My hand slid into his coarse coils, reflexive. Desperate.
“I wonder if you’re still sweet.”
His mouth hovered so close my clit twitched. And then he licked. Slow. Deep. From my entrance to the top—tongue firm and full, like he was reading me with his mouth.
I cried out.
He didn’t stop. Just locked his grip tighter, lips sealing over me with maddening precision. He sucked, slow at first, then greedy. Like he was taking back time.
I grabbed his head, rocking my hips in rhythm with the pull of his mouth, the flick of his tongue. My body was molten. Barely holding together.
When he pushed two fingers inside me—crooked them just right—I nearly came undone. My body clenched around him sohard I heard him groan. Felt the sound tremble through my cunt.
“Fuck,” I whimpered.
He looked up at me then—lips wet, eyes fierce.
“I’m not leaving here until you fall apart on my tongue.”
And God, I believed him.
I cried out—sharp and breathless—as the pressure behind my clit turned volcanic. My orgasm was coming fast and heavy.
He dragged my thighs higher, pressing them wide until my knees trembled. Then—without a word—he placed what was left of my soaked lace thong into my mouth.
“Use it,” he ordered.
The music outside swelled louder. Laughter and bursts of voices of the unaware.
But here, I was helpless. Wrecked. A dripping, needy mess pinned between him and the rest of the damn world.
He dove back into me—tongue lapping deep, wide, messy strokes between my folds. His fingers didn’t slow, didn’t pause—two of them working inside me, fast and precise, curving with cruel accuracy. He pressed his tongue flat against my clit and shook his head side to side until my body rebelled.
I screamed behind the lace.
The orgasm took me hard. My body locked around his face. My thighs trembled. My pussy clamped down on his fingers so tight I felt him grunt against me. My back arched, and I shattered on his tongue, every pulse dragging me under.
“Tariq—”
He stood. His mouth slick. His beard soaked in me. His eyes—wild, dilated, locked on mine like a threat and a promise.
“I told myself I wasn’t gonna do this,” he rasped.
But his belt was already undone. His hand found his wallet, pulled out a condom, and bit it open like he needed it to live.
My mouth watered.
His dick sprang free—thick and angry, veins bulging, the head flushed and glistening like it had missed me. Long enough to make me blink. Heavy enough that his grip had to adjust.
“You still mine?” he asked, stroking it slow.
I couldn’t answer—not with torn lace still stuffed between my teeth. But he saw my pussy. Saw how I was leaking onto the table. Saw how my hips rolled, already chasing him.
He took that for the yes it was.
He sheathed himself in one motion. Grabbed me by the hips and dragged me to the edge of the table.
Then he pushed inside. Deep. Brutal. No hesitation.
