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I thought nothing of the growing strain in my own pants, because this was not about me. Thought nothing of my next move—trying to plan things ahead—because every flush of her skin and dip of her flesh brought out new ideas and things I wanted to do to her.
After what had happened to me, I thought it would be months before I felt the rush of blood and excitement in my extremities that would enable me to satisfy her. If nothing else, I thought Sheriff George’s rape had made me impotent and unworthy of love. Disgusted by it.
Robin proved all of that wrong. My little hope, my little star, squeezing her thighs together when my hands roamed too close inside, or when I dragged my tongue down her belly and squeezed on her waist, nearly meeting my fingertips in the middle of her.
She parted her legs to give me an unrivaled view of her perfection, and I licked my lips longingly. I ducked my head between her thighs, and she let out a nervous chuckle as my beard tickled her.
My lips moved softly, kissing every inch of her center. Tasting her sweetness like it was a holy elixir for a dying man. Tonguing her puffy lips and engorged clit, running slow circles that made her jolt and jerk with sharp gasps.
She was wet and wanting, my needy little star. All but grinding her core against my face, letting out soft moans and sounds of pleasure as I licked and flicked and laved.
My caress was gentle. At first. I could tell she wanted more—that she needed more. I couldn’t give myself over to aggression just yet. Not when the heady scent of her filled the air around me like the finest aphrodisiac, and made me obsessed and addicted to her taste and smell and heat.
Her juices gathered on my tongue as I worked, and I dug my fingers into the insides of her thighs to pry her apart wider. Her legs splayed, opening herself completely to me, and also widening her cunt to give me more of an entrance.
Gently, I sank one finger into her and she moaned in response. When the second finger joined, curving along her warm wall, she moaned louder. Her moan became a whimper when I prodded the puckered bundle of nerves just below, sank deep into that hole, and then softly licked her clit.
“Oh God, John,” she breathed, raspy and thick. “I didn’t know you could be so . . . gentle.”
“Too gentle?”
“It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” Her hands fell on top of my head. She dug her fingers through my hair and forced my face and fingers deeper inside her. “I need more.”
I moved in a slow rhythm, savoring her wet heat and laving up the spilled nectar that trickled out.
My cock throbbed and ached in the confines of my pants. I was harder than I’d been in ages, yet I wouldn’t bring myself out unless she wanted me to. Unless she begged for it and demanded it. Because this wasn’t about me.
With her hands gripping my hair, shoving my face down, I moved my tongue faster. My probing fingers curled and darted, until the resistance of her wetness made a squelching sound that was music to my ears.
“Please!” she whined. “I can’t take this teasing!”
I lifted my eyes over the gentle slope of her belly, smiling while my tongue and lips did all the work. I gazed at her lust-stricken face over the swells of her breasts and peaked nipples, and saw her eyes were clenched shut, her cheeks cherry-red.
“It’s so”—her breath cut her words out and she gulped loudly—“good! Too fucking good, John!”
My fingers sank to the last knuckle. I fingered the most tender place inside her, until her hips were bucking, her ass rising off the bed, and she fucked my face with her cunt.
And then I flipped the whole scenario on its head.
I did that by literally flipping her—one hand on the top of her thigh, the other under the other thigh—and twirling us both upside down. She rolled sideways from her back to her stomach with a yelp, going to her hands and knees instinctively. I rolled myself under her, head between her legs while her juices dripped and trickled all over my face and beard.
“Sit on my face, love,” I begged. “Use me as the throne you deserve.”
Her body trembled, thighs jiggling. So I gave her a helping hand, cupping her wide ass and pushing down to plant her cunt directly on my face. My nose rubbed against her clit and my tongue lathered her asshole, and then she was shaking and her moans had become staccato gasps that echoed through the tent.
“Fuck, John!” she cried. “I’m going to come again!”
She had hidden the first climax well, with no other inclination than her trembling thighs. I was proud to bring her to a second orgasm, and it only motivated me to move faster and faster, licking until my jaw and tongue were sore.
Her essence swallowed me up, darkness taking my vision, and I lived for it. I had lived in darkness for so long over the past months, and this was the antithesis of that—this was the darkness of beautiful depravity and lust.
I hugged her body, wrapping my arms around her waist to keep her planted so she couldn’t squirm away. She bounced her ass on my face and I took the beating with a smile, growling low in my belly as she slathered her juices over every inch of my face, drenching me.
My cock was ready to explode through my pants, so hard it was painful. Still, I didn’t complain. I focused on my self-control and Robin and nothing else.
Then she said the words I had been dreaming of for so long—the words I had been waiting for and required to hear without any coaxing or nudging.
“Fuck me, John! I’m begging you—it’s not enough! I need you now!” She continued to ride my face and slam into me even as she yelled through the tent.
