It had happened again, against my better judgment. We fucked. And this time, he made sure that I came. I fuckin’ came—squirted like water from a friggin’ fountain. The mere thought of it alone still made my pussy tingle.
The man was just as good with his tongue as he was with his cock. He knew where to lick, where to kiss, and where to caress. He knew when to flatten his tongue and when to use the tip. His pacing was rhythmic, deliberate.
He ate my pussy with the passion of a man who’d been waiting ages to show off his skills. And boy, was he skilled! He explored my entire body without trying so hard. His mouth and fingers reached places inside me that made me lose what little control I had left.
He promised that I was going to beg him to take me, and that sexy bastard actually did it. He made me beg. At first, I didn’t want to. But the more I tried to resist, the more he teased me. And he teased really well.
Even now, two days later, I was still ashamed of how I’d lost every sense of reasoning and control that night. The words I uttered while swooning in ecstasy still haunted me. They lingered on the fringes of my mind as a constant reminder of that embarrassing moment.
“Eat me already…please.”
I didn’t think it was embarrassing when it was happening, though. I thought it was the best head I’d ever had. In fact, I didn’t think so. I knew so. Because he actually made me come with just his tongue and his fingers. I’d never experienced that before; the feeling was fuckin’ spectacular. Breathtaking. Literally.
His kisses were electric, his touch possessive in ways that stirred up strange emotions within me. When he climbed on topof me and began hitting my G-spot with relentless thrusts, my brain completely shut down.
Raw electricity surged through my body the deeper he drove into me.
“Harder, Daddy. Fuck me harder!”
I knew I would die of humiliation later on, but at the time, I didn’t give a shit. I just wanted to be fucked till my heart gave out.
“Don’t stop. Don’t you fuckin’ stop.”
I clutched a pillow to my chest as I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, my mind reeling from the events of that night. I replayed the scene over and over, recalling every detail I could.
My heart swelled with desire, and my chest wouldn’t stop heaving.
“You naughty little devil. Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours, Daddy!”
“Say it again.”
“I’m all yours!”
I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow as though it would help ease my shame. I hadn’t been able to face him again ever since he made me lose control like that.
My body still craved his touch, and every fiber of my being still longed for him deep inside me again.
It would’ve been different if it were just regular sex where both of us were moaning.
But it wasn’t.
It was more than just regular sex, and I didn’t just moan. I said things that I would never say in my right senses. And that was my biggest shame.
“Do it. Come in me. I want you inside me.”
Why the hell had I said that out loud? Why couldn’t I have just kept my mouth shut?
The urgency in my tone and the way I locked my legs around his waist, trapping him in place, was a clear indication of my desperation.
What exactly did he do to me?
The major issue here was the fact that, despite my shame, I would still do it again if given the chance. That’s when it dawned on me that I just might be addicted to Karik Tarasov.
Fuck, no.
This was all shades of wrong. He was a monster. All I was allowed to feel for him was hatred.
