My head rolled back. My back arched.
The sound of her sucking and licking mixed with my wetness was loud; my cries of pleasure were louder.
She held me down, her palm flat against my lower stomach, pinning me to the bed while she ate me out.
I needed her to hold me still.
I was writhing, the build-up so intense I couldn’t stay still, like the pleasure wanted to burst out of me.
She hooked one of my legs over her shoulder, and then her fingers were inside me, expertly finding that one spot that made me wet like a faucet being turned on when rubbed.
“Oh, Cole,” I cried.
She didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Her mouth was busy.
I came against her.
Screaming my release.
Her mouth left my clit, but her fingers stayed inside me, pumping in and out, rubbing against that perfect spot.
“That’s it, I want everyone to hear you,” she said, and I should have been embarrassed that she was calling out how loud Iwas being, but I wasn’t. I was too overwhelmed; nothing else mattered than giving myself over to her.
She began kissing up my body, stopping to pay attention to my previously neglected nipple.
I was riding her fingers, bucking against her, chasing another orgasm. This one deeper, more difficult to find, like I had to pull her in deeper, needing more of her.
Her lips were against my throat again.
I moved my head to give her more space.
I wanted all of her.
Always.
I wanted to be so entirely used by her.
I wanted to be hers.
Her teeth scraped against my neck.
“Mine,” she growled.
“Yours,” I agreed. “Please, please,” I begged.
Her teeth pressed against my skin in a bite. I would be so bruised.
It wasn’t enough.
“More, Cole, please,” I cried.
Cried hot tears because I needed her, needed her like I couldn’t survive without her.
And I wanted her.
