His smile is dangerous as he leans in again, lapping firm circles around my clit as two fingers push deep inside. When he bends them just right and rubs the spot that makes my vision blur, I unravel. Moaning, I babble a string of incoherent praise as he does exactly what he promised—eats my pussy better than anyone ever has.
His fingers don’t stop, alternating between scissoring and stroking that perfect pressure point, dragging every last drop of pleasure from me.
My fingers itch to pull at his hair and bury his head even deeper, but I’m helpless as I hold myself wide, utterly at his mercy.
Heat builds in my core, and I know I won’t last much longer. It feels too good. “Max,” I whimper.
He hums, and the vibration finally sets me off. My orgasm slams through me. I convulse around his fingers, mouth open in a soundless gasp. And still, he doesn’t stop. His tongue drags through every ripple of my release, drinking me up.
Finally, his fingers slow. My chest rises and falls like I’ve run a marathon. I gasp for breath.
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper.
He pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like he’s just finished his favorite meal.
I release my legs and wince at the discomfort of being in that position for so long—not that I’m complaining.
He places a kiss on my inner thigh, and the tenderness rattles me.
“Still all talk?” he asks, his tone smug.
And the tenderness is gone.
I scoff. “Just take off your pants, already.”
He stands, shoving his joggers down his legs and yanking his shirt over his head.
I’m already moving, shifting down and pushing him back until his shoulders hit the sofa cushions. I climb over him slowly, facing away, and lower myself until my knees are on either side of his head.
His hands grip my arse cheeks, dragging me down to his mouth like he’s hungry all over again.
His cock is long, hard, thick and twitching against his stomach, waiting for me.
At the sight of its glory, I don’t make him wait long.
I wrap a hand around the base and drag my tongue up his length, tasting him. Salt and musk. He jerks beneath me, latching onto my pussy. We moan at the same time, finding relief in each other.
I take him into my mouth, my tongue curling around the tip before sucking with purpose. He grunts, loudly, his mouth working between my thighs. My hips rock against his face, each flick of his tongue making it harder to focus. I push myself to take more, relaxing my throat to choke down another inch.
The sounds we make are unrestrained and wild, totally primitive.
He laps at my clit. I moan around his cock.
His hips buck. I swallow him deeper.
We lose ourselves in each other, locking in a sweaty, filthy, perfect rhythm.
He begins to swell in my grip, and I know he’s getting close. He twitches in my mouth, so I stroke him with fever—sucking, licking, and swirling him into a frenzy.
“Fuck, Gemma,” he growls into me. The vibrations he makes against my most sensitive parts spark my next orgasm. “You’re gonna make me come.”
His finger teases my arsehole and my back arches, my moan strangled around his cock. And just like that, I fall apart with a sob. My body locks up, every muscle clenching as I whimper around his length.
The feel of me coming on his face must tip him over, because seconds later, a primal sound tears from his throat and his cock jerks against my tongue.
Hot, thick liquid fills my mouth, and I swallow around him, sucking him through it while he keeps lapping at my pussy.
We’re both panting.
