Never Sweeter (Dark Obsession #1)(37)

“I have had a guy go down on me. I totally have.”

“Are you sure about that? You don’t look sure.”

“Well, maybe not like this.”

“There’s no other way to do it. This is actually the most basic, ordinary way to go about eating *.”

“Yeah, but this seems really exciting and sexy and hot.”

“Going down on a girl is really exciting and sexy and hot. Like I said about giving a guy head? Exactly the same principle. You get to see her writhe and shake and push herself against your mouth. Just like that, just like Sarandon is doing. Look at her. Look at her.”

“I am. I am looking,” she said, but she wasn’t, not really.

She was thinking of the shiver that had gone through her when he said look, soft as butter and so oddly tender. And the way that he was looking himself, eyes almost far away.

Like he was seeing Sarandon, but putting someone else in her place.

“Think about how it must feel.”

“Yeah I can…I get that…”

“Think about his tongue slowly easing over her soft folds.”

“Is that…how…is that what you…”

“Uh-huh.”

“And it works?”

Her voice was a whisper now.

But that was okay. His was, too.

It was so low he had to lean close to ask her questions.

He had to meet her gaze, and she had to meet his.

“What works?”

“It makes her…you know. Come.”

“Oh yeah. But you gotta take your time.”

“I see. I guess that makes sense.”

“Let it build, nice and slow. Start by just stroking her with your fingertips. Work her, you know, until her lips part. And then when she’s all open to you, you just trace the shape of her with your tongue. Lick and lick in these ever decreasing circles until you’re right…f*cking…there.”

“Where? Where…where are you?”

She shouldn’t have asked. She knew she shouldn’t as soon as it was out. Their faces were too close together now, and his body seemed to be looming over hers. That was his shoulder, almost nudging her chin. And his thigh, pressing deep and hard into hers. His answer was never going to make any of this better.

Then it came, hotter than molten lava and twice as destructive.

“Her clit. Her slick, swollen clit.”

“I see. That makes sense,” she said, even though that wasn’t what she wanted to go with.

No, what she wanted to go with was more like oh my f*cking God this can’t be reality.

“Then you just…stroke it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Until she’s mindless.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“Doesn’t even know what she’s saying anymore, or doing. She might tell you to bite, to f*ck her with your tongue and fingers, harder or faster or some word that doesn’t even make sense. Hips coming up to meet you, greedy for it, horny for it, so horny she barely notices that her hand is in your hair and she’s squeezing tight enough for it to sting, so close to coming that her whole body is shuddering and shivering and flushed that deep, good pink. Soon as you see it you just know she’s burning. That her clit is aching and throbbing and her * is all open and slippery, and one more second of this will make her come. She’s already coming, before you even know where you’re at. Hard, hard, hard, like she never has before.”

She was holding her breath by the time he was done. She practically had to—his face was so close now she could have blinked and brushed his cheek with her eyelashes. Every word he said seemed to stroke against her face, cool at first but then more heated. As though he was starting to boil alive inside, too. Certainly he looked that way. She has never seem him flushed like this, not even when he pushed himself during a match.

Not even when he was embarrassed.

Though she supposed that wasn’t a common occurrence. He didn’t seem to be embarrassed now, and he’d just said all those words. He said clit and * and slippery, as if that was just a normal way to talk to your friend. And he did it all without flinching, too. Without glancing away or putting some distance between them. In fact, those eyes of his—now heavy lidded and so soft focus—seemed intent on her more than they ever had been before. They skittered all over her face, searching for something she had no idea how to give.

She didn’t even know what the something was.

She only knew that it made her forget herself, just as he had described.

It made her search his face back, marveling over every brutish line and gentle curve. Those lips of his, as plump as a girl’s yet so masculine at the same time. Like they’d been punched to swollen sweetness, without the stain of a bruise or the slash of some bloody split. Every inch of them gleaming, as if he’d slicked them with gloss in anticipation of a kiss.

Though even in that moment she didn’t really believe she wanted that.

Until he whispered, low and heavy against her own lips.

“You can, you know.”

“Can what?”

“Touch yourself.”

It jolted her, when he said it.

But not as much as realizing why he said it.

She followed his gaze down, and took in the unmistakable sight of her hand in her lap. Really, really high up in her lap. Almost between her legs, in fact—though that was fine, it was cool, it was okay. She stuttered no, no I didn’t really want to do that, but it didn’t matter.