Exposed (Madame X, #2)(42)

I lose track of what I’m doing, and he rolls me to my back. I let him, and my thighs splay apart. He pushes my legs wider open, cups both hands under my bottom and lifts my entire lower half off the bed, bringing my slit to his mouth, and now he devours me as if he’s starving; he feasts on me, licks, slurps, sucks my throbbing clit between his teeth and I come within seconds, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps me aloft with one hand, effortlessly holding me up with one arm under my bottom, and now his other hand finds me. My heels rest on his shoulders, my knees dangle draped apart. I’m spread open for him, and he feasts.

I come, spasming, arching my spine to crush my core against his mouth.

And then he slides his essence-slick fingers out of my slit and drags them down. His eyes meet mine. “Has anyone ever touched you here?” he asks, and touches me somewhere sensitive and forbidden.

I shake my head. “No,” I breathe.

He doesn’t ask permission. He feathers a gentle touch over me, back there. I moan low in my throat and swallow hard. His tongue flicks my clit, and I spasm, and then he’s lapping at me until I’m writhing again, and I feel his fingertip touching me, pressing in gentle circles and I feel the pressure of that touch all throughout my body, feel it tightening my muscles and gathering heat in my core, and I don’t stop him. I want his touch. I want him. I want every orgasm he will give me; I’m greedy for them. Desperate. Willing.

I press my heels into the hard muscle of his shoulders and push down with my hips, opening yet farther. His touch at my backside is still so gentle, so careful. Yet insistent. Matching the pace of his tongue, the suction of his lips around my clitoris. I feel yet another orgasm welling up within me hard and fast, rising like the tide, inevitable, powerful. This one, perhaps, more potent than anything I’ve ever felt in my life. His fingertip touches, presses, circles, and I’m writhing. Gasping. Whimpering.

“Tell me how you feel, Isabel,” Logan says.

“So good,” I answer. “I like this. I’m going to come soon.”

“Hard?”

“Yes, Logan.”

“How hard?”

“Harder than I’ve ever come before in my life.”

“You like how I’m touching you?”

I nod. “Yes.”

He presses a little harder, and my instinct is to bear down and clench up, but I don’t. I feel myself stretched, just the tiniest bit. I flex my hips and open my knees and breathe hard, and allow his touch.

“No one’s ever touched you like this?” he asks.

“No. Never.”

“Does it feel good?”

I whine in my throat as climax roars in my ears, my blood thundering, my core tightening. “Yes.”

“Curse, Isabel. Say all the dirty words you know.” He licks at my clitoris, and I shake, aching, trembling. “Scream my name when you come.”

“Logan . . .” He wants bad words. He wants me to be dirty. “This feels so f*cking good, Logan. I’m going to come so hard.”

“I can taste it. I can feel it. Come on my tongue.”

“Give me more,” I whisper, speaking my darkest desire. “Your finger . . . give me more.”

He wiggles his finger, and I groan loudly. “This? You like this? My dirty girl likes it when I touch her *.”

I moan in equal parts mortification and desire. I do. Oh god, I do. I like it so much. It feels so good. “Yes, Logan. I like it. I’m your dirty girl, and I like it.” Did that sound stupid? It did, to me. It sounded idiotic. Cheesy.

But Logan moans against my core and his finger throbs in and out of me in shallow pulsing thrusts and I’m whimpering and grinding against his mouth and taking more of his finger and I feel fire blossoming now. Perhaps it only sounded stupid to me, because I feel so self-conscious, despite how incredible this is.

Whatever I’d felt before, any other time in my life, any orgasm I’ve ever experienced, it was but a shadow of what is about to occur.

I shatter.

I scream. My scream deafens even me.

There are no words to capture the intensity of my orgasm. It is fire. Wildfire, sunfire, angelfire. All the stars in the galaxy going nova in my core all at once. Volcanoes erupting, earthquakes wracking the tectonic plates of my being.

“Logan!” I scream.

I am left breathless, shaking, trembling, shivering, and I can’t help crying. I am so limp, so utterly wrecked that I can only reach for Logan and cling to him and shake, and try to breathe. After I don’t even know how long, the shivers and shakes subside, and I can breathe. And Logan is still painfully erect, prodding into my belly.

I shift, and I’m on top of him. The tip of his cock presses against my opening, and his eyes are hot and wild, yet tainted by some stain of conflict.

“What, Logan?” I ask, and settle onto his stomach, rather than pushing him into me. “What’s wrong? I see it in your eyes.”

He shifts me off him, and we lie on our sides, facing each other. “Not yet, Isabel.”

I blink. “Not yet?” My throat is tight. “Why not?”

“I want to, so bad. I know you do, too. But I don’t think we should, yet.”

“Why not?” I feel desperate.

And angry. Unreasonably angry, feral with unsated need. I feel rejected, denied. Spurned. Confused. My chest tightens and my eyes sting, hot.