When I'm by myself, I have a one hundred percent accuracy rating. And with a vibrator, I comeembarrassinglyquickly. But with another partner? I've never been able to do it, no matter what angle they tried to take me from, no matter what pillow we put beneath my hips, no matter how long he fucked my slit with his tongue.
And maybe that's the problem, because whatever Cal just did to me down there was nothing like the oral I've received before. He didn't just lick it like the tip of an ice cream cone; he went deep, pulling me into his mouth the same way the guys always say to take their cock into my mouth. So, it shouldn't come as such a surprise, but it does.
It was... phenomenal.
“I don't orgasm.” I tell him quietly, ashamed to admit to my brokenness. But it's better to get that out of the way now, before he can get me all worked up and then leave me with a pulse thundering between my legs that I can't sate because it will crush his ego.
And crushing a man's ego is a crime more damning than wearing the wrong outfit in their presence.
To my surprise, he only chuckles, his breath blowing hot across my wet pussy, where he's still settled, looking far too casual, as if there's nowhere else he'd rather be... as if he didn't just finish.
Well, he may have finished, but he's clearly not done, because predictably, he takes my admission as a challenge.
“I'm sorry to break it to you, little doll, but you orgasm. Even unconscious, you orgasm.”
My chest tightens painfully before releasing in quick succession, and I decide it's because I don't know how that is supposed to make me feel.
“There's no way. It's not possible for me.”
“Well, you have all the right parts.” He says, flashing me a cocky grin that makes my pussy clench, begging him to make good on his words. “Let me try?”
Let me try?
I'm exhausted but satisfied. I didn't expect to come, but I also didn't expect to feel so... fulfilled.
It's why I cried, and I'm mortified that he saw that. He doesn't need to know that what he did for me, by showing me how he used to do this when I wasn't awake to experience it, has made something deep inside of me shift.
I told him sex was transactional, but whatever the fuck he just did? That was no transaction. That was... worship.
No, Amber. Get your fucking head out of your ass. He told you he bought you to kill you. He doesn't care about you, so stop fucking fawning over him.
“Can I?” He prompts, looking at me through those impossible dark lashes.
And damn if the look in his eyes isn't akin to worship, too.
How am I supposed to say no to that?
I nod ever so slightly, but he doesn't dive right to it. Instead, he continues to hold my gaze.
“Use your words this time, little doll. Can I make you come?”
All I manage to squeak out is a yes, but it quickly turns to a gasp because he gives me zero chance to prepare as his tongue slides against my seam, entirely unbothered by the combination of his cum and my juices that he just rubbedall over me. In fact, judging by the little moan that comes from somewhere in his throat, I'm guessing he enjoys it.
I want to be disgusted by that, but suddenly, I find myself wondering how he tastes.
He sucks my entire clit into his mouth again, the way he did before, and it's so swollen already that I cry out. I can't help it. And unlike when he kept telling me to be still before, he doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he seems to take my sound as encouragement to keep going, to suck harder.
It's horribly wonderful, an all-consuming sort of pleasure I can't imagine actually exists, but my thighs are tense on either side of his head, quivering and ready to snap shut at the first sign of his reluctance.
That moment never comes, because he seems to be a starving man all of a sudden. He feasts on me— every drop I give him, every sigh or moan I make. It doesn't build anything, but it wraps me in velvet pleasure and holds me there, hostage, until what feels like hours have passed. I think my brain turns off at some point, unable to focus on anything beyond what's happening between my thighs.
I think I may quit breathing a time or two before he releases me with a little smacking sound I'm too exhausted to be embarrassed of.
When he looks at me from between my thighs, there's a smirk on the lips that glisten with our juices, and it twists my gut. He looks so proud.
I'm obviously going to lie and tell him that was the most intense orgasm I've ever had.
But he doesn't give me that chance, threading his arms under my knees and tugging me to the edge of the table so that my ass meets with the edge, and I worry for a minute that I'll slip right off. That doesn't happen, though, because he hooks my legs over his shoulders and keeps me balanced, open, while his fingers land on my clit and begin to rub a slow circle around it.
