Head On (Strength And Love)(26)
When he licks at the seam of my mouth, I open for him and then he’s inside me. His tongue tastes me, licks at me, and he’s delicious--all minty and fresh. He must have cleaned his teeth only a few moments ago. I moan and he pulls me closer in response.
I’ve been kissed a few times in my life, but never like this. He takes control and utterly dominates me, but not in a horrible way. He’s not slobbering all over me, or pushing his big fat tongue down my throat like one boy did. But he’s in no way unsure, or delicate. My God, he could win an award for kissing. He probably gets a lot of practice, and I push that thought away.
When he breaks away, his chest is rising and falling rapidly. He takes my hand and leads me down the hall, away from the spare room I’m staying in, and Sadie curled up on the bed.
He takes me into his bedroom.
It’s a spacious room, dominated by a huge super-king bed, with a dark grey headboard. Above it is a black and white photograph of a statue of a white horse’s head, upside down, with the horse’s lips touching a black lake of water below it. It’s striking and unusual. A lamp on one of the bedside tables throws a golden glow over the room. A built-in mahogany wardrobe runs the length of one wall. There’s a leather sofa under the window, and a coffee table by it with a few books scattered haphazardly on the surface. It’s a gorgeous room. Masculine, and simple, but comfortable and stylish.
He sits on the bed and splays his legs, pulling me between them. His hands are on my hips and he moves them up, taking the material of my dress as he does so. Like this, his face is directly in front of my…pussy. It’s the least bad word my brain can come up with. I can’t call it my vagina, not in this context, and any other word doesn’t work. Maybe I’ll start to like pussy. It’s a friendly word, I think, not ugly like cunt. Or clinical like vagina.
“Hey, where did you go?” His voice brings me back to the room, and us.
I’m nervous, and sometimes when I’m nervous my brain internally rambles, musing about all sorts of stupid things. But I don’t want to space out during this, so I try to calm my nerves. I want this, he wants this. There’s nothing to worry about. But I do. I worry about my scars. About my lack of experience. I’m probably about to be the most disappointing encounter he’s ever had.
He leans in and kisses my right thigh, his lips landing directly on my scar. I suck in a breath at the intimacy of the gesture. He keeps on kissing me, working his way up my thigh, trailing the material of the dress over my skin, his lips following it, leaving fiery pleasure in their wake. Once he reaches my hip, he mouths across my lower belly, kissing and nibbling along the hem of my panties. My hideous white panties, I realise, with a rush of mortification.
Then, he kisses me right over the material, right on my mound, at my core, and it makes me squeak. He pauses and looks up at me smiling, genuine amusement dancing in his eyes. When he puts his head back down, he inhales deeply and I flush.
“You smell incredible.” He kisses me again, pressing his lips hard against the fabric, stimulating the bundle of nerves hidden between my folds of flesh.
His fingers hook into the waistband of my panties and he pushes them down my legs before grabbing my arse cheeks and pulling me into him with a groan. He uses the fingers of one hand to spread me apart and simply stares for a moment, his gaze eating me up. “Fucking beautiful.”
When his tongue darts out and licks a stripe right up my seam, I have to bite back another squeal. He licks either side of my clit, never actually letting his tongue touch me there, but exploring all around. It is the sweetest torture. After a while my legs start to tremble slightly from the tension he’s building in me. Finally, when I think I might grab his head and push him where I need him, he flicks his tongue right over my clit. I’m so turned on by the way he’s been teasing me for ages that I cry out. He keeps on licking at me, feather light strokes of his tongue in a rhythm that makes me pant. I can feel my orgasm building, and I can’t stop myself from grabbing hold of his hair and pulling him in closer. And then I’m coming all over his face as he licks and sucks me through it.
I’m trembling all over and my mind is blown. This was nothing like the time the boy I sometimes messed around with went down on me. This was intense, and he got me from A to B so fast, my head still spins.
He stands as I try to come down from the experience and he pulls my dress up and off. My panties are around my ankles, with the sandals still on, and he motions for me to step out of them and I do, kicking the material to one side. In just these sandals and my bra, I feel dirty. Naughty. Again, I’m horrified by my underwear. The bra is a boring white, cotton one. Nothing sexy about it. But Ethan is looking at it as if it’s the most amazing thing in the world.
Flicking the clasp at the back expertly, and yeah, I don’t like to think about why he’s good at that, he lets the material fall away from my chest as his eyes rake over me.
“Your tits are fucking beautiful.” His coarse words send a new thrill thrumming through my core. His big palms cover my breasts and he squeezes them up and together, thumbs brushing over my nipples. “Pink,” he says with a smile and I don’t know what he means.
“I’ve been wondering what colour your nipples would be. Christ, I want to fuck your tits one day.”
Oh, my God. Is that a thing? I’ve not seen that on my Tumblr journey and I like the idea. I squirm at his words, squeezing my thighs together. And he’s still squeezing my breasts, his calloused thumbs playing over my nipples in a way I love. He takes one nipple and pinches it, hard enough to make me draw in a breath, and then his mouth is there, laving at it, soothing, and my clit throbs. “So sensitive, too. I bet I could make you come from this.”