by Dakota Gray
But I get it now. I'm going to put my mouth on her with nothing between us. I'm going to upend her world like she's done to mine by simply existing.
I focus.
Her inner and outer lips are the same shade of brown as her mouth. Her thick and long hood draws down to a perky clit that peeks out between her luscious folds. Her labia is a thing of beauty. Brown, then pink along the inside. They curve seductively right at her entrance. Not small, not big—I can press my tongue in between or suck them both without too much trouble.
Eight minutes, and I can't stand there in reverence like I want to.
That's okay. I only need three to make her come. The rest is buildup, and that's the true trick of the trade. Good pussy eating isn't all tongue to clit and don't stop. It's worship. It's control. It's patience.
My steps thud slowly as I close the space between us. When I kneel at the end of the bed, I lightly rasp my nails from her knee to her inner thigh. Her breathing hitches. A soft, feminine sound. Any blood that has managed to remain in my brain heads south. I bring my hands to rest at her apex and massage the silky skin with my thumbs. More pressure as I glide my thumbs over her pussy lips. She squirms. Her hands move to her torso and ball.
“Don't be shy now,” I tell her but I don't break my concentration. “If you need to squeeze your tits, go for it.” At that I do meet her gaze. “I'll just watch.”
“You're not...”
I make her words disappear with a brush of my finger between her inner lips. The bumpy texture is delicious against the pad of my thumbs. She tries to speak again, and this time I caress her clit. Again, until she's swollen at my touch.
Six minutes, and I watch as a single drop of her cream drips from her entrance down between her ass cheeks. I catch it with my tongue, riding my fingers up to expose her clit more. By five minutes, I've traced the folds, the inner lips, sucked at them for good measure, and her hips are arching up, trying to catch my mouth. I'm licking and sucking everything but what she needs the most.
My cock throbs in my jeans, but what's a little pain between him and me?
My tongue is riding up and down the bumpy texture of her lips. My mouth is filled with her musky, tangy taste. Her moans are digging deeper into my bones. My cock can wait.
I give her my fingers next, add them to the pleasure. This is where you separate the boys from men. I'm not trying to stab her or play tease and touch with her cervix. Who wants to be nicknamed Jack the Pussy-Ripper? And I know my fingers will never be my cock, but I can create that full and fucked sensation.
Slow dips into her with two fingers—she's wet enough—and then gently I push down. Her gasp-moan is followed with her arousal thickening around my fingers.
I can't help it. I slide out of her to take a taste from my forefinger. Another. One more. I groan each time. She mutters, “Nasty fucker. Oh, God,” and I go for another. She coats my fingers and she's delicious. I have to go back to the source. I put her on my tongue again.
Three minutes, and she has a death grip on my strands. If I don't stop fucking around she's just going to jerk my face into her pussy, smother me and call it a day.
Showtime.
I notch my chin above my fingers, close my mouth over her clit and suck softly to create suction. Her strangled moan proves she's mine. I've got her. There's nothing she can do short of lurching off the bed.
I trace the alphabet over her clit, slowly. What I choose to do with my tongue doesn't matter as long as it licks, flicks and drives her mad. I don't fight back a single groan of pleasure. She'll feel each one to the tips of her toes. I let my fingers get in on the fun, fucking her in short fast thrusts.
I repeat O. It's my favorite letter, and she's speaking in tongues and trying to squeeze my head like a grape.
Her reaction is why pussy eating is my thing. I can have the kind of dick game that can convert a woman to the religion of me, which is nice, and great for the ego. But if I want to see a woman stripped down, animalistic, half out of her mind like she might be getting a demon exorcised, I eat her pussy like a god.
Because I know what I'm doing, and she's clamped down on my fingers, I skip between Z and O. I'm missing a patch of hair so I know I'm on the right track.
One minute, and I pull back with one long suck and twist my fingers gently, curl them. She's soft, swollen and wet. She's sensitive and primed.
“Nate, Nate.”
The world darkens at the edges, and I don't care about anything else. My heart beat can pound in my dick from now until eternity. The ache in my jaw means she's close. Just a bit more.
Mine.
I make the come here motion with my fingers and dive my face back in to finish the job. A high-pitched noise escapes her right before her legs tremble.
Suction, and I flick my tongue over her clit.
She's mine.
She will always be mine.
The walls seems to echo with a single word—Nate.
Zero minutes.
I don't stop after she comes on my fingers. I keep going, forced to pin her hips to the bed. I'll stop when she begs me to. Until then I'm eating up her cream and letting her clit know I own her.
Never forget it.
She makes a keening noise and sits up, her mouth open, and she's looking at me like she's pissed. The choppy pants she makes sound more like sobs, but she doesn't beg me to stop. Really, she's just saying my name and fuck every other word. I would smile but my mouth is full. Her taste changes, and I have to eat that up too. It's only right.
After she comes for the third time, and that one was more of a gush than a slow drip, she balls her hand in my hair and yanks my head back. Her chest jerks up and down in a race. The heat in her eyes is either lust or anger.
It's both.
I can't look away.
Time stops like it does in the movies. I try to read every thought flashing through her eyes. I can't pinpoint them all, but I can guess they all lead back to what I did to her friend. What I've just done with her now.
She still has a hold on my hair. A hard jerk and my chin is up. I'm not a submissive—never had any tendencies or inclinations, but fuck that makes my cock want to detach itself and find a home inside her.
Stealth draws a finger over the mess I've made on my face. A sound filled with need rumbles in her chest. She presses her finger into my mouth, and her eyes darken as I suck the digit clean. I place my hands on the bed and fist them.
You can't rip her clothes off, Nate.
But she's a fucking freak, and I love it.
Her thighs shudder, but her face is blank. “Is it enough for you, Nate?”
“No, Sugar, it never would be.”
I get the smile when I nip her finger and grunt. I still can't describe her taste. She feeds me more, her expression soft but curious.
“But now you know, right?” she asks.
“Yes.” I lick and lap, still not content. Yeah. My dick is harder than pavement, but I still know next to nothing about her. And I want to know. I also want her to grip my head and let me go another few rounds.
She swipes what's left of her off my chin and gives me a soft peck on the mouth. I can only blink at that as my lips heats and tingles at the brief touch.
What the fuck? A sweet kiss? And I'm twitching at the intimacy. I'm almost leaning in for more. I can see myself pinning her to the bed to take more.
Wrong fucking mouth, Nate.
The only thing to appease me is that her legs are shaking as she shifts off the bed. I turn to watch while she puts her thong and pants back on. Not a glance in my direction.
I have to start telling myself she's playing it cool. She's still mine. Doesn't matter if I never talk to her again. The next guy who attempts to give her head might get told, “let's fuck instead.” It's going to be my tongue that she'll imagine.
And I know I did a good enough job to make her consider hunting me down the next time she gets hit with a craving.
She will.
I lift
from the floor and sprawl back on the bed. The ceiling is my focus since I can't bring myself to watch her anymore. She's moved on to her tea and, fuck, I have the room for the night. My pulse is pounding in my dick. Hard enough to give me a headache. Her clothes rustle, and I can only assume she's putting on her heels. I refuse to look. I have this room until tomorrow afternoon. I can think about my life choices.
Or get drunk.
Option two is the most likely to happen.
Her hands press against my thighs and I jolt up into a sitting position. She kneels between my legs and smiles that smile. I grab her hands before she can undo my jeans and squeeze tight enough it should make her wince.
Instead she raises her brows at me. “Don't I get ten minutes too?”
I'm not stupid or desperate enough to let this woman put her lips around my dick. Not that I think she'll bite my cock off. I take her chin into my free hand. She remains still, her gaze fathomless.
Maybe she won't bite off my dick. I can't tell with her. I should be able to read her like a book, but when she shuts down like this, there are only flashes of her emotional makeup.
Stealth is an apt name for her. If I let her put her mouth on my cock, I'll be ready to marry her.
“No,” I tell her.
“Spoilsport.” She remains on her knees, but fights against my hold. If I keep it up, I'll leave marks on her hands. I'm not that kind of man—to hurt a woman when it's not sex—so I release her.
The hard question is do I let her get me off? I'm too aroused to ignore the erection without consequences, and...I want her hands on me any way I can get them. My decision making skills would be better if I couldn't still taste her.
“You can use anything but your mouth.”
Tongue. Lip. She laughs. “Like you would stop me if I did.”
We both know she's right, and I'll be sure to set her straight after she's done molesting my dick through my jeans. She rubs her palm up and down the length. The way her cheeks flush lets me know the length, the girth creates fantasies. I'd check how much more slippery playing with my cock has made her, but my breathing isn't steady as she squeezes me through the denim.
The ground I've gained during my ten minutes shrinks as my dick swells to painful levels. “You can use your mouth if you tell me more about this virgin I broke.” The barter would have held more weight if my voice wasn't a deep rasp.
“With you, I won't need to use my mouth.”
I'm curious enough to let her prove her point but not stupid. Fear grasps hold of my insides at how easily she makes my IQ drop. I clasp her hands again.
“Don't play with me.” I stop and think. “Is this revenge sex?”
“Do you want it to be?”
“No.”
She doesn't confirm or deny it. I drop her hands, and she's back to rubbing her palm up and down my shaft. I'm torn between how far she’s willing to go to get back at me and disgust with myself for even entertaining the thought. Being used isn't my thing, and I've learned the hard way, you can't fuck hurt away.
Her palm caresses turn into long strokes along the material.
“Stop” isn't a part of my vocabulary any more. She moans, reaching up to undo my pants button, the zipper. Her lids lower as she peels my jeans and underwear back.
Through the haze of need, I know using me for kicks is not her kink either. She's...Stealth is like me. Being in control gets her off. Knowing she can turn me, a legit and unrepentant womanizer, into putty without using her mouth makes her pussy wet.
I don't want to be intrigued or turned on, but her hand is clutched tight at the base of my cock and there's a gleam in her eye. Soft, warm hands. Tight on me.
I'm too tense to let my head fall back from the pleasure. I'm forced to see how this plays out instead of experiencing the sensations pulsing through me.
Stealth leans forward, hovering above the tip. I hold my breath, my stomach muscles taut. She's close enough I can feel her breath feather across the head. She makes a fist, presses her mouth to the circle she's made with her hand then uses what god gave her for lubrication. It's just a warm, wet tight glide as she slides her hand back down.
I huff.
Yes. Huff and try not to climb out of my shoes.
I should have let her use her mouth. That way if I scream like a bitch it makes sense. I open my mouth to tell her to stop. Fuck this. She got her revenge. She can go back to the Broken Virgin I dated and tell the story of how she bested me—twice.
But she's pumping her hand up and down, slowly, firmly. I'm enthralled as she licks the palm of her other hand and jerks me off with two fists. She knows the thumb-over-the-slit trick. Make it wet. Make it tantalizing.
I'm not a two-pump chump but she's about to turn me into one. I moan. God. I try my best to hold onto what's left of my sanity.
Tongue. Lip. Bite. She's as pretty as I knew she would be if she bit her lip. The flush riding up her face makes the image better.
She's turned on. She has to want me in her mouth. Deep in her throat as I flex my cock in and out. Wet. So fucking wet. The thoughts do me in and, like the dick I am, I don't warn her. Doesn't matter. She's bending over me at the right time, closing her lips around the tip and sucking me clean with loud slurping noises.
Our wedding is going to be beautiful.
CHAPTER SIX
ROBYN
My hands shake, but I continue to run my palms up and down his denim jeans. His thighs are thick and firm. It's not a hardship to help him come down from his orgasm.
I continue to kiss up and down his shaft. The taut skin twitches every few seconds. There's a musk to Nate that twists my stomach in very good ways. I want more. Thoughts and conflicts have shifted to the back of my mind.
I want to bask in this moment where hot, wicked pleasure warms me. I've rendered this man moot as he presses his palms to his eyes and breathes—as though that simple act is all he can do. It is well worth the carpet digging into my knees. My heart tries to jump out of my chest. What I did—no, what he did... I can't wrap my head around it. Easily, he owned me with his mouth. My pussy continues to quiver from aftershocks.
Eventually his cock goes back to its natural state. I fix his boxers then his pants into place. The quiet between us digs into my bones. He told me to use anything but my mouth, and I did anyway. I didn't want a mess and...I'd wanted him to flavor my tongue. I may not have a fetish but there's a mile-long list of things that get me off.
The silence thickens, solidifies into an immovable object. I force my gaze to his face. The scar seems harsher in this light, with his jaw clenched. This isn't a man who whispers sweet nothings. This man simmers with anger.
“Nate?” I hate the touch of vulnerability in my voice.
He's scum. He fucks and leaves women without thought or care to how he'll leave them in shambles. He hurt my friend.
I should have never let him touch me.
There's the Girl Code and there's...
The way his taste sours in my mouth, because I know how fucked up it is to be here with him.
But we shared something that I can't—I don't have a word for what we did and shared. I need it again. Maybe the next time I can puzzle over the pieces and create a clear picture of what the fuck is going on between us.
His chest inflates, and the sigh he pushes out sounds rough. He sits up, his eyes hard on me. I hold my breath. He brushes his fingertips along my jawline, my ear, but when he slides his hand into my hair, he takes a fistful and tugs my head back.
“I said no mouth.”
The last thing I should be is turned on, and it should be a physical impossibility for me to get any wetter. A moan still escapes my mouth.
I hate him. I hate how much I need his tongue. My skin burns from the way Loraine strayed from my mind the moment he used it on me. Even now the warmth of his hand in my hair begs for my full attention.
I give in.
“Just wait until I really use my mouth on you.” I can hear the words but can't
believe they are coming out of me. Egging him on is how we ended up in this hotel room in the first place. I should shut up. Now. “What would be left of you?”
He leans down, close enough to kiss. My scalp screams at how tight, how angrily he's holding me. “I guess I'll never know. You gave me ten minutes, and that's all I needed. How does your pussy feel?”
If my pussy got a vote, we'd never leave his side. He's close enough I can see the hard glint of gray in his irises. He owns me, and we both know it.
“How does your dick feel, Nathan?” I press my tongue to my upper lip.
He jerks my head back. Goddamn his jeans. I can't sink my nails into him like I want to—like he deserves.
The silence that sinks in this time has teeth. I break first and pull back. His skin is too warm, his scent too masculine—his mouth is too tempting.
I chant in my head. Now I know what he can do. Now I'm done. Now I can walk away and find a nice beta male.
But I can't call him scum and mean it. There's a shattered window in my glass house. He hurt Loraine, but I let him touch me. I screamed for it and didn't tell him to stop until I couldn't take anymore. The self-inflicted wound will always cut deeper. Doesn't matter that years have passed. Doesn't matter that she damned him.
Loraine.
My breath sticks in my lungs and I close my eyes. I feel him, more than I see him move away from me. I sit there a while and try to follow Samantha's rule.
It's me and Nate.
Nate and I.
No one else.
I push from the floor and sink onto the bed. Nate drops the keycard on the table. His forearms flex. The tanned skin is beautiful, no matter the light or movement. His profile is hard as stone. He glances at me.
My skin burns again in that moment—not from hate or disgust. His expression softens.
I own him, too.
A corner of his mouth lifts, and then he's looking away. He picks up my tea as though it's his now.
I laugh. “Nate, do you just want to taste my mouth? All you have to do is ask.”
His back is to me but he turns enough so I can see him take a long drag from my cup.
That's not good enough for Nate, though. He doesn't throw a goodbye or good riddance over his shoulder as he leaves. With my tea.
