He slowly lowers, never breaking the link of our gazes, and a realization hits me. His perfect physique, his striking face, the tattoos, the searing intensity of his light green eyes… He’s the devil, isn’t he?
And I just signed a contract with him.
The first lick he gives me is a revelation. It sends prickling shivers through my entire body, making my back arch. And he doesn’t even touch that sweet spot but merely laps at my slit, where wetness has gathered.
The low “hmm” that rumbles in his throat, like I’m some delicious treat, nearly undoes me.
Then he licks me again. And again. And again. And my head quickly falls back onto the mattress with a long sigh.
Once I’m free of excess wetness, his tongue lazily explores the rest of me, and I brace for the sparks. They do come, but every time the pointed tip misses that one critical spot, I grow increasingly impatient. It drags slightly to the right of it. Then to the left. Then, he draws an arch that manages to miss it entirely. After what must be an entire minute of torture, I realize he might not be as good at this as I expected.
“Do you not know where it is?!” I frustratedly ask, pushing myself up on my elbows.
He barely lifts his head, his gaze now on mine. “Oh, I know exactly where it is.”
“Then why do you keep missing it?”
His deep chuckle fans across my folds, making me shiver. “Because it would be too easy. If I start licking your clit, you’ll come in twenty seconds.”
I snort. Twenty seconds? That’s unlikely.
His eyebrow cocks up as if I just issued a challenge. It seems I did because his face lowers again, and his mouth falls right on my clitoris, confirming his words. Then, he endeavors to show me just how wrong I was.
Oh, he does know where it is. And he also knows exactly what to do with it.
His lips maintain a suction that heightens everything, and the rapid pace at which he flicks my clit has me recoiling, struck by too much pleasure to endure. But his hands are on my hips, holding me firmly in place. Sparks ignite from my core to spread through my limbs and end in my fingers and toes.
With a whimper, my hand leaves the duvet to tangle into his hair, the thick strands soft under my fingers. “Oh God,” I moan, sensing myself ascending faster than I can handle.
Twenty seconds wasn’t that far off. Actually, I think his devious tongue gets me to the finish line with two to spare.
I explode, hips bucking, back lifting off the bed, legs pressing together and imprisoning his head. His name is on my lips as I orgasm, my entire body taut, my nipples hard, my core spasming. Wave after wave of bliss wreck me, tearing loud moans out of my throat. I’ve never orgasmed like this. Not with such magnitude, not to such heights. No man or toy ever brought me this amount of pleasure. In fact, I never suspected it was possible.
Jake never halts his ministrations, maintaining a quick and expert pace that drags and drags my pleasure for many seconds. This, too, I didn’t know. That an orgasm could last more than three fleeting beats.
When it becomes too much and lasts for too long, I force my legs to part and try to push against his head to make him stop. This is too much pleasure. Too much stimulation. It scares me, almost.
He clasps his hand around one of my wrists to shove it away, and with his other hand, he—
“Oh, God,” I cry out, my insides pulsing around the two thick fingers he harshly thrusts into me.
When he begins pumping them in and out, it makes it all so much better and so much worse. I’m pretty sure a second orgasm has seamlessly melted into the first one because I’m shaking and arching all over again, flooded once more by ripples of pleasure.
When his gestures slow, I thank whatever compelled him to. I need a break after all this. An hour-long break.
“Do you have any more complaints regarding my technique?” he cockily asks, moving up enough for me to see his wet and pink lips. I shake my head, distrustful of my tongue. “Good. Then let me proceed without interrupting. I need to focus on this ‘genital penetration by use of fingers’ thing. It’s very technical.”
This further teasing almost makes me miss the most essential part of his sentence. “Proceed?”
“That was just to get you relaxed. Now I’ll show you what I can really do.”
This time, he isn’t as forward, leisurely exploring me. I quickly understand that his goal isn’t to make me come anymore, but instead climb, and climb, and climb, until I’m a pleading and begging mess.
He gives and withdraws with perfect accuracy, pushing me to beg a few times. But as soon as I’m about to shatter under his deft tongue and around his clever fingers, he changes something that delays the impending climax.
While he fingers me with his right hand, grazing his fingertips onto that spot that feels so good, the other one twists and pulls on my nipples, inflicting another kind of torture. His tongue is the perfect mix of soft and rough, knowing precisely what to do with my swollen and pulsing bud.
After God knows how many minutes of this, I decide I can’t take more of his edging. He’ll drive me mad if he denies me again.
