“I don’t want to be in here,” I tell him, my anger building as my body reacts to his proximity and the scent of sex that still lingers in the air.
“This is what we need.”
“I don’t want to fuck you,” I scream, shoving at his chest with my palms.
“Okay,” he says, crawling onto the bed and placing me carefully on my back.
I know I should stop him. I should push him away. I should tell him no. But I don’t. Instead, my chest heaves and my heartraces as I watch him push the layers of skirt, netting, and satin up my thighs.
Lifting his head, he looks up at me, silently daring me to tell him no. But I stay quiet, my lips dry as I run my tongue over them, each breath I take heavy and weighted as thickening air surrounds us.
He waits one, two, three moments before his fingers curl around my panties, and he rips the thin fabric to pieces.
He ripped my panties.
He ripped my panties!
Before I can even process what to say or do, he dips his face between my thighs and kisses my pussy like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do. His touch is reverent, feral, barely there, and all-consuming all at once, and my mind dissolves.
I know I’m lying on the bed. I can feel him between my thighs, worshipping my body with his mouth and fingers and tongue, but I’m dead, floating outside of my physical presence, merely a specter, watching him eat my pussy.
The feeling is glorious…mythical…ethereal.
No one has ever done this to me before, and considering my ex’s lack of sexual prowess, I never felt like I was missing out, but I was. Oh my god, I was.
Knight’s tongue pushes inside of me, and my back arches off the bed like I’ve been possessed, and maybe I have. Maybe that’s what this is. Maybe I actually am dead, and everything that’s happened since Knight knocked on my door has just been my version of heaven or hell.
Slipping his tongue out of me, he replaces it with two fingers, curling them to hit a spot inside of me that he might as well just stick a flag in, because he’s discovered it, and he owns it now. Each time his skin grazes over it, a tugging, delicious ache pulls inside of me, slowly rising like the tide on the beach, draggingme down, down, down, until I’m begging to drown, desperate for relief from the agony of waiting.
“Please,” I beg, my voice ragged.
Instead of pushing me over the edge, he stops moving and slowly lifts his storm-filled eyes to look at me, his face wet with my own arousal.
“Please,” I say again.
Blinking, he lowers his face, licking and sucking on my clit until even his hot breath feels like it could tip me over into oblivion. But just as I’m bracing myself for a delicious death, he stops, lifting his gaze to look at me again.
“Knight,” I whimper.
For the first time, his expression isn’t blank. Instead, his neutrality is spiked with…deviousness. The look on his face is disquieting, as is the silent way he holds my stare, watching as my heightened body starts to settle before he slips two thick fingers into me, pushing me to the brink once more before he stops, again.
“No,” I whine, grinding my hips to chase his touch, only to be denied as he pushes my butt back to the bed with a firm arm across my waist. “Why are you stopping?” I question, feeling frustrated tears fill my eyes.
His face and stubble are glistening, wet with my arousal, but he doesn’t attempt to wipe himself as he slowly lifts his gaze until it’s locked with mine. One look from him is a silent, full sentence, but I still have no idea what he’s trying to tell me.
“Knight,” I snap, my desperation morphing into anger.
“You don’t want to fuck me,” he says, repeating the words I shouted at him when he carried me in here.
“Make me come,” I yell.
“No,” he says simply.
“Why not?” I pant, contemplating if I can replicate the movement of his fingers with my own.
“Because I only fuck my wife until she comes,” he answers, so fucking calmly that I have to fight the urge not to throw a literal tantrum.
“But you’ll mouth and finger fuck anyone,” I snap petulantly.
