“Your argument simply works in my favor,” I countered as I ran my hand up her thigh, watching her watch me. “It’s okay,” I promised as my thumb slid across the slick of her panties, that soaked slip of expensive fabric, and her breath caught. “Breathe,” I whispered, then pressed my lips to her throat, “since the shit’s not going anywhere . . .” and pressed again while my thumb teased her nipple, “ . . . we might as well fuck now.”
“Dutch.” She tossed her head back and moaned as I circled her clit over her panties.
“I know, you like it soft.” And she smiled because she liked that I remembered she liked it soft, but she wasn’t budging. “My argument is the only one that counts.” I laughed. “So you want me to stop?” I pushed her panties to the side and slid my finger up and down her soaked and swollen lips, real soft, just like she liked.
“Fuck,” she hissed, as her back arched and I held on to her while she lost herself for a second. “You sold . . . yourself . . . to your . . . father. And then . . . you . . . sold me. We . . . have to talk . . . about that shit.” Then she shifted and pulled my hand away from her pussy and a slow grin curved her lips as she settled and found herself, seeming quite pleased with her ability to resist me.
The performance was impressive. Had the tables been turned, I don’t think I could have pulled it off. And seriously, watching her as she slowed her breathing and relaxed, I experienced another one of those fall-in-love-with-Juma moments and had a mind, then and there, to flip her on her back and fuck her blind, she was so goddamned sexy. Instead I studied my fingers for a moment, glistening with her desire, brought them to my nose, and inhaled deeply her intoxicating scent, her essence, while Juma followed my every move. I never took my eyes off her, watching as her pulse raced and her cheeks flushed and I knew her pussy was dripping because she was so turned on. I wanted to flash her that same smug grin she’d just flashed me but I didn’t because I was too focused on sucking every drop of her off my fingers.
She leaned close and sniffed my hand, and goddamn if I didn’t almost come right there. Her breath was warm on my mouth, her lips were parted, and everything about her was piqued. I licked my finger and groaned because she tasted better than anything I could imagine, then locked eyes with her and sucked off the rest of her before leaning back and breathing deeply because we weren’t fucking, we were just touching.
In a flurry of fabric and heat and sweat, fingers and lips and tongues, she was on me, everywhere, pressing me into the headboard, her lips demanding my complete attention, desperate for a taste of me and for a taste of her on me. Our tongues collided and tangled before slipping into a hard-core rhythmic fucking of each other’s mouths as her hands held my face and she grinded against me in the most erotic lap dance anyone has ever received. The slow, sinful movement of her hips as she rubbed her pussy along every inch of my dick had me living on the edge of madness, unable to think about anything beside the hundred different ways I wanted to fuck her up, down, and sideways.
I ran my hands inside her thighs and my thumb across her panties and my tongue up her throat. “I thought you said no fucking?”
She curved her neck to give me better access to the places she liked to be touched, those little points along that beautiful expanse of brown and freckles and begged, “Please.”
“Please what, Juma?” Because I wanted to be sure she and I wanted the same thing.
“Fuck me, Dutch.” She curled her fingers into my hair and our gazes locked. “Fuck me,” she repeated real low and sexy, “long and hard and everywhere.”
It took me all of three seconds to lift her off the bed and move to do what I’d wanted to do since I saw that red dress in the window of that store: take it off her.
We stood face-to-face for a second, absorbing the reality of each other, memorizing exactly how we looked at that very moment, that second. Her pulse raced and her eyes heated and I wanted to be enveloped in everything about her. She glanced at my crotch, licked her lips, and moved toward me but her mouth on my dick wasn’t what I wanted, at least not yet, and I held up my hand to gently keep her at bay. She looked confused but also intrigued and aroused and I doubted a more perfect combination of emotions had ever played across a more beautiful face.
“When I left your apartment the other morning,” I whispered, my lips pressed to the shell of her ear, “this dress stopped me in my tracks.” I pushed the strap off her shoulder, running my fingers across the exposed top curve of her breast, and listened as she sucked in her breath and held it, waiting for my next move. “I’ve never paid attention to shop windows, but I saw that flash of red”—I pushed the strap off her other shoulder and gently tugged the material, freeing her beautiful breasts—“and knew it was meant for you and your goddamned stunning body.”
She bit her lips and watched as I cupped her breasts and squeezed. “Oh god, Dutch,” she moaned as I dipped down and sucked her left nipple, then moved to her right and licked and teased as she arched into me, the material of her dress resting on her glorious hips. I pulled away from her and watched as she moved under my hands while I pinched her nipples and trailed my fingers across the paths of freckles dotting her skin.
“I also knew that as badly as I wanted to see you wearing this dress”—I started to push the material over her hips—“I also wanted to see you out of it. I wanted to peel it off your body, inch by inch with my own hands.” She groaned like she was coming, my words breathed into her skin just as titillating as my touch. She snaked her arms around my neck as if she needed somewhere to anchor herself as wave after wave of lust crashed through her.
And in the middle of it all, amidst the touches and sucks and pending fucks, Juma joked, “You can pull all you want, you will never get that damn dress over my fat-ass thighs.”
And just to prove her wrong, I slid down her body until I was kneeling before her—“I love your fat-ass thighs”—and slowly teased and pulled, inch by excruciating inch, just as slow as I’d fantasized, until all of that red was pooled around her ankles and all of that beautiful brown skin was laid out before me. “God, I fucking love your thighs.” I pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, my nose brushing her panties, the scent of her pussy conquering what little self-control I maintained.
Twisting my finger into the string at her hip, I ripped and she gasped, then laughed.
“Three hundred dollars down the drain, Dutch.” I could hear a smile in her voice.
“I promise to make it worth every last fucking penny, Juma.” I kissed her beautiful, swollen, wet pussy again and again and again. Soft, just like she liked it.
She ran her fingers through my hair and pulled me close as I cupped her ass with one hand and parted her lips with the other. “Soft,” she pleaded as I pressed my mouth to her pussy and kissed her up and down, slow and so goddamned soft while she whispered my name and watched me eat her out and little by little her hips began a slow grind against my face. Her hands wandered up her body, touching herself until they came to rest on her nipples and she squeezed and teased and pinched and put to shame any definition I previously held of erotic stimulation—Juma grinding on my face as she felt herself up was more stimulating than anything I had ever before imagined.
Her hips settled into a rhythm we could ride together and just like I wanted her to, she fucked my face, nice and slow and deep. And even though I knew she liked it soft, I also knew she would like some other things as well and I started meeting every thrust of her hips with my tongue on her clit. Because as much as I wanted her to feel good, I also wanted to taste her, my tongue wanted to learn her pussy.
“Oh Dutch,” she moaned as I slipped my fingers inside her and began finger fucking her while I sucked her clit, “Oh, Dutch,” and her head was tossed back and she spread her legs wider, “Oh no, Dutch,” and she pushed my face deeper into her pussy, “Dutch, oh god, oh god, oh no,” and then everything about her tightened, her pussy clamped down on my fingers and her clit pushed out of its hood, begging to be sucked hard, “Oh no,
oh no, I’m gonna come, oh god, I’m gonna come,” and she fucking came everywhere, wave after wave after wave, the orgasm continuously ripping through her as I sucked her throbbing clit and kissed her pussy once, twice, three times, until she begged me, pleaded almost, to stop.
CHAPTER THIRTY
JUMA
Fact of life: it’s the rare man who can eat pussy like a woman.
And not because men don’t care or don’t like eating it or never take the time to properly do so, but simply because they don’t have pussies so they just don’t know.
They don’t know what feels good at a certain time of the month, why kissing pussy sometimes feels better than sucking it, why sucking it is an art form in and of itself that resembles nothing related to a straw, thank you very much, learn that shit young men of the pussy-eating world, why using the pointed part of the tongue isn’t a guaranteed orgasm, why not all of us like to be eaten out like porn stars. Think on that for a second and if you don’t know what I’m talking about, I can point you in the direction of some excellent Tumblr feeds.
Women’s bodies are cyclical and unique and sometimes only another woman’s mouth knows what to do and how to do it.
Dutch Mathew knew how to eat pussy like a woman.
God, did he ever.
His full lips were made for kissing pussies and he knew it and he kissed my motherfucking pussy like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen like he was starved for some pussy like he wanted to claim my pussy as his forever. Maybe it was different with him because I had just died we had just experienced so much horrible shit together I loved him who knows. All I know is that man made my body buck and heave and come again and again and again, all with his tongue and those lips.
I had to beg him to stop because I couldn’t stand another orgasm ripping through me with such intensity shattering each and every defense I had built up to deal with him, just in case, because you never knew if you were safe if your heart would be cared for if you were loved as fiercely as you loved until you knew.
And I knew.
I collapsed into Dutch’s arms and we rolled onto the floor and he watched and waited as I returned from that place he sent me where every fiber of my being my core became acutely aware of the slightest sensation. When I finally opened my eyes, I wanted him all over me again everywhere, inside, outside, around. I needed to own his mouth his tongue his breath. We crashed into each other lips parted tongues dancing and I tasted myself all over him my scent marked him he was mine forever. He laughed when I relayed that fact to him between kisses, sucks, touches, and said he belonged to me long before tonight and as I rolled on top of him and basked in the headiness of our very long moment of touching and sucking that would hopefully lead to fucking, I wondered what other beautiful words he had in store for me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
DUTCH
“There’s a hill behind our family compound with a trail zigzagging down it, cutting left and right, at times making lazy loops, at others quite jagged. I used to sneak past the guards and night watchmen and dogs and slip into the darkness, lit only by some stars or the moon, and follow that trail, each time a little farther. I knew I shouldn’t do it, that if I was caught there would be hell to pay, but I couldn’t resist the cool of the night air and the thrill of being alone and exploring. And finally during one of those midnight expeditions, I learned where the trail ended as the trees parted and the brush cleared and I found myself at the edge of a small pool of pristine, cool, fresh water.
“I looked around, stunned by the wonder of something so clean and pure existing in all the madness of my home town and India herself, that country of hundreds of millions, of sweat, of swelter. And I knew it was magic. Something told me it was there, like that, just for me, my eyes only, so I took off my clothes and jumped into that water, and spent the night lost in its perfection, knowing if I didn’t, I would regret it forever.
“You’re my pool, Juma.”
I breathed those words into her skin, into all the tiny places no one else saw because they didn’t bother to look, into the hollows and dips where they could remain with her forever, my love for her memorialized for an audience of one. The only audience that mattered. Her.
“Dutch,” she whispered, and moaned as my lips traced the curve of her breast, kissing everywhere but her nipple, the one place that ached for my mouth. She arched off the floor, offering herself to me, again, and I smiled as I pressed my hand to her back and watched her—“please”—and grazed my teeth over her gorgeous, huge, hard nipple—“don’t stop”—as I trailed my tongue across her body, moving everywhere, pressing my lips to the most random spots, discovering her likes and dislikes and her oh-I-didn’t-know-that-could-feel-so-goods. I wanted to learn every fucking inch of her body and then I wanted to slide inside her, nice and slow, and claim her as mine.
But Juma had needs and wants and desires of her own and, rolling on top of me and pressing my hands to the floor, she smiled. “Why am I the only one naked in this room?” Then she trailed her tongue down my throat—“Care to explain that, Dutch?”—and over my scars, the skin so sensitive I thought I would surely come right there. “Stop, Juma.”—lips and warm breath and wet heat—“No, Dutch.”—fingers and tongue and oh my fucking god, her mouth, everywhere on me—“I’m going to come.”—her hands pressing against the bulge in my pants—“Then come.”—her tongue along my waistline, her hands everywhere, her wet pussy dripping on my skin—“I’ll just make you come again.”
She smiled down at me, looking mischievous and turned on, and I wanted to grab her and kiss her and do all sorts of other things to her but she had me pinned and she was fucking strong as shit.
“What does Death feed you people?” And she laughed, the sound shooting straight to my dick. “I’m strong, no?” Her fingers worked my belt then she pulled back and eyed me for a second, a funny look on her face, one I couldn’t really place. “We’ve gotta be ready to fight off you motherfuckers.”
I cringed and she caught it and kissed me—“Stop looking so guilty, Dutch”—as she unbuttoned my jeans and lowered the zipper, notch by excruciating notch—“like you would ever kill me—and miss all of this?”—until my fly was down and my dick was desperate to break free of everything and have her all over me. But I was at her mercy and she didn’t seem to be in a big rush to do much of anything but watch me.
“Juma.” Her name came out sounding like a long, desperate request for all kinds of dirty shit, the fucking freakiest shit I could conjure. She bent low and caught my lip between her teeth and slashed her tongue against mine before coming back for a deeper kiss as she rubbed my dick and moaned.
“Jesus, Dutch.” She kneeled and looked down on me, her lips parted and her pussy glistening—“You make me so wet”—and she dipped a finger into herself with one hand while she took off my clothes with the other, knowing she was killing me and loving every fucking second of it. And even though she no longer had me pinned to the floor, I didn’t want to move. I just wanted to live within this fraught-with-tension moment and let her do whatever it was she was going to do with me. I didn’t even care so long as it involved her lips. Both sets.
“This—” She spit on my dick then took me in her hand and moved up and down the length of my shaft, her voice a low purr along my body, the heat of her mouth so close. “—is perfection,” then kissed my head and sucked off the drop of my arousal and I fucking lost it, jerking in her hand. She caught my eye and smiled, then leaned up to kiss me. “Can you smell my pussy?” And I nodded because I could, she was everywhere, assaulting my senses with her intoxicating scent. “Do you want to touch it?” I just stared at her because my brain was no longer functioning, the synapses weren’t coming together properly to form sounds and words. “You can if you want.” And she dipped closer to me so I didn’t have to do much to reach her and touch her and run my fingers through her slick wetness to find her clit, rock hard, just waiting for my fingers. I groaned and she closed her eyes and
slowly moved her hips against my finger. “I’m being so selfish right now.” She rocked a little faster and I sat mesmerized, wondering how I ever contemplated NOT touching this woman. “But I can’t help myself.” Then her fingers joined mine and we rubbed her clit together and she came so fast and so hard all over both of us and when her lips curved into the sensual smile of the sated and she pushed her wet fingers into my mouth, I wondered if a more fabulously dirty sexy woman dared to exist.
“I should not have done that. It’s rude to be the only one coming.” She kissed me again and smirked. “Your lips smell like my pussy.”
“Hence all the coming you’re doing.” I finally found my brain, just barely.
“Ahhhh.” She ran her finger along my jaw. “There’s my wicked-witted Dutch. I was getting worried the cat stole your tongue.”
“I believe you mean the pussy.” And she leaned back on my lap as if we weren’t butt naked and hard and wet and fucking horny as shit and laughed, not the sexy-I’m-about-to-do-all-sorts-of-freaky-things-to-your-body laugh, but a belly laugh that crinkled her eyes and made her snort and fuck! she needed to stop doing shit that made me even crazier about her.
I ran my hands up her thighs—her fat-ass thighs—and watched as she moved above me, her eyes closed, her lips curved in a half smile, a half sigh.
“Oh, Dutch.” She leaned close and pressed herself against my rock-hard dick and kissed me, her tongue teasing mine for a second before she pulled away and began a slow move down my body, her lips at my throat and then my collarbone and right about there my brain started malfunctioning again and then my nipple and her teeth and FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.
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