Through A Glass, Darkly (The Assassins of Youth MC #1)(45)
Maybe I should have been a little more circumspect before I’d told Gideon the truth. Fire raged in his eyes. He smashed down his sandwich without even having taken a bite, and he whipped mine from my fingers too. On his knees, he took me by the shoulders.
“He’s never doing that to you again, hear me?”
I nodded, dumb.
“Listen. You’re my lamb, my mama. No one’s ever going to touch you from here on out, you understand? And I’m going to make you my old lady as soon as you get over the stigma of having been someone else’s property for so long.”
I tried to shrug it off, but really, it felt good having a man so protective of me. Field had abandoned me so many nights to go party with his idiotic friends and I’d always felt so unimportant. For the first time maybe ever, it sure seemed like I was number one in a man’s life. “I love you, Gideon.”
Oh, my sin! What in gopple dampin’ fruit dumpsuits was I thinking? Declare my love for a man who—well, actually, there was really no reason not to declare what was clearly the truth, but it had been years since I’d done so! It put me in a vulnerable position, laying my cards on the table like that. Why didn’t I just ask him to smack me across the face? Same thing. Same results.
But he didn’t. True, he didn’t do the expected, romantic comedy thing, and declare his love for me, too. But he bent me backward so I flopped—again like a beached fish of some kind—onto my back, and he dove headfirst between my thighs! I went “ooph” real loud and clapped my hand over my mouth, hoping the splashing kids tearing into the picnic basket wouldn’t hear me.
He didn’t take down the straps of my suit. He just commenced to biting and licking my thighs until my inner sex was clutching and grasping for an invisible penis. His breath was warm on the virgin skin of my upper thighs, the hours-old beard scratching with a thrill I’d never felt before.
“Mahalia,” it sounded like he said, over the rustling of millions of cottonwood leaves overhead, “I want nothing more than to make you happy. I want you to feel bliss”—and he took a little bite and lick from my thigh—“and joy when I touch you. I want you to know that heaven is my mouth, eternal paradise is my cock, and everything to do with me is sheer rapture. Like this.”
Fingering aside a strip of my bathing suit, Gideon dipped his head and swiped a lick at my clitoris.
“Ah!” I must’ve jumped two feet in the air, clutching the leather of his cut at the shoulders. Son of a motherless goat, was he actually going to lick me there? Field had never done that. It had never occurred to me to ask. Gideon was truly a man of the world, a player!
One hand clutching sand, the other leather, I panted and tried to relax into it. I just couldn’t get over the idea that he had his face buried in my labia. Thank God I had just been swimming! How could he not mind it? Not only did he not mind, he seemed to be eagerly lapping away like a cow at a lick.
Every time he’d swipe his fat tongue against my lengthening clitoris, I relaxed a little bit more into it. His confidence rubbed off on me, and soon I was even jiggling my hips a little to indicate when I liked a particular move, a certain squiggle or stroke. I squeezed my handful of sand as he zeroed in for the kill. That he was experienced and worldly made me feel even more brazen and ribald, my breasts heaving, my hips wiggling like a downright slut.
“Ah—ah—ah—” I sounded like one of those porn videos I’d accidentally seen Parley Pipkin watching once. I sounded like a sweet little girl being taken advantage of by this rough and tumble biker—and in a way, I was!
I was the innocent brazenly taking a tumble in the sand with this gritty, rugged tattooed man. I was sealed to another man—and the details of that were enough to curdle your whey—while spreading my thighs for a man who had done bad, bad things in his time. He dealt in weapons. No doubt he ran drugs, too. They all did. He’d committed murder right before my very eyes, and probably not for the first time, yet here I was, wantonly shimmying my very * against his hungry mouth!
The promiscuity of it all made my blood boil, and soon I could feel that certain tension in the walls of my sex, the squeezing of my uterus that let me know I was about to orgasm.
“Don’t stop—don’t stop—don’t stop!” I whispered urgently.
And he did just that.
Wham. The power and intensity of the orgasm swept me away. All my female organs were squeezed by an outside agency. The first contraction was the biggest. I nearly decapitated poor Gideon with the horsepower of my grip on his shoulder. He kept lapping away, though, sending me higher and higher with each successive contraction. They rolled up and down my channel, clutching my ovary, my tubes, any organ that happened to be in the way. It was almost frightening, the force of this sort of orgasm, one brought on by another man’s illicit tongue.
As a player, he knew when to back off, when to slow down. My head felt like it was floating in the trees above, light as a particle.
The wind had picked up. The nearby bushes rustled.
And Gideon lifted his head like a buck listening for a predator. “What the…” he whispered.
I struggled to raise myself on my elbows just in time to see dark blue skirts of a woman—it could only be Tazmin—skipping away through the woods.
“What in blue blazes?” I said, louder.
Gideon leaned on one elbow, wiping his face with his forearm. “Yeah. Exactly my response. I know we weren’t too secretive and all, but I’m pretty sure that other chick just saw us.”