"Quiet," he growls when I start to moan.
The command sends electricity straight to my clit. He's taking control, taking away my noise, my chaos.
His mouth attacks my neck, teeth scraping, tongue soothing the sting. When I whimper, his hand comes up to cover my mouth.
"I said quiet. You want to know what sounds you make? You'll make them when I allow it."
He rips my tank top over my head. The cool air hits my bare breasts and my nipples tighten painfully. His eyes devour me, that tactical assessment that makes me feel like prey.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Look at you."
His hands cup my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples slowly. I arch into him, trying to increase the pressure, but he controls everything: the pace, the pressure, the slow torture of almost-enough.
"Please…"
"Please what?"
My fingers dig into his shoulders. "Touch me. Really touch me."
His eyes darken, pupils dilating. "I am touching you."
My hips cant forward, seeking friction. I bite my lip, cheeks flushing. "My pussy. Touch my…"
He drops to his knees, the movement so swift it makes the floorboards creak. His hands slide up my calves, thumbs pressing into the sensitive hollows behind my knees.
The sight steals my breath. This lethal soldier on his knees for me. He hooks his fingers in my shorts and drags them down. The silk is drenched, and he makes a sound that's pure animal when he sees I'm bare underneath, my pussy already glistening.
"Already so fucking wet," he mutters. "Could probably make you come just from breathing on you."
Then his mouth is on me.
No warning, no teasing. His tongue finds my clit and attacks it with absolute focus. I cry out, hands flying to his hair, pulling hard as he devours me like a man starved. He's not gentle, not careful. He eats my pussy like he's claiming territory.
The obscene wet sounds fill the room. His tongue circles my clit, then flicks it rapidly, then sucks it into his mouth. When he pushes two thick fingers inside me, curling them to hit that perfect spot, I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me, violent and sudden. My thighs clamp around his head, my pussy clenching around his fingers as I come on his tongue, against his mouth, my juices coating his face.
He doesn't stop. Not even a breath of mercy, not even when the aftershocks roll through me and my thighs tremble from the strain. His mouth is locked on me, a starving thing, and his fingers keep moving inside, deeper, rougher, like he’s determined to hollow me out until there’s nothing left but this.
I can’t process the pleasure, can’t ride it, can barely survive it. My hands scrabble for purchase—the doorframe, his hair, nothing holds me. Every nerve is lit up, raw and hyper-reactive, and the contrast of his stubble scraping my inner thigh is almost too much. I squirm, try to push his head away, but he just clamps my hips down harder, pinning me in place.
I'm sobbing, animal noises breaking from my throat, the kind of sounds I never make, the kind of sounds I didn't know I could make. The room tilts, my vision blurs, and there is only the relentless swirl of his tongue on my clit, the obscene wetness of his mouth, the relentless in and out of his fingers.
He looks up at me through his lashes, pupils gone pitch-black, and the sight is enough to punch another quake through my gut. He smirks—he actually fucking smirks—and says, hoarse, "Again. Come again for me."
My body obeys him before my brain even understands. My muscles clench down, hard, and something inside me bursts. I scream—my voice, his name, a string of expletives, I don’t know, don’t care. He never lets up, not even as I convulse around his hand, not even as I try to twist away, not even as I claw his scalp, desperate for escape.
He keeps me there, grounded, even as I float out of myself. He’s speaking, low and guttural, praise and filth snarled together: "So good, Marisol. So fucking good."
I can feel it soaking my thighs, the shameful, shocking wetness of my own wreckage. He doesn't flinch. He licks it up, groaning, addicted, tasting everything I've got.
He finally relents, only so he can stand and yank me up, hoisting me into his arms like I weigh nothing at all. My legs are useless, boneless, dangling over his forearm. His hand is under my ass, warm and steady, holding me like I’m precious cargo. He carries me to the bed and drops me onto the sheets, and I sink in, gasping, neurons still sparking wild in my skull.
I'm limp, destroyed, but he's just getting started.
He sets me on the mattress and stands over me. Finally, finally, he strips off those sweatpants.
His cock springs free and my mouth waters. He's huge: thick, veined, the head already wet with precum. I reach for him but he catches my wrist.
