At any other moment, from a different man, a statement like that would raise some red flags. But as Theodore pumps his fingers into my dripping center, pushing me closer to my end, I can’t find it in me to care. I cry into his mouth, shouting my ecstasy at the top of my lungs. I’m right there, ready to come apart in his palm, when he snatches my pleasure away.
Lifting me as if I weigh nothing, he lays me gently over the hood, tenderly bunching my dress above my hips, exposing my quivering pussy to the afternoon light. “I told you before, you aren’t allowed to come unless it’s on my tongue.”
Holding my breath, I wait as he brings himself closer. The anticipation climbs, making the pressure in my pelvis borderline unbearable. Finally, a whisper of a breath puffs against my clit, setting my nerves on fire.
“Theodore,” I sigh, writhing on the warming metal, blindly searching for his waiting mouth. I feel his heat just out of reach, and it drives my sanity over the edge. “Theodore!”
“That’s it, pretty girl. Say my name,” he breathes, kissing the tender skin on my inner thigh. He lets his lips linger, engraving their touch into my muscles while his fingers imprint on my bones.
I can’t take it anymore; his maddening teasing, this euphoric torture.
“Please!” I beg, grappling for my climax that begins to slip through the cracks. Theodore Ellis is kind enough to put me out of my misery.
The first touch of his tongue to my clit is earth shattering. It rocks my foundation, crumbling my being to pieces. With nature as my setting, my primal instincts feel free to be unleashed.
I rip at his roots while thrashing in his punishing hold. His grip is unshakable on my thighs, keeping them firmly wrapped in place around his head. Squeezing my knees together, I make my pussy his world, and he worships it as just.
Fingers crawl from my hips, leaving a searing trail behind as he finds my breast and palms it. I’m too distracted by his thrusting tongue to focus on what his hands are doing. In the middle of his insatiable exploration of my insides, icy winds blow against my nipple. Its frosty temperature heightens every sensation, almost to the point of pain.
I feel him in my nerves, in my veins. He tunnels a hole in my fucking soul. It’s his now, his place to find a home in.
“Oh, God… Theodore,” I exhale. Dropping my hands from his wind-blown hair, I scratch my nails up his arm, unable to help myself from leaving deep tracks. I should be mindful of that, but I want him to see me when he looks at himself.
I want her to see me too.
He murmurs amorous words against my opening, pushing the boundaries of my oncoming orgasm while filling me with sweet, carnal praise.
“That’s it, my pretty girl. Come for me.” His encouragement comes across as an order, and my body submits willingly to his word.
The strength of my climax takes my sight, leaving nothing but the vision of him feasting between my thighs to carry me over the ledge.
“Oh my God.”
“No, my love. That’s not my name.”
There’s no awkwardness on the ride home, no uncomfortable tension. Instead, any shame or guilt that should lie between us is eclipsed by the sound of our light laughter. We’re happy, exhilarated, beaming in the oversized Cherokee seats.
His hand, still fragrant with my scent, rests in between my legs, kneading my tired muscles until his prints are left behind. I count all five, praying they stay so I can look down and visualize him there whenever I like.
“Soup Dumplings,” he says suddenly, reminding me that I asked him what his favorite food was. “Specifically, the ones from Xiao’s Dumpling House in old town Providence.”
“I haven’t had those yet,” I admit, laughing when his expression morphs from relaxed to appalled. “Then we have to change that.”
His promise brings butterflies to my stomach like there's a chance of this someday not being a secret. But that day isn’t today, and that’s okay with me.
Coming to a light, I drop my seat back, falling out of sight of the people strolling on the crosswalk. My adjustment has his hand shifting upward. Now, instead of resting on my leg, his palm softens on the little pooch of my belly. It’s one of my biggest insecurities, one that, had anyone else touched, I would have chewed their head off. But Mr. Ellis doesn’t make those insecurities shine as others would. With his eyes or hands on me, I feel beautiful.
I feel wanted.
I feel loved.
Scarlett Dane
CHAPTER XXII
The next few days with Theodore have been the most incredible of my life. I have gotten to know him better, not only on a physical level with our escapades in the classroom and his office, but also emotionally.
He’s a horror-movie fanatic with a secret love of Rom-Coms, his favorite being Jerry Maguire, though I would argue Pretty in Pink is far superior.
