Beautiful Beginning(55)

a movie, coming to the hotel for one last night together. I don’t have to

work to be brave when it’s safe like this: he’s leaving. It becomes

almost like a game. A play. A role.

I don’t know which Mia is taking over my body, but I’m shutting out

everything but how it feels to be so close to this boy. I only have to take

one step closer and he meets me halfway, sliding both hands into my hair

and covering my mouth with his. Ocean and green and still the lingering

scent of me on his clothes.

His taste, oh. I want to feel so full of him that every other thought

dissolves under the heat of it. I want his mouth everywhere, sucking at me

like he does. I love how he loves my lips, how—after only one night

together—his hands already know my skin.

He walks me back to the bed, lips and tongue and teeth all over my cheeks

and mouth and jaw. I fall backward when my knees hit the bed.

He pulls at the hem of my dress and unsheathes me in a single determined

tug, then reaches behind me, ridding me of my bra with a tiny slip of his

fingers. He makes me feel like I’m something to reveal, something in which

to revel. I’m the reward at the end of his magic trick, exposed beneath

the velvet cape. His eyes rake across my skin and I can see his own

impatience: shirt flung across the room, fingers tugging at his belt,

tongue flicking at the air, searching for the taste of me.

Ansel gives up on undressing, instead kneeling on the floor between my

thighs, spreading me, kissing me over the fabric of my underwear. He

nibbles and tugs, sucking and licking impatiently before he slides my last

remaining article of clothing down my legs.

I gasp when he leans forward, covering my most sensitive skin in a long,

slow lick. His breath feels like tiny bursts of fire where he kisses my

clit, my pubic bone, my hip. I push up, leaning back on my hands to watch

him.

"Tell me what you need," he says, his voice raspy against my hip.

With this, I remember weakly that he made me come with his hands and body

last night, but not his mouth. I can sense the need to conquer this, and

wonder how long he tried before I grew impatient, pulling him up and into

me.

The truth is I'm not sure what I need. Oral sex has always been a stop on

the way somewhere else. A way to get me wet, to make the circuit of my body

activate. Never something done until I shook and sweated and swore.

"S-suck," I say, guessing.

He opens his mouth, sucking perfectly for a breath of time and then too

much. "Not so hard.” I close my eyes, finding the bravery to tell him,

“Like you suck on my lip."

It's exactly the direction he needed and I fall back against the mattress

without thinking, my legs spreading wider and with this he grows wild.

Palms firmly planted on my inner thighs to keep my legs open, sounds

pressed into me, vibrating throughme.

One of his hands leaves me and I can feel him moving, can sense the

shifting of his arm. Propping myself on an elbow I look down and realize

he's touching himself, eyes on me, fevered.

"Let me," I tell him. "I want to taste you, too."

I don't know where these words are coming from; I’m not myself right now.

He nods but doesn't stop moving his hand. I love it. I love that it’s not

weird or taboo. He's lost in me, he's hard, he’s giving into the need for

his own pleasure while he gives me mine.

As he kisses and sucks and licks with such uninhibited hunger, I'm afraid I

won't be able to come and his enthusiasm and effort will be wasted. But

then I feel the tight pull, the edge of something that grows bigger and

bigger with every breath across my skin. I thread my hands in his hair,

rock up into him.

"Oh, God."

He groans, mouth eager, eyes on me wide and thrilled.

I relish the tight swell of my tendons, my muscles, the blood rushing so

heated and urgent in my veins. I can feel it build, spread out and race

through my limbs, exploding between my legs. I’m gasping, hoarse and

senseless, offering no words, just sharp sounds. The echo of my orgasm

rings around us as I fall back onto the pillow.

I feel drugged, and with effort I push him away from where his lips press

to my thigh so I can sit up. He stumbles to his feet, pants undone and

slung low over his hips. I look up at him, and from the light coming out of

the bathroom I can see how wet his mouth is, from me—as if he was hunting,

as if I was caught and devoured.

He wipes a forearm across his entire face, and steps closer to the bed just

as I lean forward and take him in my mouth.

He cries out, desperate. "Already close."

It’s a warning. I can feel it in the jutting thrusts of his hips, the

tense swelling of the head of his cock, the way he grips my head like he

wants to pull back, make this last longer, but can’t. He f*cks my mouth,

seeming to know already that it’s okay, and after only six sharp jabs