Chapter 11 #4
She’s got these soft, dark curls on top—neat, natural—and beneath that, those lips are plump, flushed a deep, wet pink that makes my mouth ache.
She’s glistening already, slick shining in the low light, folds thick and plush, her clit tucked, peeking out like it’s shy too.
But she’s not hiding, not really. She’s just waiting for someone to look.
And I look.
“Baby…” I breathe, voice rough like gravel, “you’re so beautiful.”
She squirms like that makes her nervous, hips twitching, and tries to close her legs on instinct—but I’m right there, hands firm, keeping her open. Not rough, but steady. Unmovable.
“No, no, no,” I murmur, eyes still locked on her cunt, one hand drifting in slow, tracing with the backs of my knuckles along the seam of her slit. Her thighs shiver under my touch. “Let me see you, baby.”
She turns her face away, hair falling over her cheek, and mumbles, “You’re staring.”
Damn right I am.
My finger slides down the center of her, catching on that wet heat, slow drag from top to bottom. She jumps a little, gasps just under her breath, and I look up at her, eyes dark.
“That’s ’cause you’re perfect,” I growl, low and dead serious. “And nobody ever took the time to notice.”
She whimpers—barely a sound—but her legs stay open this time. Her hips shift just a little, like her body’s already starting to get the message. That it’s okay to be seen. That it’s okay to be wanted like this. No shame. No apology. Just raw, hot truth.
I lean in slow, dragging two fingers through her again, letting them glide through that slick mess she’s already making for me, gathering it on my fingertips and circling around her clit—never pressing in yet, just letting her feel how wet she is.
“You’re dripping, sweetheart,” I mutter. “And I haven’t even used my mouth yet.”
She makes a sound—half gasp, half moan—and arches just slightly into my hand.
That’s right.
She stays open for me now, just like I wanted.
Legs spread, thighs quivering, breath shaky—brave, even when she’s shy about it.
And I lean in slow, letting her feel the heat of my breath ghost over her pussy.
Close enough that her slick starts to glisten under the warmth of it, close enough that I can see every twitch of her clit when she clenches up a little.
She doesn’t know what to expect. That’s clear. No one’s ever taken their time with her like this.
But I’m not “other guys.”
So I go in.
Tongue out, slow as hell, and I taste her.
First swipe up that pretty slit, top to bottom, broad and slow like I’m taking the first lick of ice cream on a hot day, savoring the melt.
She startles, jerks under my mouth, lets out this shaky, half-strangled moan—“Hhnnh!”—like she didn’t mean to, like her body betrayed her.
And damn.
How many nights did I lie there, rock hard and miserable, thinking about this exact moment?
Two whole weeks, aching and strung out, jerking off in the shower after hearing her hum to Leon through the baby monitor.
After seeing her bent over the dishwasher.
After getting one glimpse of her thighs in those pajama shorts she thought were nothing.
I thought about her every night. Wondered what her moans would sound like, what her pussy would taste like. And now?
Now I know.
She tastes like clean skin, heat, and sweetness. Not perfume-sweet. Not fake. Just her. That perfect, warm slick that coats my tongue and makes my whole brain go white for a second. I groan into her, low and guttural, the vibrations making her hips twitch.
“Fffuck, Brielle…” I mutter into her slit, tongue lapping again, slower now, more deliberate. “You taste so good.”
Her hands are in the sheets now, fisting them, thighs shaking around my shoulders as I drag my tongue up again, this time slower, flatter, letting the wet heat of her slick coat every inch of me.
And she’s gasping—little broken sounds like she doesn’t know whether to hide or ride my face.
I give her no room to decide.
I part her lips with my thumbs, pull them open to expose that swollen clit, pink and twitching like it’s been dying for this. And then I flick my tongue across it.
Fast.
Precise.
“Ohhh—” she yelps, body jolting.
And now I know her sound. Now I know what she sounds like when she gets touched right.
I wrap my arms under her thighs and hold her down, keep her spread and locked while I tongue her clit again, slower this time. Circling it. Flattening my tongue and dragging it up the middle. Then sealing my lips around it and sucking.
Not soft.
Not tentative.
Real.
She moans, loud this time, hips bucking, but she’s got nowhere to go—not with me holding her down like this, tongue working her like I’ve got something to prove.
And maybe I do.
Maybe I want her to know this isn’t just about getting her off.
It’s about showing her what it means to be wanted. To be devoured.
And she’s taking it. All of it. Making these high, gasping noises every time I suck harder, every time I graze her clit with the tip of my tongue. Her thighs start to squeeze around my head, but I dig in deeper, locking my hands behind her knees, keeping her wide and helpless for me.
“D-Desmond—oh my—ahh” she gasps, voice cracking on my name.
I groan against her again, deep and filthy, lips sealed tight to that swollen clit, tongue pulsing in steady rhythm, and she shudders—hips jerking like she’s trying to escape and chase it all at once.
Her whole body’s trembling now, thighs quaking around my head, belly twitching, breath coming in ragged gasps that hitch and break every time I suck her just a little harder.
And I don’t let up.
Not for a damn second.
I feel it in her—how close she is, how tight she’s wound.
Her hands shoot down, fingers burying in my hair, tugging hard like she doesn’t know if she wants to pull me closer or push me away.
Her moans climb in pitch, breathy and frantic, and then she whimpers, this tiny, broken little sound that goes straight to my cock.
That’s the sound that does it.
I lock my arms around her thighs, digging in, keeping her open and helpless, and I suck her clit hard—wet, slow, greedy—and that’s it.
Her body snaps.
She spasms, whole frame tensing like a live wire, a cry ripping out of her throat as her back arches off the bed. “Ah—Des—Desmond—oh gosh—” she chokes out, voice wrecked, like it’s too much and not enough and everything in between.
Her legs clamp around my head, squeezing tight, not letting me go—and I love it. I live for it.
She’s got tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, eyes blown wide and glassy, her tits bouncing with how violently she’s breathing, nipples still hard and flushed from earlier. She’s shaking, chest heaving like she ran a mile, fingers still knotted in my hair like I’m her lifeline.
And I don’t stop.
I stay in it.
Tongue still lapping, slower now, easing her through it, dragging out every last twitch and tremble as she rides the high straight into the stratosphere. Her cum hits my tongue—hot and slick, sharp at the edges, sweet underneath—and I lap it up like I’ve been starved. Like I need it to live.
“Ffffuck, baby,” I groan into her cunt, letting her feel every word. “You taste amazing.”
She whines, legs still tight around me, body jerking as I suck her one last time, pulling another tiny aftershock out of her before she slumps back to the mattress like she’s gone boneless.
I finally pull back, face soaked, mouth shiny, and I grin, wiping my chin on the back of my arm like a man who just survived the best fucking meal of his life.
She’s a wreck.
Hair stuck to her forehead, lips parted, breath stuttering, eyes fluttering like she’s barely holding on.
I crawl up over her slow, dragging the backs of my fingers along her belly as I go—feeling her muscles still twitching from the aftershocks.
My palm brushes the soft slope of her tits, thumbing over one tight nipple just to feel her jolt and gasp again, her body still strung out and sensitive as hell.
She shivers, lips parting like she might whine from the overstimulation, but there’s a smile playing there too—hazy and wrecked and satisfied.
I lean in, nuzzle against the side of her face, cheek to cheek, my voice nothing but gravel and heat as I breathe against her ear:
“Told you I wanted to taste you.”
She lets out this breathless little snort, totally spent but trying to play it cool. “Yeah,” she croaks, her voice hoarse from all those cries and gasps and that sweet, wrecked moaning. “You definitely did…”
And fuck, I grin—not cocky, not smug. Just pleased. Deep in my bones kind of pleased, like I just proved a point no one else ever thought to make.
I plant a quick kiss on her forehead, then stand at the edge of the bed, peeling my jeans down the rest of the way with a sharp tug, briefs going with ’em.
She looks up—and freezes.
Eyes locked on my cock as it springs free, thick and flushed, bobbing slightly as it snaps up hard against my stomach. Already leaking at the tip, a bead of precum catching the low light, soaking with how turned on I am from having my face buried in her, from hearing her fall apart on my tongue.
I look down and her expression just about undoes me.
Mouth open.
Eyes wide.
Like she’s staring at something she didn’t quite expect to look like that. Like she knew I was big, but now that she’s seeing it, up close, fully hard and ready—now it’s real.
She swallows. Slowly.
“Shit…” she whispers, more to herself than me.
And that lights a fire under my skin.
“What?” I ask, voice dark with a grin, hand casually stroking down the base of my cock, slow and deliberate. “Didn’t think it’d be this big?”
She meets my eyes, cheeks flaming, but her lips twitch like she’s trying to keep from smiling.
“I mean…” She shrugs a little, still catching her breath. “You’ve got big hands, but I figured maybe you were bluffing.”
I chuckle, deep and low, hand still wrapped around the base of my cock as I stroke once—slow, letting her see the weight and length of it, how the head’s flushed deep red, angry and leaking just from the taste of her.