Never Sweeter (Dark Obsession #1)(49)
But she managed. She put her fist to her mouth, as tightly as she could stand.
And just in time. A second later his mouth was on her, and after that there was pretty much nothing she could do. She just had to stand there with her face pressed to the table, trembling, teeth deep in her fist, as he showed her just what a kiss felt like on her spread *. As he licked around the slowly working fingers he still had inside her, before easing them out so he could taste the place they had just been.
More than taste, really.
He sank his tongue right into her, lapping in a way she didn’t fully grasp until he made it explicit. “You like me f*cking that * like this?” he said, and only then did it hit her. Fucking, he’s f*cking me with his fingers, her mind babbled as her body went haywire. Those trembles suddenly doubled, until she was pretty much shaking the table. Some sounds leaked out, and they were not small ones.
They were practically groans of agony.
Someone was going to come and check just to make sure no one was being killed back here, and she couldn’t blame them. It felt like he was murdering her. He kept switching back and forth between his fingers and his tongue, and when he licked it was never a faint little flick that barely made contact. He rubbed the f*cking thing over every fold and hollow, firm enough to make her go a little faint. And just when she was sure she couldn’t accept another ounce of pleasure…
He found her clit with the flat of his tongue, and lapped and licked and sucked until she could hardly stand it or believe it or process it. Of course she had known, on some level, that he had told the truth about going down on a girl. She had imagined someone licking her there often enough, while her own fingers strummed her clit. But even in her most lurid, intense imaginings, she couldn’t have predicted this. This was life changing. It made all previous pleasure seem like a faint dream of the real thing.
She had sleepwalked through sex before now, and here was the waking truth. A hot, sweet ache that unfurled low down in her belly, and spread and spread and spread through the rest of her until she barely cared if anyone heard. She had to tell him, at least, how good this felt. Only when she went to do it, something more like a sob came out. A sobbed, broken sort of thank-you.
Then a yes and a now and a more.
Oh god, she would have given anything for more. Nothing was ever going to be enough from here on out. She would never be able to look at him again and not want this pulsing, shivering pleasure. She was done for, doomed, destroyed, and he knew it.
She could tell by the way he teased her, tongue dancing around her clit until it felt as though that little nub was straining. On the verge of bursting. After a minute of this insane torture she pushed back against him—like some beast in heat—but that only made it worse. He sat back as soon as she did, a half laugh on his lips. Words spilling out of him that sent her even deeper into the red. “You want to come, huh? You want to do it all over my mouth? Ohhhh yeah, you do, you do, look how swollen your clit is. Look at how wet you are. You want to see how wet you are? Come here, baby, lick these fingers. Taste your sweet * for me.”
But the most horrendous part was: she did it.
When he offered her his fingers, slick with her honey, she twisted her body and opened her mouth to accept them gratefully. Even greedily, if she was being honest. The look on his face told her how she must have seemed as she did it—those low-lidded eyes rolling up as she sucked eagerly, lips parting to let out a soft moan. And when he spoke again his voice was hoarser, rougher.
“Is it where we are? Or is it me?” he asked, and she answered with the truth.
“It’s you. It’s just you. It’s always you.”
That was all it took. There was no more teasing after that, no more hesitation. He just pushed his face between her legs, tongue lapping firm and insistent over her taut bud. One stroke, two, three and she was there, back arching, body shuddering, moans jammed tight against the bars of her gritted teeth. In the middle of it she might have even reached back to grab his head, forcing him to keep going and going.
Not that she needed to. He carried on licking long after the point where she couldn’t take it—just like before, only so, so much more. Now it was completely unbearable and completely incredible at the same time, cramming more and more pleasure into her until she was sure there couldn’t be room for anything else. That was it, that was all, and then he f*cked two fingers into her tightly clenched * again and f*ck f*ck f*ck.
She made a mess of his face. She knew she did; she felt it running down her thighs.
She saw it on him when he stood, all of it gleaming on his lips and chin.
Though she soon forgot about it, in light of the words he fumbled out. They were broken, those words, stuttered and too desperate—but all the better for it. “Is it okay to finish in your mouth?” he asked.
And she didn’t even hesitate.
She was on her knees in front of him before he’d even finished speaking, hands shaky but capable on his bared cock. The cock he must have been stroking as he licked her. The cock that stuck out like a a fist, swollen and slippery with pre-come, so ready to burst that she barely had to put a hand on him before it jerked and shot the first streamer of liquid over her lips. She had to quickly part them around that thick head to catch the rest, sucking and licking in an effort to make it as good for him as it had been for her.
Though she didn’t need to.
His moans were high and desperate and much too loud, punctuated with the kind of praise she could have come over. “Good girl, get me off, take it, take my hot load,” he groaned, barely sensible of what he was saying but all the better for it. She would remember those words forever, in every f*ck session she participated in from then on. Other guys might come and go, but nothing would ever be sweeter than this: Tate Sullivan saying the filthiest things, and turning them into bliss.