He’s still sweaty from his fight, but I don’t say a thing about it.
“Ride my face, baby,” he breathes.
Palms flat on the wall, I brace my knee on his shoulder and slide my pussy onto his face, right up to his mustache. His eyes flicker, lids drooping with arousal. My legs almost buckle as he starts licking my clit, moaning in his chest like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted.
My fingers curl in his hair. His eyes are still on me.
That’s when I see something I’ve never seen in a man’s eyes, but I don’t think I’ve been treated well enough to know what to call that expression. It’s one that better, more fortunate people get to see. I don’t think Leland would have thought me deserving of it.
He was always quick to remind me what I am.
Never good enough. A charity case who should be grateful for the way he pulled me up.
Jensen breaks me out of my spiral by pushing his face in harder and shoving his tongue into my pussy. A little yelp breaks from my lips. My spine recoils. Fuck, I can feel him moving inside me, slow, deliberate thrusts.
“Oh God,” I breathe.
He curls it, and I think he’s hitting my g-spot, or he’s very close. Shaking, I grind my clit down against his mustache, letting him tongue-fuck me while I’m at it. Maybe it’s the combination. Maybe it’s the way he rolls his eyes. But I come hard, a slight burning I’m not used to flowing through me. My body goes limp, and his hands come up to keep me from falling.
I shake, pleasure moving through my body in stronger waves than I felt last night. They wring me dry, leaving me weak.
He keeps going, tongue pulling from my pussy and heading back to my clit. My toes curl as he starts licking. This is too much. I’m going to crawl out of my skin from overstimulation.
“Jensen, please,” I gasp.
He keeps going, pale eyes locked on mine. Desperate, I pull at his hair, and he moans before nipping my pussy gently.
“Please.” I’m trying to wrestle his head up by his hair, fingernails in his jaw.
He lifts his mouth, my arousal dripping down his neck. “You looking to get put over my knee, baby?” he says.
Oh, well. Fuck me, I wasn’t, but maybe I am now.
I shake my head, cowed and so turned on, my breasts ache in my bra.
He flicks my clit hard with his tongue. “Cause I don’t mind making that happen.”
My lipspart, but no sound comes out. He stands, the front of his shirt absolutely doused. Did I do that? I don’t have time to think about it, because he picks me up and carries me into the kitchen. The way he manhandles me is thrilling. It’s so rough but still gentle, like he’s fully aware of how much I can take.
He flips me onto my belly and lays me down, bent over the table.
My heart pounds. Oh God, he’s going to do it. My fingers grip the edge in front of me, and my toes barely reach the floor.
“You want it to stop, you give me the red light,” he says gruffly from up above.
“The red light?” I whisper.
“Just say red,” he says. “That way, if you want to beg and struggle, you can, but you’re still safe. You understand?”
It clicks into place what he’s saying. He’s giving me a safety lever to pull, but he’s letting me have the fantasy of brute force. It’s controlled violence.
No, that’s not the right word.
Careful violence is a better way to describe it. Contained but still raw, visceral. My body responds to the idea so hard, it’s embarrassing. There’s something dripping down the inside of my right thigh.
I need this.
“I understand,” I whisper, turning my head and laying my cheek down so I can see him.
