“All the romance books. I thought everyone who’d ever written one had truly lost themselves in the fiction of it all when they said pussy tastes delicious. But they were right, and I’m happy to have been proven wrong.”
As if trying to corroborate his own point, he dives back in for another taste, pleasure zipping up my spine, and I’m beyond thankful it’s been long enough since my last chemo infusion for this to be safe. Not enough people talk about the fact that those toxins are excreted ineverybodily fluid.
Elijah lifts onto a veiny forearm, pulling his glasses from his face, but before he can toss them to the side, I’m reaching for his wrist, holding him captive.
“Glasses stay on, princess,” I tell him.
“Oh?”
I nod, biting my lip. “I happen to have a thing for your slutty little glasses.”
The corners of his lips twitch, and he settles the frames back in place. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs, burying his face between my thighs where they belong.
I run my fingers through his hair, tugging on the roots. “Good boy.”
He releases a pained sound, a cross between a whimper and a moan, and continues to fumble through another one of his firsts.Ourfirsts.
He’s nipping and sucking on my labia, slipping a finger inside me, pumping too fast, then too slow, listening to my every suggestion, watching how my body responds, and adjusting to make it good for me. And I find that I sort of love it. The way he’s so impossibly eager to learn my body, to please me; the way he gets worked up just knowing I might enjoy something he does; the way he meets my heavy gaze with the widest smile each time he coaxes a moan out of me, as if the sound is just the praise he’s been searching for all his life. It should be no surprise that, like everything else, sex with Elijah Elliott is everything I hadn’t known I wanted.
“I can’t believe I get to have you like this,” he whispers, repeating similar sentiments over and over, as if I’m an apparition that might dissolve into nothingness at any moment. He makes the experience fun and enjoyable beyond measure, my cheeks burning from the smile I’m wearing as he takes his time learning me.
My hands snap out, fists gripping the sheets. “Oh, that! J-just like that.” I moan.
He wraps his lips around my clit once more, pulling on the sensitive bundle of nerves in a movement that has me seeing stars. “Like that?”
“Yes, exactly like that,” I whine. “More,please,Elijah.”
He ducks his head, pressing a wet kiss to the inside of my thigh. “You sound so fucking sexy when you beg. I plan on spending every day figuring out how to make you do it again and again.”
“P-please, Elijah, make me come.” A whimper slips out as he slides two fingers into me, separating them and stretching me deliciously. I’m a delirious mess by the time he has his mouth back on my clit, intoxicating pleasure branding me like a hot poker.
“Come for me, sweetheart. I want my name on your lips when you fall apart for me,” he says, and that’s all it takes for me to tip over the edge, riding a high I’ve never felt before.
My thighs clamp around his head as I grab the pillow beside me, smashing it to my face, shouting into it, moaning his name over and over as the blinding euphoria rolls through me.
I’m a panting, sweaty mess by the time I’ve made my descent to earth, and he tugs on the pillow, lowering it from my face and scooting up the bed to curl around me. He presses a kiss to my temple and relaxes beside me.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fabulous,” I answer, endorphins flowing through my jellified limbs. “I must say, all those books you read have done you well. Your dirty talk is stellar.”
“Why, thank you,” he says, chuckling as he kisses my shoulder, nuzzling into my neck. “Now, why don’t you go pee, and then we can sleep for another hour before we have to shower and make breakfast?”
“You know, there’s no scientific evidence that peeing after sex prevents UTIs, but I still feel like I need to do it anyway.”
“Kind of like not showering when it’s lightning outside?”
“Exactly like that, yes,” I say, pushing up and dragging my arse out of bed. I’m glad to return to him a few minutes later, feeling lighter than ever, with him cradling my body to his chest.
The morning passes quickly, my parents babying me, asking Elijah a million questions and thanking him profusely for making breakfast for everyone, including all of my parents’ favourite British foods.
He heads to the gym and later meets up with his friends so my parents and I can have the day together, and I work on re-earning some of the trust I’d lost in my desperation to protect them. Not that I’d been the least bit successful, but much of what led me to do so will be hashed out with my wonderful therapist for years to come, I’m sure.
“When do we get the results?” Mummy had pressed, not hesitating to ask any questions that came to mind, no matter how much I’d wished she’d let me go back to pretending none of this was happening.
“One month,” I grumbled. Much to my annoyance, I have to wait a month after finishing my infusion before I can repeat scans and assess my remission status.
“Don’t speak to your mummy like her questions are a nuisance to you.We deserve answers,” Papa had chided, and my heart sank. He was right. Theydiddeserve answers, so, as Ishould have all along, I supplied them, no matter how invasive they were.
