Chapter Sixteen #3
“Yeah, I can see that. I can see how slick and swollen you are. But that doesn’t mean yes. That doesn’t mean you want it. Tell me you want it first. Tell me you want me to ask you for something else. And don’t lie, I’ll know if you do.”
“I want it. You make it easy to want it.”
Because nothing you want is ever awful, she mentally added.
But she didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if saying it out loud would make him change his mind.
The only stuff that seemed to be in there was the sexiest words she’d ever heard.
“Unbutton your top for me, then. Let me see those beautiful breasts. Let me see those stiff little peaks,” he said, and once she could think straight, once the bloom of pleasure it had produced died down, she raced to do it.
She didn’t get farther than the third button, however.
He pushed the rest up with his hand. He stroked over first one, and then the other, squeezing gently in a way that had her arching into his touch. And he responded by doing exactly what that arch suggested. He gave her more.
He just did it with his mouth.
“You like someone licking you there,” he said, in between the softest kisses over each one. Then when she blurted out that it might make her come, he got such a look in his eyes. A ready to see about that sort of look.
At which point, she sort of wanted to protest a little.
But you haven’t come yet, she wanted to tell him.
Then she got the slow slide of his tongue around one stiff nipple.
And after that, speech was kind of beyond her.
Instead, all she could do was cry out, brokenly, body arching into his mouth.
And he obliged. He turned that slow, easy lapping into the sweetest kiss.
Then just on the end, the sort of long, gentle pull that made her gasp and shudder.
And realize something.
“Oh, it’s happening, it’s happening,” she managed to blurt out—partly from shock that it was. Partly because it was way more intense than she had ever imagined it being, when she’d teased herself there a little, or boyfriends had done one-tenth of what he was.
It ripped through her like wildfire, so fierce she almost found herself fighting against it. Her heels dug into the bed and tried to shove her back; half of her twisted, the other half stayed. And the fucking sound that came out of her.
It was almost a grunt.
She was red-faced in the aftermath, thinking of it.
Then she looked up, and saw him over her.
Up on his knees, on the bed, between her legs.
His own legs spread, jeans shoved to his knees, that fat cock jutting out obscenely.
Because it was obscene, by that point. Intensely red, almost painfully swollen.
And practically drooling onto the sheets.
We’re going to have to leave a nice tip for this, she thought mindlessly, deliriously.
Though it had a basis in fact.
And not just because of him.
She could feel how sticky the sheets were beneath her.
More of her own come sliding between the cheeks of her ass to join the mess.
It made her want to cover her eyes, though if she had she would have missed his reaction when he clocked it himself.
His eyes roamed over her spread pussy, and down, down.
Then he just put his hand on himself at the sight of it.
The first time she’d ever seen him do it, in fact. And something she definitely wanted to encourage. She went to touch him. To urge him on with her hands or mouth. But he just shook his head. “No, I don’t think you’re done yet,” he said.
Then suddenly his face was between her legs.
And oh, it felt intense, after one orgasm. But not quite in the same way as when she climaxed with a finger on her clit. This wasn’t an unbearable thing, that she sort of wanted to push away. It was deep, and low, and sweet. It swamped her whole sex, swaddled it in a kind of good ache.
And especially when he rubbed his tongue against her.
Not a lick, not a flicker of contact, not back and forth.
He pressed the flat of it right over her swollen little bead, and just worked it.
Stayed in contact with it until she could feel herself starting to stiffen.
Her toes curled; her muscles tightened. Part of her wanted to really moan—but the sound didn’t come out.
It seemed stuck around the base of her throat.
And it stayed there, even as she started to really feel it.
Heavy pulses swelled up from her clit, right the way through her.
Almost too much, but not enough to push him away.
Nothing could be now, she suspected, as he found her slick hole.
Worked a finger in as he worked her, until suddenly that sound broke.
It stuttered out of her as a series of high, tight gasps. On and on and on until she started to wonder if this was just her life now. Just nothing but having this single orgasm, courtesy of his maddening mouth and his slowly fucking-into-her fingers.
Though it didn’t seem to matter if it did or not.
“One more,” he said, in the shuddering aftermath.
But she wasn’t quite sure what he meant, because he got his wallet out as he said it.
Fished out a rubber, worked it on. Think you’ll find this is going to be a little more for you, she thought, if you’re about to put that iron bar in my pussy.
Because, surely, it seemed to her, he was going to come almost immediately when he did.
He could hardly get himself sorted. His hands were shaking as he did it.
Hell, his whole body was.
Just juddering away, like he could hardly stand another second of this absolute torture. It even showed all over his face the moment he was over her, and easing into her. He rubbed the head through her slick folds, and his eyes stuttered closed. His breath came hot and shaky.
Then he started to work himself in, and fuck.
She had honestly never seen a man look anything like it.
His head seemed to toss first one way, and then the other, like the feeling was so intense he had to almost shake it off.
And sure, she could have believed it was the work he had to do to get in. He had to urge one of her legs up, hand tight underneath her thigh. Rub her there, back and forth, until her swollen-into-sweet-tightness cunt started to open for him. But she didn’t think it was any of that.
It was the intensity of it, quite plainly.
How close he was to coming.
And yet, somehow, he still didn’t go over.
He still stuck to what he’d said—that this was one more for her.
That’s like five to zero, she wanted to say to him, but the feel of that thick thing sinking in just stopped her mouth.
She saw stars, came close to switching out those silly words for even sillier ones.
God, I love your cock, she thought mindlessly.
And then he was fucking her, and she forgot even that much.
Because it had been good from behind, it had.
The physical sensations had really been something.
But somehow it was even better like this.
More intense, with his whole body rubbing against hers.
Arms bracketing around her head, almost like a heated kind of hug.
And his face was so close.
She could see the patterns in his beard. Gray lacing with brown, sometimes thinning out to near stubble, sometimes so lush it was almost a pelt. Those dark eyes close to hooded, heavy lidded, like he was on the verge of slipping into a thick, pleasurable sort of sleep.
Though it was his mouth she really saw.
Those parted lips. That lower one, so sulky.
It just had to be kissed. It seemed imperative that it should be. Almost a tease just there, above her, close enough that she could feel his harsh, panting breaths ghosting over her own. Go on, she urged herself. Go on, it’s just another part of this deliciousness.
And then she did.
One hand in his hair to draw him close to her. Mouth catching his, softly, softly, as her pleasure crested in one long, sweet pulse.
Though of course as soon as she had, she realized.
They had never kissed before. Not in the woods, not in the elevator, not for any of the audiences.
Not ever. They had frantically fucked each other, but somehow not got around to this.
And now she’d crossed that line, without even knowing it was one.
It just seemed natural in the moment.
Then less so, when he reacted.
He went very still, very abruptly. And his eyes definitely widened. They went enormous, in fact. As if she had done something rude, somehow—so rude it almost stopped her in her tracks. She came close to pulling away, even as she shuddered through the remaining embers of her orgasm.
Then she felt what was happening to him.
He wasn’t just still. He had gone completely rigid.
His whole body was a wire, drawn taut. It almost made her think of someone struck by horror, in a movie about something horrible being in your room.
But then she saw the way his hand reflexively made a fist in the pillow, the way he tried to shove almost all of himself inside her.
And the sound that came out of him.
It was almost beast-like. A guttural grunt, punched out of him and into her—only not a short sort of thing. Not truncated. No, no, no, this was long and drawn out and so utterly thrilling that she couldn’t deny what it was.
He was coming. Somehow she’d kissed him and made him come.
Like some kind of bizarre, extremely sexual version of Sleeping Beauty.
Only without the actual happy ending. Because he did not seem happy in the aftermath. Thoroughly pleasured and thoroughly fucked, but not happy. The hand that took hers was shaking. And he used it to slide hers out and away from his hair. Like that had been a bad thing, too. Something forbidden.
No deeply affectionate things allowed.
Then, just in case she was in any doubt, he rolled off her. All the way off and to the edge of the bed. His back to her, like in the tent. And he didn’t return for the rest of the night.