He even said so. He told her she was his sweet girl, for licking up every drop.
So it wasn’t a surprise that she was a wreck by the time he was done.
Every bit of her seemed boneless, breathless. She had to take a second to rest her face against his thigh. But that was all right, because he seemed to feel the same. She heard him breathing raggedly. Felt him trembling, one hand in her hair, petting her in a half-reassuring, half-grateful way.
Before he finally got it together enough to speak.
“Okay, that’s one of the things I wanted to do down. Now on to the other 4,999. Starting, I think, with running my hands all over every inch of those maddening fucking curves. Unless of course you have any objections?” he said, like some scout leader rallying the troops.
Though, really, he didn’t need to rally anything. The moment she nodded, still half pressed against his leg, he trailed a finger over the place where her throat met her shoulder. He said, “Then I’ll begin here, at this smooth arch.” And just like that, she was lit up again.
“And after that?” she asked eagerly, as he ran his hand further down.
“This sweet groove, between your belly and your hips.”
“Because you like that. You’re saying you like that there.”
“I love it,” he murmured. “I dream about it. But not as much as I dream about this.”
“But that’s just my lower back.”
“It’s not. It’s where you have these two dimples. Just right there an inch away from the starting curve of your ass. Easy to glimpse whenever your top rides up, but impossible to forget once I have. Even back in high school I used to wonder what it would be like, to just—”he said, and pushed two fingers into those little dents, rubbing and rubbing in a way that made her arch her back helplessly.
Then just as she was wondering if he’d really thought of something so strange back then, he urged her to turn. He got her on her knees, back to him. And he simply went ahead and replaced his fingers with his mouth. He kissed those dimples, hot and wet enough that she bunched the sheets into fists. She made a sound, instead of speaking.
And when she did speak, her voice came out ragged.
“But I’m guessing you didn’t think about following it with this.”
“No. No, I never let myself think about that,” he replied. “Or about doing more after I’d touched them.” And then he did just that. He did more. He slid one hand between the legs she hadn’t realized she’d spread, and stroked through her slick folds, her swollen clit, and down, down, until he was there. He was working her open, as slow and steady as before.
Only better, because he talked about it as he did. “Or about your liking it. Because I’m pretty sure you are, judging by the way you’re rocking into my hand right now and getting it all wet and, ohyeah—that’s happening because you’re gonna come, right?”
He meant because she was clenching around his steadily working fingers, she knew. She could feel it happening, hard enough that he could hardly stroke into her. He had to slow down, and just sort of twist and rub—though of course that only made things worse. Now she was panting, shaking, so flushed she felt as if she was on fire.
And she couldn’t stop herself mewling at him for more.
Even though it made him give her less. He slowed, to the point where she had to ask.
“Oh god, why are you stopping?” she managed to squeeze out, and cringed a little over the sound of herself. Until he answered her, that was.
“Because I want to feel you doing it on my cock again. But this time, I want to absolutely know that’s what you’re doing,” he said—and so casually, too. Like it was nothing. Instead of something so hot it made her breath catch in her throat. It made her squirm andtry to push back against him, before he’d done a single thing. She had to actually fight to keep herself still, just so she could get every little detail of what he had described.
But it was worth it, when she got that big hand of his on her hip. Stroking, at first, all soft and slow. Then he simply slid his fingers into that cup, between her thigh and her stomach. And he used it to haul her back, back, back, until she could feel it.
The thick head of his cock, sliding through the seam of her sex. Back and forth and back and forth, so steady and teasing she wondered how he could stand it. It was too much for her, and he was barely touching any of the good stuff. He only just grazed her clit with every stroke; her greedy hole got little more than a hint of him.
She almost pushed back, on one of those maddening strokes.
Just fucked herself on him, good and hard.
Yet somehow, it was still a shock when he finally broke. She got a sudden groan, so desperate it had her fisting the bedsheets. Then that thick cock just sliding into her, spreading her, in a way that felt even sweeter than it had the first time. He seemed to spark every nerve ending she had, as he filled her pussy.
Though it was more than that, and she knew it. She could feel it again—that strange echo of whatever pleasure he was experiencing. As if they were still connected in that way, somehow. Like it had left a kind of delicious scar when she’d healed them both.
Only somehow, that didn’t seem quite right.
It was something else, she could feel it. But before she could really think about it, he put a hand on the small of her back. He pushed her down, until her belly and breasts were pressed to the mattress. And then he practically rolled into her.
