Page 128 of I’m The Worst

“Fuck— Wolff…yes…”

Gripping my ass cheeks, he spreads me wider as he devours me, his beard scraping against my sensitive skin with every move. He moans against me, the sound vibrating straight through my pussy.

Sucking my clit into his mouth, his tongue swirls around it, and I cry out, my hips rocking for more. He groans and pulls me harder, forcing me to grind against his mouth as he licks me in slow, torturous strokes.

“This cunt tastes so fucking good.” His voice is muffled, rough, and goddamn if I don’t almost come right then.

He slides his fingers through my wetness before he starts to slowly push one inside my pussy and the other in my ass.

“Oh, fuck,” I yelp, lifting my hips away.

Grabbing my ass, he slams my hips back down.

His mouth closes over my clit again, sucking and teasing while his fingers begin to pump slowly in and out of both my holes. I can’t take much more. My thighs shake, my stomach tightening as the pressure builds, my fingers fisting his dark, thick hair.

I look down, chest heaving, and he meets my eyes. Something about the intensity in his gaze between my thighs shatters me.

My whole body spasms, pleasure rippling through me as I cry out his name. He keeps licking me through it, scissoring his fingers in my holes.

His other arm bands around my thighs and forces me to stay put, drawing out every pulse of my orgasm until I’m trembling and oversensitive.

I try to pull back, but he growls against me, tongue lapping at the cum leaking from my pussy.

“Stay,” he rasps.

He drags his tongue through my folds, cleaning up every drop of my release. When he finally lets me go, I collapse onto the bed beside him, panting, my body still buzzing.

He pushes off the floor, and the mattress dips beneath his weight as he moves over me. His hard chest presses against my back, heat sinking into my skin while his beard scrapes along my shoulder. Burying his face in my hair, he inhales slowly.

“You smell like me, solnyshko.”

I’m warm all over as his hands slide up my sides, rough palms skimming my ribs while his mouth finds the back of my neck. Teeth scrape against my pulse before his tongue drags slowly up the side of my throat.

My eyes close instantly as I moan.

Before Akim—before the collar, the chains, the hands around my throat that only ever meant pain—I used to love this. Loved being touched here. Kissed here. Grabbed here.

Now even accidental contact near my neck sends panic through my veins.

But not with him.

Or at least…less with him.

The realization hits hard enough to make my throat tighten. Wolff’s mouth brushes my pulse again, slower this time, and something inside me aches so badly it almost feels unbearable. I don’t want this to end. Don’t want him to pull away and leave me alone with my own head again.

I swallow hard.

Then do something stupid.

My fingers slide over the sheets until they find his wrist. The second I touch him, I feel the subtle tension that always lives inside him—that instinctive readiness to pull away—but I tighten my grip before he can.

Slowly, I guide his hand upward.

His body stills immediately behind me. Every muscle locking tight against my back as I bring his palm to my throat.

Right over the place the collar used to sit.

Silence stretches between us.