Last Light(83)

Matt crooked his finger and beckoned. I wriggled out of my nylons and thong and practically fell on top of him. Fuck. How could I feel brazen enough to ask Matt to jerk off on the floor, and in the same moment too paralyzed with embarrassment to put my sex on his face?

“Dress … too,” he said, slowly catching his breath.

I lifted off my dress and unclasped my bra. I tossed the garments aside, and then I hovered awkwardly over Matt as he stared at my tits.

“Come here.” Lust strained his voice. His eyes were dusky. “Come on. I want this. Don’t hold back, Hannah. Do your best…”

I trembled as I crawled up Matt’s body.

I planted my knees on either side of his head and lowered the apex of my thighs to his lips. Fuck … this felt right and wrong and so hot. And I wanted it.

I quietly appreciated yoga as I sank, my legs flexing easily to bring my sex to Matt’s mouth. The contact sent shivers through me. My damp body … his warm breath and lips. I moved cautiously—did he seriously want me to suffocate him?—but Matt seized my buttocks and forced my * against his mouth.

“Matt!” I groaned.

He moaned against my cunt. His tongue lashed out, tasting the soaked seam of my body and delving in and out of me. He sucked on my clit and bit my lips, tugging, savoring my desire. He made the most indecent sounds.

Pleasure warmed me from my abdomen outward. I curled my fingers against the floorboards and the blush staining my cheeks burned hotter. With Matt’s mouth devouring my *, I kept getting wetter. I couldn’t stop. I tried to stop, because it was embarrassing—the amount of arousal oozing from me and coating Matt’s lips and tongue.

But Matt didn’t care. Or rather, he loved it. He lapped at me and licked it away; he sucked on me and made me wet again. Delight crackled up my nerves and sent signals like fireworks to my brain.

“Oh, God … Matt,” I moaned. “Matt … Matt.”

That boy loved to hear his name on my lips. He moaned in response, his voice vibrating over my clit, and I gasped. “Fuck, Matt!”

Another answering moan, muffled in the soft petals of my sex.

His strong hands encouraged me to move. He drove me up and down, rubbing my body over his lips, down to his chin, up to his nose. I shook violently. Oh … I was making a mess on my lover’s face, I could feel it.

I dared a look at Matt. My breasts swayed above the floor, and beyond them I saw the top of Matt’s head. Even in this, he couldn’t stay still. He leaned away from the floor. He pressed his mouth into my body intimately, buried his face, gasped for air.

My hips wanted to roll against his mouth, but I held back. Why?

I want this, Matt said. Don’t hold back. Do your best …

Matt always wanted me to abandon reason—in sex as well as in life. That’s what he did. Why couldn’t I? He lived without fear of what others thought. I lived like a normal person, in my self-imposed restraint. But Matt was free, I knew, and I was not, and the double edge of his freedom was his incredible instinctive selfishness.

I swayed my hips, bucking against his face. He slapped my ass. The swift sting heightened my pleasure. I thrust again and he hit me again. When I began to move on my own, he released my bottom. God, I probably had bruises, he gripped me so hard. And f*ck, I loved that. I loved his fierce need.

I watched Matt as I drove my sex over his mouth. Sticky streaks covered his skin. He licked and sucked when he could, but mostly he let me work my rhythm. I understood then what he wanted me to do. He wanted me to bring myself to orgasm like this.

I didn’t miss a beat as I moved. Why should I? So often during sex, Matt forced his erection into my mouth—and I gagged on it with joy. His desire and my degradation were white-hot pleasure for us both. My desire and his degradation were the same.

In the groove of Matt’s mouth, I found a spot to rub my clit. I rode him steadily, my thighs tense as I applied pressure. He stopped spanking me. His hands rested against my sides and his noises quieted. I threw back my head, blood rushing to it, and the colors of the condo swirled kaleidoscopically. All for me—this crazy décor. Our small, safe, happy place.

I closed my eyes and searched for my pleasure.

When the roll of my hips grew tiny and frantic, Matt plunged his tongue into me. He f*cked me with it as I came.

I moaned, my voice a hoarse cry, and I rubbed out the whole of my pleasure against his mouth, and it was fire and heaven all over again. That garden where only he took me.





Chapter 42


MATT


We lay together on the floor, sticky and breathless.

“Are you cold?” Hannah whispered.

With her sweet breath blowing across my ear, her body draped over mine, I almost believed we were all right.

“You know I am,” I said, because I always get cold after I come, and she hugged me.

She doted on me for a while—rubbed my sides, kissed my collarbone, and feathered her fingers through my hair—and then she sat up and the spell snapped.

We weren’t all right.

I wiped my face and chest with my T-shirt. I retied my pants.

Hannah swayed as she struggled back into her panties and dress. I watched, detached, rather than reaching to steady her.

My hand ached. Fortunately, Hannah hadn’t noticed me favoring the left.

I retrieved a hoodie from the bedroom and returned to find her standing by the door, her expression inscrutable. Don’t leave, I thought, though I felt so confused. Warring emotions. Loneliness for Hannah. Brittle anger when I remembered Seth.