He turns to me fast. “You okay? Was that too much? Or do you need another painkiller?”
I will myself to be brave. To be honest and vulnerable. I swallow, and for all my attempts at bravado, when the words finally come, they’re a near whisper. “I want you to make me come.”
22
He stops breathing for solong, I’m almost alarmed when he finally speaks. “You want me to make you come.” His voice is lower and gruff. “Did I hear that right?”
“Yes.” I pull the blanket down my body. I’m wearing a giant shirt and plain cotton boy shorts. I wonder if he can see how my nipples pinch in anticipation. If he’ll reach for me and feel how wet I already am.
I wasn’t lying earlier. I’m always so damn wet for him.
“Why? Why do you want me to do that?” he asks as his eyes linger down my body, at the hint of suggestion under the fabric—breasts, thighs, belly, rising and falling fast with my breath.
“We need to…you and I need to get it out of our systems.” He frowns in a way that he looks maybe angry, so I go on hurriedly, “I’ve felt bad almost all day. I just need to feel good for once.”
His face closes and my stomach drops. Neither of those reasons are the right response. He tears his gaze from me and I’m certain he’s going to say no. He’s going to leave me here wet,turned on, and worst of all, feeling pathetically undesirable.No one else but me would ever want you.As usual, Johnny’s words come barreling down at the worst possible moment.
I reach to pull the blanket over me again, but he grabs my hand, stopping me. “Hands over your head.” His voice is hard, as rough as the rocks along the shore, and it makes goose bumps run down my chest, hips, legs. “Grab the headboard like a good girl.”
Oh my God. No way that Carter—Carter, the nerdy guy who always texted meGood afternoonandGood nightback when we were still friends, who stopped fooling around with me one year ago because I’d drunk too much, plus he wanted to take me todinnerfirst?—no wayhe just called me a good girl like that, like if I disobey him, he’ll turn me on his lap and smack my ass before fingering me to an orgasm.
“Oh my God,” I say as I reach up and clamp my fists on the wood. I’m already trembling.
He lifts my shirt until it reaches my collarbone, and my nipples somehow harden even more. I shut my eyes tight until he commands, “No. Look at me.” And I focus back on him just as he lowers his hot mouth to my breast.
“Oh my God.” I can’t stop saying it. It feels so good. Too good. He teases my nipple with his warm tongue, all the while flicking the other one with his fingers. “Oh my God, oh myGod.” I’m throbbing between my legs. It would take nothing at all to get me there—a slide of his fingers over my underwear, really—but he’s not interested in making this quick for me. He prolongs the delicious torture, switching his mouth and fingers between my breasts until I’m begging for him to pleasepleasetouch my clit.
But does he listen to me? No. Instead he kisses under my breasts. He kisses my stomach, then each hip. When I realize hisplans as he lowers his broad frame down the bed, I tense. “You don’t have to do that. Just use your fingers.”
He doesn’t break eye contact as he slides my boy shorts down my legs, carefully and tenderly under my bruised ankle. “Teal, I’ve been wanting to eat you out since I first learned what that even was. You really going to deprive me of it?”
I close my eyes briefly. Is he serious? He can’t be. I hate to think about Johnny in this moment, but I can’t help it. My ex acted like me sucking him off was a privilege forme, and meanwhile him returning the favor was literal torture. He asked me to shower beforehand, and then he would cover me with flavored lube just so he could survive fifteen seconds of licking. I even went to the doctor, convinced there was a reason why he hated the taste of me. When I finally asked him about it, he wrinkled up his nose and said,No man really enjoys that. Maybe if you didn’t get so wet…
And getting wet isn’t exactly something I can control. So I asked him to stop eating me out and he joyfully complied.
I shake my head of these thoughts. My worst nightmare is having to repeat that with Carter. I don’t want him to go down on me while counting the seconds until he could stop. I honestly can’t think of a worse turnoff than that. “But guys don’t really like to do that, which I understand. It’s—”
“I like it.”
I open my eyes to see, even in the dim lightning, the sincerity on his face.
“You do?”
He nods, and then he yanks my legs open, again, taking care with my left foot. I gasp when I feel his hot breath against the slick parts of me. When he gives me a long, hard lick, I moan soloud, it’s like nothing exists but my voice and my pleasure for that long moment. “I fuckinglovethis,” he says, and all my insecurities about my past, about the criticism I’d heard when I asked for this, they all melt away. Along with me, under the wide, hot pressure of Carter’s tongue.
“I’m going to come,” I say after about two minutes. It’s too good. So warm, so—
He then removes his mouth from me.
“Carter, what the hell?” I reach down to pull him back but he leans away from me even more.
“Hands on the headboard or I’ll punish you.” His voice is stern but there’s a ghost of a smile on his face.
“You’re already punishing me!” I yelp, but then I fist the wood behind me once more.
Carter smiles. “You wanna come?”
“I need to come so bad.” I squirm under his hot gaze. His hands reach my hips to stop me. “I’ve got my hands on the headboard, all right? Can my reward be an orgasm?”
