8 #3
Fuck, I’m wet as all hell, I realize.
I squeeze my legs together around my swollen clitoris, and I can’t breathe, and I think about erotic asphyxiation, and is this what that is, because I’m taking flight here, climbing for something, and I reach for it, squeezing my thighs and releasing, stimulating myself, and—
He’s coming, right down my throat, and I’m reflexively swallowing.
He pulls out of my mouth and climbs down to kiss me, his mouth fierce on mine. He’s out of breath. “Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect, aren’t you? Just the sexiest thing, Hannah. Fuck.” He keeps kissing me.
I want to come.
But he drags me up the stairs and throws himself on his bed and groans about too many breakfast martinis, that he is drunk, and then he… falls asleep.
I glare down at him. I guess I knew this about men. I had heard about it. Wow, is it more annoying in actual life that I had ever imagined, though.
I climb onto the bed and start playing with myself. I look at him, look at his pretty face and his muscled body and I think of the way it felt to have his cock jamming my throat, and it doesn’t take me very long to come.
After that, I perch on the bed and run my fingers over the bedspread, which is really silky, but what else would I expect from an omega, really? I try to convince myself to leave.
He’s proven again and again what he thinks of me, how he intends to treat me, and I have to have some kind of self-respect, don’t I?
Leave, Hannah, leave, I tell myself.
And finally, I manage to get up from the bed. I’m at the door to the room when I hear his voice.
“Get back here,” he says sleepily. “I owe you an orgasm, don’t I?”
I mean, I did just get myself off, but… I come back to the bed.
He grins at me. “Sit on my face?”
No, no, I don’t want to do that. It’s too… aggressive.
He notices my reaction. “Fine, fine, like we were trying before? Come over here, give me one leg, show me everything.”
I have to take off my pants, and I’m embarrassed about that, but I do it. He’s seen me already, after all. I lift my leg, and he sits my foot on the bed and applies his mouth to my clit.
I gasp.
He groans. “Fuck, you’re wet. I could smell how turned on you were, but… damn, Hannah.”
I feel embarrassed.
But he just keeps licking me. “I guess no one’s done this to you before?”
“No,” I whisper.
“You smell very good for a beta,” he informs me. “I mean, you smell like a beta, but I really like it.”
I don’t even know what that means.
He licks up and down and side to side. And then he starts making circles, and I start moaning. He chuckles, pleased. “There we are, that’s what I like, Hannah, make all the noise for me, good girl.”
It feels good, really good. But I don’t know if it’s because I already got myself off or because I’m self-conscious or because of the position, which is kind of uncomfortable, or maybe because of it just being, uh, odd to have someone else stimulating me there.
When I do it myself, I’m able to adjust the pressure immediately, to give myself exactly what I need when I need it, and he can’t read my mind, and I don’t know how to tell him what I want.
I moan. I make the moans less or more or…
Anyway, I don’t come.
It just goes on and on, and I start thinking that his tongue is tired, and I jerk my pussy back. “That’s fine,” I say.
He looks up at me, and his face is all wet with my juices and that makes me feel strange and tight and shivery. “You didn’t come.”
“I kind of touched myself while you were asleep,” I say. “And, I know women are supposed to come infinite times or whatever, but it takes longer the second time. For me, anyway.”
He thinks about this. “You sure?”
I am not sure. I want him to insist that I have to come. I want him to point out that I let him gag me and that I let him bring tears to my eyes. “You’re probably bored. Maybe it’s uncomfortable.”
He kisses my clit. “I’m not bored.” He moves away from me. “But you make better noises when I’m fucking you, it’s true.”
Not because it feels better, though, but because it’s so… intense and invasive and he’s in me and it makes me feel like he’s taken over me, and that’s… that’s… it’s good in a way but it’s not good the way coming is good.
I move my leg off the bed. So, he’s going to stop.
Well, you told him to stop, Hannah, I think, and it’s true, I did.
“Regardless,” he says, “you’re probably all bothered. I’m kind of bothered too.” He strips out of his pants and shows me that he’s hard. “How sore are you?”
I bite my lip, and I don’t say anything.
He strokes his own cock. “You could take me in your pussy, couldn’t you, Hannah? You know how much I like fucking that pretty pussy of yours, don’t you? You’d let me, wouldn’t you? For me?”
Fuck him. I should hate his man.
Instead, I make some kind of whine in the back of my throat and just nod.
“Take everything off for me,” he tells me, getting up to get a condom.
I strip down and lie down on my belly.
He comes over and rolls me onto my back.
He sets down the condom next to me, and I see he’s brought over lube, too.
He kneels between my legs, rubbing his hard cock over my clit, which feels delicious.
He lubes me, rubbing my now slippery clit, which makes noises burst out of me, because it’s really nice.
He puts on the condom and slips into me. He uses his thumb to make circles around my clit as he makes shallow thrusts into me. “Hurts?” he whispers.
I shake my head.
“You’ll take me a little deeper then?”
“Yeah,” I breathe.
“Good girl,” he says, pressing into me, still toying with my clit. “Such a good girl for me, Hannah. You have no idea how much you turn me on.”
I want to believe that, I really do. But I don’t think I’m anything special to him at all. I’d be stupid to think I was.
He tries to fuck me and play with my clit, but he can’t quite keep the rhythm of either up, and he has me take over and play with my own clit.
Then he wraps his arms around my thighs and holds me against him while he thrusts into me. I look at his face while I play with my clit, and he looks down at my pussy, looks at his cock going in and out of me.
We both make a lot of noise.
He comes first.
He holds the condom in place, right at the base, and says he wants me to come on his cock, that he’s not pulling out until he feels me, and this actually tips me right over the edge and I clench against him as he’s softening inside me. I clench so hard I expel him and he likes that.
Afterward, he pulls me into his arms and he kisses me all over, planting little kisses on the tip of my nose, telling me I’m so fucking cute and sweet, and he likes how hot it is to corrupt me.
I don’t know how I feel about that, but I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t like that he fucked me face to face and I’d be lying if I said that I don’t really like this, aftercare, being in his arms, his mouth on mine, the way he’s being with me.
He groans. “Fuck. We forgot.”
“Forgot?” I say.
“We were going to dye your hair,” he says.
“Oh, yeah.” I remember that now.
“You’ll let me do it some other time,” he says, yawning, sure of this.
I snuggle in against him, lying on his chest, and he goes to sleep again.
It’s the middle of the afternoon.
But I don’t move. I lie there and I study his features and his body and I memorize every little bit of him, because I know this doesn’t last forever, and I want to remember this, to have this memory to take out, unfold, smooth out, and relive. This is all I’m going to have, memories like this.
It feels so good to feel as if he wants me.
I know he doesn’t really, of course.
But, oh, God, does it feel so fucking good.