. Mouth.
Nipple, again.
Licking, teasing, tasting. Sucking. Flicking. Flattening in his suckling mouth.
Scraping with his teeth.
Then lips at my belly again, and for the first time in recent memory I don't think about the bunched and wrinkled sagging skin but only feel his lips and his breath, only feel the heat of his kisses, only feel the bolt of arousal rushing through me, and I can't close my legs because they're tied apart and he can see every fold and wrinkle of my sex.
When did I last trim? I can't remember. Am I rocking a seventies porn bush? Oh fuck, I can't remember. "Noah?"
“Talk to me, sweetheart."
"I can't remember if I trimmed down there."
His laugh is…amused and aroused. "Yes. Within the last week or two, I'd guess." His lips touch my right hipbone, and then drift inward, stuttering over my skin just below my navel, and then lower…
He kisses my mons pubis. The tender silky flesh between thigh, hip crease, and labia. His beard rasps over stubble.
"I wasn't expecting—"
His tongue swipes over that place where his beard just brushed, the delicate fold just outside my pussy, and I gasp, shocked and shrill.
"Morgan?"
"Wh-what?"
"It’s perfect. You're perfect."
"I should have shaved for you."
"You're a woman, Morgan, not a hairless child. I love it exactly…like…this." his tongue swipes over that same spot on the other side. I gasp, flinch, jerk, but can't snap my thighs shut, can only tug against the bonds futilely.
Now his lips touch me there, where his tongue just was. Left side, right side. I feel desire seeping out of me. With my legs apart, I can smell myself from here.
I hear him inhale, deeply. "You love this, don't you?" he murmurs. "Deep down, you love this. You're not really scared anymore, are you, Morgan?"
"I…"
His tongue-tip trails ghost-light up my seam, and I cry out, arching my back as the abrupt, alien sensation shocks the breath out of me.
I'm too stunned for a moment to be afraid—and that's when I realize…I'm not.
The ache is desire.
The nerves are anticipation.
The only voice I hear is his, demanding answers. "How does that feel, Morgan?"
“I…I…”
Another slow slide of his tongue, flat and fat, against my seam, dragging my seeping essence over my wet skin, and he growls in his chest—an unmistakably male snarl of erotic desire.
"Oh…fuck," I whimper, my throat tight, my belly curled in, my thighs shaking. "Noah?"
Another slow lick. “Talk to me, sweetheart."
"Oh god."
Lick. Lick. Lick. each one a slow, intentional swipe, unhurried and hungry and teasing. "You taste so fucking good, Morgan." His hands carve up my thighs.
His thumbs press into my pussy lips and spread me open—I cry out at the exposure, feeling my juices drip down my flesh, feeling his gaze on my skin, feeling myself open and so, so vulnerable.
"This pussy, Morgan." His tongue stabs into me, spearing inside my folds.
"Fucking perfect. So fucking sexy. I want to devour you, Morgan.
I want to eat this sweet tight wet pussy until you can't take anymore. "
"Oh…fuck," I keen through gritted teeth, feeling my thighs quake and my belly clench and heat smash through me as his tongue delves inside me and scoops away my dripping need and then flits and flutters upward, stabbing against my clit with sudden, greedy force.
"FUCK! Oh god, Noah! Oh god oh god, oh-oh, ohhhh my god… Noah!"
"Does it feel good?" He growls, his words snarled against my sex.
"Yes!" I wail.
"Tell me how it feels, Morgan."
"So good."
"You want more?"
"Yes!"
"More what?"
"Eat me, Noah," I plead. "Taste me. Take me. Eat my pussy. Please, Noah. Make me come. I need to come."
Who am I? Who is this, begging for such things? Who is this, all tied up and so willingly helpless for this man?
I like her.
She's bold and fearless—like I used to be. I feel the young, hungry, confident, fiercely sexual Morgan Wheeler rising from the depths of my being like a Kraken from the tales of old, and I welcome her.
"You want to come?"
"Yes!"
His tongue flits against my clit in a single swift circle, and I detonate.
My feet pull inward toward my buttocks and I arch, writhing, heels pushing into the ground.
I scream, writhing and bucking; the thing—a hockey stick, I think—keeps my legs spread apart no matter how hard I thrash against the bonds.
And that's when I discover that Noah has just begun.