“I can not tell you how many times I thought about doing this, Raven. How many times I imagined the taste of your cunt. God, I just want to—”
His following words are muffled thanks to my hand. “Do you hear yourself right now?”
My body is tingling more and more with each word that leaves his lips, and I can’t tell if I like it or not.
He answers by licking my fingers, going as far as prodding his tongue between the cracks of them. I watch, fascinated, until he’s sucking my ring finger into his mouth.
My pussy clenches, fluttering at the heat of his mouth. This man is just… he’s a lot. Too much.
For a second, I get lost in the view. Then, I remember there’s a place I’d much rather have his tongue on.
When he releases my hand, I’m burning up. I claw at my bra, tearing it over my head, but the cool air does nothing. The fever is internal.
“Keep your legs open.”
The order sparks a reflex to defy him, but the rebellion dies as his fingers find me. They press into my pussy, deep and sure, down to the knuckle in one devastating thrust. My gasp is stolenbefore it can form, replaced by the searing press of his mouth against my inner thigh.
“You don’t—” The protest lodges, useless, in my throat. His tongue laps a slow, torturous path along the trail of scars. He kisses, he licks, he nibbles, mapping a territory of nerve endings I never knew existed. My toes curl tight into the sheets.
Dazed, I look down as his teeth graze a new spot. My ruined skin, with its faded lines I’ve traced with shame a thousand times, disappears. All I see are the marks he’s making. Pink, blooming, his.
“You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that?” The words vibrate against my skin as his hand slides to cup the back of one of my knees, spreading me wide. He holds me open, utterly exposed, and there is no shadow left to hide in.
Then his mouth is on me.
Not near me. On me. His tongue finds the heart of me with a precision that destroys any self-conscious thoughts. It’s a flat, firm stroke over my clit that makes my spine arch off the bed, a silent scream locked in my lungs.
He doesn’t tease. He devours. His fingers, still buried inside me, curl upward, finding a place so deep and perfect my own fingers could never touch it. He rubs that secret, inner wall in a slow, pressing circle while his tongue lashes my clit in a rhythm that shows nothing but talent.
The dual sensation is an avalanche. The slow, internal pressure of his fingers, filling and rubbing a need I didn’t have a name for, and the relentless, wet friction of his mouth. He sucks my clit into the heat of his mouth, and the world whites out at the edges. A broken sound tears from me. He coaxes it again with the pull of his lips, the thrust of his fingers, and I’m fracturing, coming apart on his tongue.
“J-Jinx…” Choking on his name, he’s the one to groan.
“Yeah, I fucking missed that. Keep saying that.” Nipping at my thigh again, he hooks me just right. “I want to hear you moan it when I make you come.”
Too caught up in the pleasure to scold him, I give him exactly what he wants as I hit my limit.
Moaning his name, my walls clench down on his fingers before my body arches, my climax washing down over me in a rough wave.
Finally, I’m met with such satisfaction. Feeling so good, my emotions swell, almost bringing tears to my eyes. Thankfully, I’m able to blink them away.
Lifting, he kisses my knee. He’s smiling, the curve reaching his eyes. Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen one of these smiles in a while. Not since he purposely tried to annoy me for all of those countless nights.
Without realizing it, I find myself reaching out. Against my tongue, I can feel the words.Don’t leave.
He grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles. Instead of licking me like before, the contact is simple and soft.
“Let me go grab something to sleep in.” Humming the words, he moves to stand. Turning away, I think he tries to hide his arousal. Kind of hard to do when it’s rightthere.
“Jinx—”
“I’ll be back. Put some clothes back on. I won’t be able to think right if I find you naked and waiting.” He sends me a wink before leaving, hardly telling me what’s going to happen from now on.
He’ll be back. Sure, he didn’t get anything in return, but he’ll be back.
And after starting an argument with myself for far too long after I’ve tugged on a new pair of underwear and a comfortable outfit, he does return. His hair is damp, and he smells fresh as can be when he joins me on my bed.
A bed that’s meant for one person.
