He must have sensed I was awake because he lifted his face to say, “I am not done making terrible start to sex up to you.”
“Oh, you don’t…” My stomach twisted with guilt that he was still feeling bad about that. “You don’t have to make anything up to me.”
Yom just dipped his head back down between my legs.
Had he heard me?
“Yom, stop, you don’t have to…” I tried to say a little louder. Only to break off with an, “Oh,ooohhhh!”
Yom’s tongue flicked at my clit, and my eyes rolled as electric currents of pleasure shot through my core.
So this was what gettingeaten outfelt like.
No wonder Trish secretly identified as a pillow princess.
Suddenly, I couldn’t catch my breath. “Stop…” I gasped. “You don’t have to…”
I trailed off again when he pulled my thighs a little wider apart so he could spear his tongue even deeper inside of me, so deep I could feel the tip curl into my interior wall as the top of his nose pressed into my clit.
Something caught then, clicking like the old gas stove in my apartment right before it caught…
Fire!Oh God, oh, God!
Suddenly, my hands were threading in his hair, and I was no longer protesting but pushing my pussy shamelessly into his face.
“Don’t stop!” I begged on a scream as a new orgasm bloomed outward from my core. “Oh, God, please don’t stop.”
Yom didn’t stop. Even when I began convulsing underneath him, he kept devouring me, his tongue circling my sensitive clit until I melted back onto the bed in a quivering heap with the true meaning oforalfully committed into my physical memory.
“That was amazing meal,zayka.” From behind my closed eyelids, I sensed Yom rise up from between my legs. “Would you like food, too?”
My eyes fluttered open inside my afterglow to the sight of him kneeling, his erection creating a ridged behind the cotton barrier of his briefs.
Somewhat fascinated and remembering that I didn’t identify as a pillow princess, I rallied into a sitting position. But when I reached forward to take him out and return the favor, he pushed my hand away with a low chuckle. “No,zayka, I am speaking of real food since we are having no chance to eat at party.”
Oh. Real food.My face heated, even as my stomach grumbled in full agreement that I could eat despite it being...
I checked the nightstand clock. Two a.m. “Will anything be open this late, though?”
“Of course,” Yom answered, pulling out his phone with the confidence of someone who always got what he wanted.
Guess that confidence wasn’t all smoke and mirrors, like Paul’s. Less than thirty minutes later, a knock on the door sounded.
“Mr. Nakamura says welcome to Chicago,” a muffled voice announced when Yom answered in a robe he’d pulled out of the closet.
“Dinnertime!” Yom said with a grin after he returned to the bed with a deep dish pizza, along with real plates to eat it on and metal silverware to cut it up with.
Maybe there was something about hotel rooms. It felt like the guy I’d met in Berlin had re-entered the chat as we shared a cozy super-late-night dinner.
Until he casually declared while cutting into his third slice of pizza, “We will make safe word. This way, there is no misunderstanding if you truly want me to stop.”
I nearly choked on my own second slice of pizza. “Um…”
My cheeks flamed at the memory of how I’d morphed from a shy receiver into a wanton screamer under his tongue.
“You can be embarrassed, but you must still pick safe word,” he said into my mortified silence.
“Why can’t you pick it?” I asked.
