“You’re soaked,” he rasps, moving lower, as if to watch fingers that he can’t possibly see.
At some point, he let go of my hair. I have no idea when. I’m so focused on what he’s doing between my legs, the rest of me might as well not exist. Another slide, the sound obscene, the feeling…luxurious. Oh, oh, and then the rough edge of his skin against my clit—too much. It’s too much. I arch and strain to curl up and he shifts his heavy weight so I’m pinned to the ground, his face right there, his breath heating my core.
With a low curse, he gets my shorts open, works them down my thighs, reminding me to breathe deep and live in this moment, and then—oh God, I’ll never forget this—he rips off his mask with an irritated sound and bites my inner thigh.
I can’t hold back a scream.
A big hand lands on my belly, nailing me in place. He shushes me, which is infuriating and demeaning and also tender and I’m liquid when he plays me with his breath against my skin. His teeth scrape my thigh as he breathes against me. Inhalations, deep and sensuous, followed by exhaled wafts of warm air, heavenly and earthy and so undeniably carnal and I’m nothing but skin and flesh, blood and bone, and pure, pure want.
I don’t tell my hips to move or my voice to hum, they just do it. A dance and song of sheer instinct. When his mouth brushes my pussy, the pleasure’s unfettered by anything conscious or worried. He licks me up and down, his hands holding me still, like a meal. Like prey that’s been hunted and taken down to be enjoyed as it should be—with satisfaction.
A long lick, a slow suck. He’s tasting my sex, not for me, but forhim. With a growl, he pushes my shorts down and off entirely, my panties lost somewhere in the mix. I don’t care if I never see them again. I want his mouth back on me, that tongue tasting and consuming.
“More,” I demand and, rather than do things my way, he rolls me onto my belly, forces my head down in a repeat of my position last night, and lifts my ass up high.
I make a sound, half protest, half needy whine, but I don’t think he hears me. Now that he’s bested me in the physical fight, he’ll do with me as he wishes and, holy shit, that makes my pussy clench, empty and aching with a deep, dirty kind of want. Another low shush from him sends a strain of irritation racing through me, but even that’s a perfect part of this heady cocktail. Something to dissect and reexamine later with my hand, mind, and memory.
I squirm when he moves behind me and go still when his breath returns to tease me between the cheeks.
He pulls them apart. Oh God. Nobody’s done this before. And certainly not the way he’s moving in, all deep, hungry snarling and raspy breaths, leading with his teeth and his nose and finally, finally, his tongue.
10
Liev
Her taste is a fucking drug.Musky/salty/sweet. Exactly the flavor I’ve been craving. It’s not just that I haven’t eaten pussy in forever, it’s chemistry or genetics or some unexplainable predilection for this specific combination of tastes and smells and sensations. She’s got a ripe ass, soft and strong and probably too easy to bruise. I want to bruise it like a peach, though that’s never once been my kink.
I dig my fingers tighter into her flesh and dive in, face first, licking up and down, from her cunt to her tight little asshole and back. I want to fuck her both places, want to absolutely consume her. The need’s unrelenting, the hunger so deep I can’t imagine being able to slake it tonight.
Something like fear skitters up my spine. I shove it back and let feral sounds tear from my chest and soar into the night. Christ, it feels good to be…alive.
I lick into her sweet pussy, then strain forward to suck at that swollen little clit. It sets her off, makes her shake and writhe. This dance is all the things I’ve been missing. I lift her up, flip and roll under, then drag her down hard so she’s sitting on my face. I want to smother in her, slake the thirst and pound out all the emotion I’m dragging around.
She struggles and we roll, butting up against a tree, then back in the other direction. I’m consuming her, biting at those lips, spearing my tongue into her hot little hole, sucking hard.
I suspect she’s close to coming. I know I am, but my cock needs more friction to get there. I roll her onto her back, wishing I could see the brown or pink of her skin here, the delicate whorls of hair and plump curves of flesh. I want to know the color of these curls I ache to drag her around by.
Feeling so fuckingmuch, I lift her and lick from her asshole back up again, letting myself imagine how tight she’d be there, how good that would feel. Craving penetration, I lean back to work a finger into her cunt. It’s hot, tight, clenching me, calling me.
She feels like mine.
She’s not.
Guilt churns in my belly. I shut my eyes, focusing hard on what’s here, instead of what’s not.
Hardening my jaw against memories, I twist my hand, and lever my finger forward deep inside her. I feel her body coil up as if it were my own, winding tighter, tighter. I’m doing the same, my dick so thick I’ve got no choice but to reach down, frantic, and release it from the grip of my pants.
The rough ground hurts, even through my underwear, but that’s never stopped me. Pain’s just another escape. Something to focus on when shame threatens.
We go on like this for I don’t know how long. Probably a couple minutes, with me humping the ground, my fingers fucking her cunt, my mouth open against her pussy. Without warning, she curves in on herself, clamps down on me, and threads her hands into my hair.
My hair.
Automatically, I pull away. She could recognize me and then…
Then what?
Potential complications race through my head, one after another—the moments that led to this full anonymity—women wanting more, pushing too hard, moving for a relationship, when relationships aren’t possible anymore. Regret swamps me. I shouldn’t have agreed to a second time. No matter how badly I wanted it.
