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“Being bent over the bed isn’t the threat you think it is,” I mutter. My legs are jelly, my crawl more of a wobble as I move toward him. I feel self-conscious as I move to straddle his head, his hands steering me so that I’m facing the headboard.
It’s awkward, swinging my leg up and over him. I panic when my knees slip on the sheets, picturing myself falling pussy-first onto Shane’s face, a tragic, nose-breaking, crash-landing situation. Somehow, I catch myself, lowering in a movement that isn’t graceful, but at least isn’t violent. He makes a pleased sound beneath me, his breath hot. Slick and seeking, his tongue teases my clit before he thrusts it inside me.
Holy fuck.
He fucks me with his tongue, and I can’t keep from squirming. The heat, and his lips, and oh fuck, the things he’s doing with his tongue. It’s good, too good. I might get lost in it and smother him. I don’t want us to end up as a cautionary tale in a sex-ed course.
He says something, but it’s muffled. I rise slightly, but not far. His hands on my hips make sure of that.
“What?” I ask.
“I said, sit and ride, Claire. Fuck my face.”
“I don’t want to hu—“
“Sit and ride. Now.”
He yanks me back down, and this time, he doesn’t fuck me with his tongue. He attacks my clit with purpose, teasing it until my thighs are clamping around his head. I’m so close to coming. My fingers are wrapped around the headboard, digging into the leather. I’m right there, a breath away from world-rocking bliss. Teetering the edge of ecstasy. He pulls back from my clit, giving me slow, sensual licks everywhere but where I want them.
What the fuck?
“What you were doing,” I gasp. “That was perfect.”
Shane gives me another slow lick, then grabs my hips, grinding me on his mouth. As he drags me roughly across his face, he focuses on my clit again, making me whimper. The message is clear. Fuck his face if I want to come.
Sliding my knees further apart, I let more of my weight rest on him. I’m rewarded with his tongue on my clit. A smack on my hip says what his mouth is too busy to say.
Ride.
I do. Slowly at first, with gentle, cautious rocks. As he continues to suck and tongue my clit, I lose my inhibitions, my movements growing rougher. The harder I ride, the more he gives me. I’m not worried about crushing him anymore. I’m not worried about anything except coming. My thighs spasm, my head falls back. The last orgasm hit me suddenly, but this one is slow. It grows more intense as I writhe on his face. He works me all the way through it, pulling me harder on him.
When I’m done, reduced to panting, I look over my shoulder. His cock looks painfully hard, flushed and needy. Moving off him, I go to reach for it, wanting to soothe its obvious neglect. I don’t make it. I’m flipped, the world spinning around me.
On my back, I stare up at Shane. He gazes down at me, lips shiny with my arousal, looking pleased with himself again. His cock nudges my entrance, and I try to maneuver myself onto it. He stays just out of reach. Straining up, I catch his lips with mine, a barely-there kiss that sends the butterflies in my stomach soaring.
“Greedy little deer,” he murmurs, dropping his head to capture my mouth in earnest. I want to tell him he has no idea how greedy I am, but then he’s inside me. The universe shrinks, nothing existing beyond him and what he’s doing to my body. I’m ready for him, two orgasms priming me for a third. It won’t take much. I go to rub my clit.
Without pulling his mouth from mine, Shane grabs my hand, then the other one when I make a try with it. I protest, but he swallows it down. His fingers are threaded with mine, pressing a hand to either side of my head as he fucks me with steady, unwavering thrusts. At the top of each thrust, he grinds on me, moving his body to press my clit.
Fuck.
Rocking my hips to meet his movements, I can’t keep from crying out into his mouth as he picks up the pace. Every thrust feels like it might be the one that pushes me into a third orgasm. His movements grow rougher as he nears his climax, the metronome-steady rhythm turning frantic. He’s still kissing me, but he’s panting into my mouth now. That’s what I need to get me there, the feeling of him starting to come unwound. His fingers tighten on mine, gripping me so hard I don’t think he knows he’s doing it.
Shane, in complete control, is hot. But this Shane, desperate to come, fucking me like the house could fall around us and he wouldn’t be able to stop is hotter. I come for the third time, shuddering into an orgasm that steals my breath. My legs tighten around his body, pulling him close, my hands straining in his grip. I need to touch him, feel him. Drag my nails down his back, thread my fingers through his hair. But all I can do is come, and come, and come, jerking and trembling beneath him. My pleasure is ending when he releases with a groan, clenching my hands tighter and tighter as a tremor rolls through him. He closes his eyes as pleasure takes him, but only for a second. He holds my gaze as he finishes, eyes going from wild to gentle as the tension in his body ebbs.
He collapses, sweaty chest on my breasts, head in the crook of my neck. I’m still caught in the unexpected intimacy of witnessing his transition from feral to tame. I don’t realize what I’m doing until it’s too late. My body acts on an instinct that feels as natural as my shaky inhales. I kiss the side of his head, nuzzling my nose into his hair before I can stop myself. It’s intimate. Familiar. Too far.
Shit.
I tense, wondering if he noticed. Shane presses up on an elbow, taking my far hand. He brings it to his lips, kissing the back of it. He seems relaxed, content. Freeing my hands, he rolls off me to sit on the side of the bed.
Being in his bedroom feels awkward in an instant, whatever closeness we experienced vanishing in a way that makes me want to scream for it to come back. Do I leave now? Sitting up, I mirror his movements on the other side of the bed, scanning the ground for my clothes. I rise, planning on gathering them up, but his voice stops me.
“Shower before bed?” He’s already moving across the room. He says it like an invitation, but I can’t tell for sure.
“Yeah,” I say, hoping for a context clue.
“I only have shampoo,” he says from inside the bathroom. “Do I need to run to your room and get your things?”
