Captured(50)

“Tasting you.”

“But I’m—” I don’t even really know what my protest was going to be.

“Sweet as sugar and twice as nice.” He caresses my inner, upper thighs, gently parting my legs. “Now relax and enjoy it.”

This Derek, the slightly bossy one? I really like him. I offer up a token resistance, nervous about my taste, my smell. Whether I’m groomed enough for him down there. Whether he expects me to return the favor, because I’m not sure I’m ready for that just yet, either. My token resistance, a stiffening of my legs, has him taking my ankle in his hand, placing it where he wants it. Namely, over his shoulder. Then the other. My knees are wide apart, spreading my vag open for him to see all of me, every fold and crease and wrinkle. My ass is almost off the ground, my knees hooked over his shoulders.

“I feel ridiculous like this,” I mutter.

Derek doesn’t answer. Not right away, at least. He glides in, palms sliding up my thighs, back down. Around my hips to cup my tautened ass, and then I’m subsumed by sensations. His tongue on my clitoris. A long, thick finger sliding into my opening, diving in, exploring, circling, curling. His tongue, sweeping and swiping and stabbing and spearing and tasting. I moan — I can’t help it. It’s a breathy, erotic sound in the quiet forest, a long, drawn-out “ohhhhhh.” And my hips drive up, demanding more of him. Because holy god Jesus, does this feel amazing. So good. So, so, so good. His tongue is strong and relentless, finding a slow circling rhythm around my clit, which is throbbing and thick with sensitivity, each touch of his mouth and lips and tongue shooting rockets of ecstasy through me. I’m tingling from my toes to my scalp, my fingers grasping my own wrists, then stealing down in disobedience to feather through his hair and hold him in place, clutching him against me, greedy for more.

He adds a finger inside my *, curling up against that perfect spot, rubbing back and forth in a gentle thrust. “Now how do you feel? Is it ridiculous still?”

“Derek…god, please….”

“Please what?”

“More, Derek. More. Don’t stop.”

“Keep talking, gorgeous. Tell me exactly what you want.” He licks me, a fat wet swipe of his tongue up my opening, ending with his stiffened tongue dragging against my clit.

“Ooohhh-ohhhhh-f*ckinggodyes…more. Do that again. Your mouth, right there. Please.” I might not be making any sense, but clearly Derek likes what he hears.

He growls in his throat and dives back in, repeating the move with his tongue. Again and again. And each time, the pulsations of explosive heat roll low through my core up to my belly, tightening my muscles and making my skin scream, and each time, they get stronger and hotter. His two fingers inside me drive relentlessly into me, a slow, rhythmic, thorough f*cking of my insides, his fingertips sliding and pressing against that ridged area of so-tender, so-sensitive skin, and with each f*ck of his fingers I go slightly mad, my hips rising and falling, driven to unbridled ecstasy by his tongue and his fingers.

I’m moaning nonstop now. Who am I? This is a new me. I’ve never been vocal. Not like this. Not loud enough to shock my own ears. Not these high-pitched whimpers that turn into mini-screams and quiet shrieks.

And, just when I’m on the verge, hovering on the trembling edge of detonation, he changes it all up. He shifts my body upward, his shoulders sliding between my thighs to throw them wide open, and his mouth travels up my belly, slick juices on his chin smearing against my diaphragm. I’m insane with need now, growling at him, squeezing him with my legs, thrashing beneath him, shoving at his head. But those motions immediately still as his mouth finds my nipple and sucks on it, teeth worrying at it, mouth flattening it, fingers of one hand pinching and twisting my other nipple, cupping my tit and kneading it, thrumming the nipple, strumming and scraping with his fingernail.

And his other hand…please f*ck yes…yes, it goes between my legs. Middle, index and ring finger slide and slip against my saliva-slick folds, my own essence throbbing out of me, his fingers dipping into my channel and smearing the pungent juices of my desire and need over my trembling folds. He presses and circles. I moan. He releases the pressure, leaving a light touch, the pads of his fingertips barely touching my clit. They circle around the sensitive nub without actually touching it. And I scream.

Volcanic heat floods through me; my thighs shake and my gut tenses and my eyes clench shut and my toes curl. I rake my fingers down his back, and my hips are rising and falling, lifting and sinking, seeking his fingers in rhythm with his touch, which does not relent, doesn’t speed up or slow down. He just keeps the pressure, the pace, and it drives me wild as I come with a frantic detonation.

And then he’s down there again, between my thighs with his lips suckling my clit and his fingers driving into me, and holy shit I’m coming again, both of my hands on his head pulling him against me, driving into his mouth with my hips.

I’m f*cking his face.

And he’s going wild over it. He’s moving his tongue against my clit in a feverish pace, driving my orgasm to heights I hadn’t thought possible, his fingers sliding into me slow and deep.

When the riot of ecstatic madness fades a bit and my shrieks have quieted and my hips have stilled, he takes to licking me slowly once more, his tongue sliding up the drenched opening of my * to flick gently against my clit. This is, in its own way, just as crazy-making as the fast and furious explosion. It sends shuddering aftershocks through me, potent waves of clenching heat that have me making a sound in low in the back of my throat that I can only describe as primal.