He laughed outright. "Well, yeah, but that's not really the sexiest word there is. Try again." He moved his fingertip away just enough that the wild frenzy of sensations subsided, leaving me aching and empty. "Or I'll stop."
"No, no. Please don't."
"You like it, don't you, Lola?" He whispered this in my ear, his voice thick, his breath hot. "You like it when I touch your pussy?"
I writhed, seeking the touch, the pulse of heat, the pressure. "Yes...god, yes. I like it."
"What is it you like, Lola? Say it for me. Let me hear you. Whisper it to me."
He bent closer, twisted his head, and now my lips were brushing against his ear. He touched me again, pressing a single fingertip to my clitoris, giving me a bolt of intense sensation that left me breathless and aching. And then, swiftly, abruptly, he slid that finger through my opening and penetrated me with it, slid through my slickness--god, I was wet, hot, pulsing...and his finger filled me, making me feel tight. Then out again, and now as he smeared my own essence over my clitoris, all the sensations were heightened.
And god, fuck, I was no virgin, not by a long shot, but I didn't remember anything feeling this good. Nothing had ever felt like this. No one had ever touched me like this. Made me feel this so strongly. God, it was good. It was addictive. It felt like an illicit drug high, like I was spiraling out of the universe and into some alternate dimension where all that existed was--pleasure. And that word wasn't enough, didn't encapsulate even partially how good this felt. His finger, sliding back into my channel and gathering my essence and smearing it against my clit, and then circling a light even touch against my clit--
"Tell me what I'm doing to you, Lola. Say it."
He drew his touch away, and this time I moaned in protest and my hips flexed, driving my core forward, seeking the touch, needing it. I needed it. Needed. It had been so long and it felt so good, better than anything I'd ever felt, and I wanted more, I was aching, drowning in the ache, years and years of built up, pent-up, denied sexual frustration long buried now boiling up and all focused on my hard, throbbing clitoris, on his touch, and he kept stopping because he wanted me to say--
What? I didn't even know what he wanted.
"What am I supposed to say, Thresh? Tell me what to say and I'll say it. Just--god, please don't stop touching me again."
I felt his grin, triumphant and hungry. He nipped my earlobe, and then I felt his voice. So powerful, so strong, so deep, so smooth and hot and wild. "You want me to tell you what I want to hear?"
"Yes, Thresh. Please."
"Beg me a little more."
Fuck him and his games. "Please, Thresh. Please. Tell me what to say."
He put his finger back where I needed it: against my clit. But he didn't move it, just...touched. And it wasn't enough. Nowhere near enough. "You know what I'm doing to you, Lola? I'm touching your pussy. I'm fingering your clit." He slid his finger inside me, gathered wetness and smeared it over me, circled, and I gasped in equal parts relief and renewed need. "That's what I'm doing. And that's what I want you to say. Tell me what I'm doing to you, Lola."
"You're--oh god..." He stopped, and I whimpered. "Fuck, don't stop, please!"
"Then stop thinking and start talking dirty to me."
"You're touching my pussy." He circled faster then, a reward for me saying a dirty word, apparently. "You're gonna--you're gonna make me come."
Faster and faster then, and all thoughts flew out of my head; all capacity for speech left me. "That's right, Lola. I'm gonna finger your tight wet pussy until you come all over my hand."
Oh god, oh god, oh god, why was that so fucking hot, hearing him talk like that? Why did it make my pussy throb even harder, even hotter? Why did it make his swift light circling touch all the more delicious?
"And when you come, you're gonna scream my name."
"Thresh..." I panted.
So much. So fucking much. My hips were driving, thrusting, my clitoris pulsing under his finger, and my tits ached and felt heavy and my nipples were hard and I couldn't breathe and I was going to--oh, oh....ohhhh--
"Louder, Lola. Let go."
"More...god--more--don't stop, Thresh...please don't stop, now. It feels so good." I couldn't stop the words, now. They were flowing like a river. "I love the way you touch my pussy. Oh--oh god, I want--I want--"
"What, baby? Tell me what you want. Ask me for anything, and I'll give it to you."
I couldn't help arching my back to thrust out my tits. "More. I need...more. I need you to touch me here." I reached up, wrapped my hand around his head, feeling the soft smooth skin of his shaved scalp and the soft yet prickly stripe of his mohawk.
"Say it, and I'll do it." His finger was flying in mad circles and then pausing to slide into my tight wet channel and gathering dew and smearing it against my clit and circling again, and each time he stopped even for a second I panted and whimpered, but when he started up again it only felt all the more intense, better, deeper, and the building climax was a force inside me waiting to be unleashed, so much pressure, so much heat it was unbearable. "Say what you want, Lola, and I'll give it to you."
I tugged down the strap of my tank top, heart pounding, palpitating uncontrollably, and then the other strap. I hesitated, because I was crossing a line, somehow, baring myself for him. Touching me under my clothes was one thing, but letting him see me? I was scared even through the need, even though I needed to feel his touch on my bare flesh so insanely much, even though my nipples ached and throbbed and begged to be included, to be touched, to be licked and sucked and whatever other wonders Thresh might work on me...
To both say what I wanted in so many words, and to expose myself to him? Even in the heat of the moment, it was almost too much to ask.
What I'd been through had ruined me. I could admit that, deep down in my soul, in that moment, I could finally admit that what Jeremy had done to me had ruined me.
But maybe Thresh could fix it.
I wanted to be fixed.
I wanted to feel again.
I wanted to enjoy...my self again. My body. Sensations. Emotions. I'd shut them all down for so long, and Thresh just yanked them all out of me unbidden, and he did it so easily.
"You're thinking, Doc." His voice ripped through my internal war. "Stop thinking. Just feel."
I slid aside one bra strap, and then paused to take a fortifying breath...then pushed away the other. "I want your mouth on my breasts, Thresh."
"Thank fuck," he breathed. He withdrew his hand from between my thighs, and I whimpered in protest. "Don't worry, baby, I'm not stopping."
"I need it, Thresh."
"Need what?" he asked as his hands reached into my top, between bra and flesh, and tugged down one cup and then the other, letting my tits fall free with an ample bounce, my dark flesh mounding over the top of the bra, nipples puckered and hard and standing tall and dark against the lighter brown of my palm-sized areolae.
"I need to come. I need to come so bad."
"You will, honey." He murmured this in my ear, and then pulled back and ducked to meet my gaze. It was difficult to hold those eyes of his, palest blue and seeing so much, too much, not just my body but my soul, my heart, my fears, my insecurity, the knowledge of my flaws. "I'll make you come so hard you'll see stars. I'll make you come so hard you'll be left crying from it. I promise you."
"I hate crying."
"You won't be able to help it, by the time I'm done with you."
"Stop talking and do it, then." God, that sounded bossy, rude.
But Thresh only grinned. "Mmm. Tell me what to do, Lola. Tell me what you want. Make me give it to you." Now that my breasts were bared, he returned his hand to the waistband of my pants. Dug his fingers under the elastic, but then stopped. "Let's move these out of the way, shall we?"
He started tugging them down, but I caught his wrist. "No, Thresh. Not yet. That's too much. Okay? Please? This is as much as I can take right now. Any more and I'm liable to panic."
"Just...touch my tits. You seem to like them, and I need to--" I had to cut myself off to take a breath as he simultaneously slid his fingers under my panties and between my thighs and into my pussy, and lowered his mouth to my left breast, tongue flicking against my nipple, lapping flat against my areola.
"You need to what? Say it, baby."
I couldn't. It was too much. Making me too vulnerable. I shook my head, arched my spine to press my breast into his mouth, and let my knees fall apart to grant him better access to my core. God, who was this, doing this? In a car, on the side of the road, with a man I just met. A killer. A warrior. A mammoth, insanely powerful, self-admitted player.
But fuck, a sexy one. A goddamned gorgeous human being. A primal beautiful man, and one who seemed to know exactly how to touch me. How to draw me out of myself, how to draw me past my fears and insecurities.
"I need--"
He worked his finger against my clit hard and fast now, and covered my nipple with his mouth, and then--oh, oh, ohhhhh, started suckling the hard, sensitive nipple. Jesus, oh Jesus--
"Thresh, oh my god Thresh--"
"Does that feel good?" he asked, then leaned across me to suck my other nipple into his mouth and flick it with his tongue in light fluttering flickers that had me gasping staccato breaths.
"So good...so fucking good."
"Finish what you were going to say, Lola."
"Just let me come, Thresh. No more talking." I was already exposing my body; no way I could expose my vulnerability to him, too. It was too much. Too much. He was too much. This was too much.
He circled my clit a few more times, and now my hips were rolling against his touch, and I was aching all over--and then he slid that finger inside me, curled it and touched me somewhere deep and high inside and I just--shit, I just lost it completely, sank back against the chair, fumbled with one hand for the lever on the side of the bucket seat and lowered the back until I was lying down, crying out loud, wordless breathless whimpers as he rubbed that magic spot inside me. And then he withdrew that finger, tapped it against my clit, once, twice, quick sharp taps, and I--already breathless--couldn't even manage a whimper. But oh, he wasn't done, no ma'am. He slid his finger back inside me, but this time it was...more. Stretching me wider; god, two fingers? Holy shit. Holy shit. Oh god. Two fingers, sliding in and out of my channel, and each time he worked those thick strong fingers into me, he bumped my clit with his fingers and then it happened... Lightning. Fireworks. Heat blasting through me, making me twitch, making me jerk and jolt and writhe.
And scream.
God, I was screaming.
He was licking my nipples and suckling them and biting them, and then gently and reverently kissing my areolae and the upper slopes and the undersides...
He was...god, everything inside me curled up and tightened and tensed.
He was making love to my breasts with his mouth.
And it was enough to make my eyes prick. To make my gut churn. To make my heart palpitate and my chest tighten.
Because with his hands, his mouth, his eyes raking over me and meeting my eyes as he passed from one breast to another--he made me feel beautiful.
Like a desirable woman.
I was coming apart and he was suckling my left nipple into his mouth--the more sensitive one--and then he added a third finger to the sliding driving penetrating rhythm, and my hips were driving, and I was fighting to breathe, trying to scream, and holding at bay the tears he'd promise I'd shed.
Tears that meant so much.
Joy, that I wasn't broken.
Relief, because three years worth of repressed sexual frustration were finally coming to an end, and he was about to break it open, burst it apart, shred it all to pieces.
And tears of pure, unadulterated ecstasy, because nothing in my life had ever felt this good. Nothing, not ever.
My eyes were squeezed shut, my hips were writhing and rolling and pistoning uncontrollably, unashamedly riding his fingers.
When it began to pass through me and wash over me, I clenched my jaw tight and my eyes tighter and screamed past my teeth and my body went taut as a piano wire, feet pressed against the floor boards and shoulders and neck against the seat back, the rest of my body arched up and suspended, hips flexing involuntarily as everything inside of me burst open, detonated.
But he wouldn't let me just ride it out. Oh no. He had to talk. "Open your eyes, Lola."
My eyes flicked open. And god, his eyes were so fucking blue, so fierce and piercing.
"Don't you fucking dare take your eyes off me." He kept fingering me as the orgasm continued to expand, but now his attention was solely on me. "Look at me, Lola."
"I'm--oh god, oh god, oh god!" The last god was sobbed, because I couldn't help it anymore. It felt so good, so perfect, as if the universe was aligning to make me feel this bliss for the first time in my life. "I'm looking at you--oh, oh, ohhhhhh fuck--I'm looking at you, Thresh."
He suckled my nipple. "You--"
Flicked the other with tongue-tip. "Are--"
He rubbed that spot inside me with his fingers and ground his thumb against my clit, and I was wracked and gasping and couldn't look away from his mesmerizing pale ice blue gaze. "So--"
And then, damn him, damn him, damn him...he kissed me. Once, a soft, brief, searing kiss, tongue feathering against mine, scouring my lips and my teeth and my tongue, a single kiss that rocked me to the bottom of my ruined heart.
"--Beautiful," he said, pulling away enough to whisper the word against my lips.
And that was it.
I couldn't hold out anymore.
The climax was blasting through me in endless waves of ecstasy, yanking screams out of me and pushing sobs out of me and making me thrash and writhe on his fingers, and then when he spoke that phrase, each word punctuated with a touch meant to drive me wilder and wilder, I lost it.
Everything.
Every last vestige of my hold on the sobs.
I came, and I did it sobbing.
And his gaze wouldn't release me, wouldn't let me look away.
Because, goddammit, he meant it.
And that was what wrecked me. More than the orgasm, even though it was the most intense, brutally powerful, erotic, thrilling, beautiful, perfect sensation I'd ever experienced, those four words he spoke, with his open blue gaze luminous with the truth of his statement...that was too much.
Because it was exactly what I'd almost said.
Touch my breasts, I'd said.
You seem to like them, I said.
--And I need to feel beautiful--that's what I'd almost said.
I came, and I came, and I came. It seemed like it would never end, the waves of climax. He milked every wave out of me, kissing my breasts all over throughout it.
And when I finally stopped orgasming, he withdrew his hand from my core and cupped my breast in his huge palm, rolling the heavy weight in his palm, thumbing the nipple--which made me gasp and sob and flinch all over again--and then weighed the other breast in his hand. He was playing with my breasts for himself, I realized. Not for me, not to make me feel good, but for his own enjoyment.
I couldn't breathe, and I was still sobbing.
Which he, somewhat belatedly, realized.
"Lola?"
"You told me I'd cry," I said.
Trying to angle away, trying to shrug my bra straps back up and my shirt back on and trying to tuck my breasts back into the cups and not look at him and not think about anything and not feel anything, because it was all bashing down on me, all the feelings I'd been pushing away for so long, plus the orgasm and what he'd said and how it had made me feel and the orgasm, Jesus the orgasm, still quavering inside me, making me shake and shiver and shudder as after quakes struck one after another.
"Well, here I am, crying." I was trying to do everything at once, and managed none of it.
Except the crying.
"Well shit, Lola, I didn't mean like this."
7: ENDURE THE ACHE
Shitshitshitshit.
When I said I'd make her cry, I meant the kind of crying a girl does when an orgasm is just so powerful she doesn't know how else to express it.
Not these shuddering, wracking sobs that shook her whole body.
These weren't good tears.
These were the tears of someone who'd had something so seriously hardcore done to her in the past that it had fucked her up. Something serious enough to make her shut down and refuse any kind of sexuality whatsoever. Something that left her unable to even talk dirty.
She wouldn't look at me.
Her breasts were still hanging out of her shirt--and Jesus fuck and holy shit, those tits were pure perfection. More perfect than I'd even fantasized about. Huge, juicy, softer than anything I'd ever felt, quivering with every movement she made. God, I couldn't get enough of them.
But she was having a full-on panic attack, made worse by the fact that she was bare from the waist up and had just had her first orgasm in three years, and couldn't seem to make her hands work because she was sobbing and trying to get away from me, or herself, or just everything.
"Lola."
She shook her head, and god, god, those tits bounced and shimmied, and my already painfully hard, diamond-hard cock hardened even more.
No time for that, though.
I touched her jaw with my index finger, and tilted her face to me. "Look at me, Lola. Please. Just...look at me."
She twisted her head, peering at me through partially closed, tear-wet eyelids. Heaving, fighting sobs, teeth clenched, hands shaking. "Don't, just--don't."
"Look at me, Lola."
"I AM!" she shouted.
I held her gaze, steady and even and calm. "Breathe."
She shook her head again. "I--I can't. I can't." She began to shudder and convulsing sobs wracked her body. "I can't catch my breath--" Beneath the hurt or whatever it was I'd caused, was the panic attack fear of not being able to breathe.
I leaned close to her, slowly, cupped the back of her neck, pulled her face to mine. "Then take my breath." And I kissed her. Softly, gently, slowly.
I'd never kissed anyone the way I kissed Lola Reed in that moment. With every emotion inside me, with everything I had, I kissed her.
-->
