“I agree,” he says before covering my clit with his mouth.
He climbs me higher and higher. Sucking on my clit while his fingers make wet sounds as he thrusts them over and over. When my hips grind against him, seeking more, he makes a low sound of approval. My eyes snap open to find him watching me.
“Fuck,” he says against me before flattening his tongue on my clit. “You’re shattering every fantasy, Brie.”Lick. “Every.”Lick.“Single.”Lick.“One.”Lick.
My knees start to wobble first. The sensation moves down to my toes, curling them. My core begins to quiver, and my walls clamp tight around his fingers. When my hips start to buck, he lets go of my hands to hold my hips down with his forearm. My fingers tangle in his hair and I arch my back as I let out a strangled cry and euphoria sweeps through me.
He keeps licking, keeps driving his fingers into me, seeing me through an orgasm that eclipses all others, extending it for long moments.
When I start to come down, his movements slow, meeting me where I am as my clit becomes too sensitive to bear anymore. My breaths are ragged. He’s still pinning me down. His fingers still inside me, giving me soothing caresses. He plants one light kiss on my clit, and I think we should be done with this. On to the next thing.
But he kisses the seam of my thigh. Then up my stomach, and down to my other thigh again. His stubble adds delicious friction to my sensitive skin. His fingers pick up some power, igniting a searing heat in me all over again.
“Wha-what’re you doing to me?” I moan.
His eyes shine with excited purpose. “I figure it still counts as one time” —he kisses my clit, and it isn’t nearly as sensitive anymore— “as long as I don’t stop.” He looks down to where his fingers are buried inside me, stoking thefire in my belly, before meeting my eyes again. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever seen, Brie.”
“Thisis the best thing,” I breathe.
He leans forward, taking my mouth with his. I taste myself on him, but I also tastehim. And I can’t get enough of it, I want more. When he ends the kiss, I arch my back, chasing him. The corner of his mouth ticks up, and he indulges me with another mind-bending kiss. When he retreats again, he’s different. His earlier uncertainty over what I want is replaced by his usual cocksure enthusiasm, and I want this version of Sawyer too.
“You’re going to give me another good one,” he says. “Aren’t you.”
I’ve never come twice in a row. I’ve never had a partner who tried it, and I never tried to do it on my own before. I don’t even know if it’s possible.
But watching Sawyer’s need play out on his face—not need for his own release, but a need to see me come undone again, a need forhimto be my undoing—I know it’s not just possible. It’s inevitable.
I nod. “Yes.”
“Tell me,” he says, a smirk growing on his face. “Use your words, Brie.”
Even as my pussy squeezes his fingers at his dark tone, on instinct I say, “You’re the worst.”
His smile broadens like this is his favorite game. “Those were the wrong words,” he says, slowing his pace.
“That’s not going to make me come again,” I whine.
“Is that what you want?” He sucks the seam of my thigh, so close to where I need him. A promise and a threat at the same time.
“Sawyer,” I say, writhing beneath him, trying to close the distance. “Sawyer,pleasemake me come.”
His mouth covers my clit, wrenching a moan out of me.
This time, his movements are sloppy. Frenzied. His lips mold against me as his skilled tongue remembers all the moves I like.God, the sounds we make together as he works me. It takes more pressure to get me there, and he delivers, watching my reactions, giving me more of everything as his hips thrust against the couch.
I’m not as quiet this time, either. I chant his name, tell him when I’m close, tell him how much I need this.
When I’m on the precipice, I breathe, “You’re going to make me come.Sawyer. You’re making me come.”
He groans against me and bucks hard enough that the couch moves several inches back as I come apart, quivering and moaning. I gradually turn into a whimpering, pulsating, melted mess, breathing hard on the askew couch, unable to get a grip on reality.
When Sawyer eases his fingers out of me, a shiver, cold and unwelcome, runs through me, but I’m too beat, too defeated, too utterly and overwhelmingly fucked to do anything about it.
The adrenaline from earlier when I thought I was stranded and had to run through a blizzard, the relief when Sawyer found me, the frustration when it was clear he had to bring mehere, then the insanity that just took place—it all culminates into absolute exhaustion. My eyelids begin to droop.
“Brie,” Sawyer says softly.
Is there a hint of anxiety in his voice?
