Confessions of a Bad Boy(52)

Her face is in mine, a mask of calm despite the brutal truth of what she’s saying. We’re close enough to feel the heat of each other’s scowls, the bluntness of our points.

I say nothing. I can’t think of anything to answer her. She’s right, too right, and she knows it. She’s too honest and passionate and beautiful and overwhelming, and having that much woman in front of me feels like walking into a tornado. I’m angry enough with her to hate her, frustrated by her enough to shout at her. The twisted situation shredding my insides.

I do the only thing that seems to make sense. The one thing that feels right. I grab her by the hips, pull her onto me, stick my tongue deep into her mouth. We tighten our arms around each other, breathe heavily as we devour each other’s throbbing tongues. Lips swollen with lust, hands clawing and grasping at each other’s flesh – desperately angry with each other, but unable to distinguish hate from lust anymore.

I unzip her hoodie to reveal her loose tank underneath, and when she shakes it off I tear the top up and over her head, bringing my voracious appetite to her nipples, sucking them between my lips and flicking them with my tongue as she falls back onto the couch.

“You’re an *, Nate,” Jessie utters between gasp as she pulls my head roughly to her breast.

I pull my head away and press my hand between skin and jeans to get at the tight, hot space between her thighs.

“I never said I wasn’t,” I growl, locking eyes filled with raging desire, my fingers slowly searching out her clit.

A wicked smile plays across her lips as I pull her jeans and panties down roughly, revealing the firm muscles and tender skin of her legs. Once they’re off I gaze at her, lying back against the cushions, kneeling on the other end of the couch at her feet as if in worship of her divine form, ready to pay my respects to the goddess of all things feminine.

I keep my eyes on her face, her smile flickering like a small flame with every touch I make. My hands over her legs, parting them slightly, so I can bring my head down and run the very tip of my tongue up the side of her calves, the back of her knee, letting her tingle at the brush of my stubble. I kiss the inside of her thigh, as soft as her lips, and keep my mouth pressed lightly there, enjoying the way her body purrs and vibrates.

With one hand on her thigh, I reach the other up toward her beautiful tits, trembling elegantly under the convulsions of her back. She takes the back of my hand and clutches it even tighter over her nipple, hard from the slow sucking of my lips across her thigh. I move my mouth closer to her *, and she spreads her legs wider and lets out a low moan. I smile now as I move my lips to the other thigh, bringing her closer to the edge, closer to the moment, but still not there. Keeping her in that glorious space between expectation and satisfaction, punishing and pleasuring her at the same time.

“Relax,” I murmur. “I’m in control now.”

She moans loudly, stuttering as she loses control of her breath, and it sounds like a desperate plea. He hands grab my hair and pull violently. I respond by twisting her nipple a little, mixing in a little pain like the finishing touch on a cocktail of sensations.

Her * is in front of me now, wet and ripe like an earned dessert, and I lap quickly with my tongue and enjoy the sound of Jessie hissing slowly with pleasure. I lap again, then blow coolly over the slick skin. She clutches at her hair, her breast, my head, her back arching and slamming onto the couch like she’s being tossed at sea. I do it again, and she moans long and hard.

“You like that?” I say through my smile.

“Yes,” she says, her voice shaking like she’s shivering from cold. “Fuck yes.”

I take her clit in my mouth and kiss it softly, pulling my lips away to make it pop softly back into place. I take it again, this time pressing the back of my tongue against it and rolling it over, the taste of her losing control, of her body swelling with sensations. I bring my fingers to her * and slide two inside, stirring against her walls while I work her clit with the back of my tongue, drowning in the flow of her unleashed carnality.

I lose myself in her, forget who I am as I focus solely on the movements of her body, responding as if they were my own. I interpret her moans and squeals like a foreign language that tells me to go, stop, faster, harder. Her juices dripping over my face, her smell filling my nose, her thighs squeezing my head, a woman worthy of worshipping, worthy of giving everything to. Jessie filling my every sense, my every being.

I stay there for what feels like hours, bringing her in ever-swirling circles of pleasure, falling and rising to ever-increasing heights. A gathering avalanche, a growing storm. I know the button to push, and when her squeals start getting quick, her body starts pressing itself into the couch, I know it’s time. I push my fingers deeper, curving the knuckle a little to hit the place that always brings her over the cliff, my tongue at her clit, my hand squeezing her breast, an assault of bliss on all sides.

When she comes, she’s like a woman possessed, her hands digging into my hair with a strength nobody would assume, and a scream loud enough to fill a stadium. I feel her legs tighten around my neck, hard thighs taut and stiff, and then she relaxes.

I crawl up over her on all fours and lay beside her, my arm across her chest, our legs tangled, and study the profound peace on her face, eyes closed, mouth softly smiling. When she looks at me her eyes are radiant, sleepy, as if she’s dreaming.

I trace my fingers across her collarbone, down around the curve her breast, around the tenderness of her stomach. She hums appreciatively, and I start wondering how we’re ever going to stop.