Then he slid down my body, lifting my thighs onto his shoulders.
“Wait, Mal—” I started, alarmed, but I didn’t have time to be shy, to warn him that I might be sweaty from our evening running around the city, to wonder if I should have found an excuse to run into the bathroom for a quick rinse before things got hot and heavy, because his mouth was already on me.
Holy shit.I should have suspected that Malcolm “acts of service” Waters would be a cunnilingus connoisseur. This was not a man who considered eating pussy a chore, or a means to an end.No. For Mal, it was very clearly a privilege. Right now, I was a delicacy, and Mal the starving man on a desert island presented with a feast that he dived into face-first with no hands. Over the rush of blood in my ears, I could hear him talking, muffledfucks andyou taste so goods that I could feel against my lips, and I threw an arm over my eyes, overwhelmed, oversensitized. My hips roved against him restlessly, the ache in the pit of my belly becoming a yearning. I could feel the pressure inside me building like a pot about to whistle, and I arched out of his reach, desperate for a break, only to be yanked back down onto the bed.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he crooned, pinning me in place.
“Please,” I whimpered, delirious. I was throbbing, squeezing, the space where Mal wasn’t aching with the urge to have him in it.
“Please what?” Mal teased, lifting my legs higher to give himself better access. He sucked my clit into his mouth, and I cried out, too far gone to be embarrassed by the naked longing in my voice. “Come on, Jo, use your words.”
Damn.I should have suspected that Mal could throw down from the second he kissed me at the carousel. That had not been a kiss from a man who stumbled over his words and got flustered when I poked fun at his old-man Instagram. Clearly I had been had. Hopefully, I would be had again. Repeatedly.
“Put it in,” I whimpered.
Mal hummed.
“Put what in?” he asked. He slid two fingers inside of me, curling them in a beckoning motion. “My fingers?”
“No,” I said, arching against pleasure that still, somehow, was not enough. “No, Mal, you know what I want—”
“No I don’t,” Mal teased. “Maybe... my tongue?” He slid that inside of me next, and I sucked in a stuttering breath.
“Your dick, you asshole,” I managed finally. Then, just in case he decided to punish my impertinence by prolonging my misery: “Put your dick in me. Please.”
Mal nodded sagely, then finally released me, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand and rocking back on his heels to reach into his nightstand. I watched, entranced, as he tore a condom wrapper with his teeth and rolled it on. Looming over me like this, his dick seemed huge, bobbing like it had a mind of its own. I remembered how heavy it had felt on my tongue, how substantial it felt rocking between my legs, and, for the first time since we’d started this, my anticipation was laced with a ribbon of fear.
Mal caught me watching, then lowered himself to me, kissing me sweetly.
“We can stop here, you know,” he said. “Or do something different. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.” His eyes were burning coals in the dimly lit room. “Anything.”
His consideration set me aflame, my skin tingling with every part of me that he had touched.
“I want this,” I said, angling my hips for him.
Mal smiled like I’d given him a gift. Then, pressing his mouth to mine, he slowly, carefully, eased into me.
Even with all my education, I expected pain, tearing, something to signify that the label that I’d held for twenty-nine years had been ripped away. But instead, there was pressure and pleasure, an indescribable fullness. Mal’s firm body against mine, his slow, sighing exhale into the side of my neck.
“You good?” he said, trembling with restraint.
I smiled, then pressed a heel into his ass to egg him on.
“Move, Mal,” I begged, and Mal grunted, then hooked my legs over his arms for leverage. I let him take charge, gasping against the sensation of him driving into me over and over again, watching the shift of his expressions in the dimly lit room, his lips parting as he gasped for air.
“I can’t believe—” he started, brokenly. “You’re so beautiful.”
“You too,” I said, tilting my hips up to take more of him in. Mal’s jaw tightened, something dark passing over his eyes, and then, without warning, he pulled out, flipped me onto my stomach, and drove back into me in a smooth, purposeful motion. I let out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a cry, stunned by the feeling of him so deep inside of me, the pulsing pleasure of being stretched to my limit. Behind me, Mal was a force, his grip on my waist almost painfully tight, the echoing slap of my ass against his hips so obscene that I could hardly believe that we were creating it.
“Fuck, Jo,” Mal groaned, and I realized just how delectable my name sounded falling off his lips like this, like he was losing control and I was the reason why. “Fuck.You feel so good.”
I opened my mouth to respond but found that I couldn’t. My voice had been stolen by someone else, some wild, wanton woman who produced the kind of melodramatic moans that I’d once considered theater.No way could it feel that good, I had once nitpicked, only to discover now thatyes(“Yes, yes,yes!”) it could.
Suddenly, there was heat: Mal’s chest a furnace against my back, his hand slipping between my legs, the pad of his finger worrying at my clit just as his mouth closed over my shoulder. He let out a final, ragged groan—my name, repeated like a mantra as he pushed into me in short, final ruts.
All at once, my body seized. My orgasm crashed over me in waves, pleasure starting in my center and rippling to my curling toes, to fingers that clenched around sheets. God, I’d come before, but never like this, never from such unconscionable heights. My vision blurred, then came back in Technicolor, and finally, sapped, I collapsed forward onto the mattress.
Mal came down with me.
