Page 84 of The Stranger

“Oh God.”

“So good,” he purrs, circling. Stroking. Lighting up my nerve endings and making them sing.

“Oh, that’s nnnn,”—not fair—“nice.”

He quirks a brow, exchanging fingers for his thumb now, swiping it back and forth before scissoring his fingers and opening me up. An appreciative hum. A small circle, a delicate pet, as he watches. As he weighs my responses, drinking me in. “I don’t know where I want to kiss you first.” His thumb swipes far too lightly over my clit, not that I don’t exhale a soft sigh anyway. “Or here.” Through the slick ribbon of my flesh it goes. “Or perhaps…” I stiffen as he slides farther, feathering over my no-go zone. No go but feel good.

“Please,” I beg. Shudder. Moan. “Stop teasing. Please put your mouth on me.”

“You’re so pretty when you beg, Primevère.”

In one fluid motion, he drops, his warm breath brushes over me in a shiver-inducing caress, the bristled brush of his cheek against my inner thigh. It already feels like a sensory overload as that’s before the hot lick of his tongue. My body bows and I cry out, my fingers finding purchase in his dark hair as I chase the sensation.

“N-not begging,” I grate out as my toes curl, and my eyes threaten to roll back in my head. “Sssuggesting.” My grip tightens, and he gives a low grunt, the sound reverberating through my insides.

Ohmygiddyaunt.

He gives a low laugh as he lasciviously licks into me, like his tongue is chasing dripping ice cream.

“More,” I gasp, tightening my hand on his hair.

“More suggestions?”

“Oh fuck!” I squeal as his tongue swirls my clit.

“Open your legs,” he growls. Not waiting for my compliance, he hooks his hand under my knee. “Open your legs so I can eat this pussy.”

“Jesus, your mouth.”

“Dieu, this pussy.”

I rock into him, biting my lip against the noises building in my chest.

“I’ve been dreaming of your taste. You make me feel fucking deranged.”

His words are a low rasping French—confessions, I realize. I am the inadvertent keeper of the truths he doesn’t want to reveal. The witness to the things he craves. Maybe I should feel bad, but it’s hard to feel anything but good as he feasts on that most private part of me like a starving man at a lavish meal.

“Oh God, yes!” My breathing turns rapid as my body begins to move with his mouth as he licks and laps, not as though I’m something to be savored but a thing to be consumed. To be devoured as his tongue works harder, faster, and my cries grow louder, echoing through the vaulted room.

“You taste so sweet.” French again. “You taste like you’re mine.”

“You—you.” It’s all I can manage.

“That’s it. You’re going to come for me, aren’t you, little flower?” he coaxes, is words a honeyed English purr now. I should hate the confidence in his tone and the way his lashes cast dark half-moons against his cheeks as he swirls his tongue around my clit again. “You’re going to flood my mouth. Make me drown in you.”

My fingers tighten as my body chases his tongue. “That—that’s not what your mouth is for.”

I squeak as his teeth deliver a reprimand to my inner thigh. The squeak turning into a carnal moan as he instantly sucks the swollen bud of my clit between his lips.

I cry out, my body spasming and almost jolting from the countertop as, simultaneously, he parts my flesh and drives inside. Each thrust, each press and flick compounds the ache inside me until filaments—reality—seems to stretch in front of me, catching the light. Higher. Brighter. Harder. In the moment before I break, I’m blessed with a moment of absolute clarity: it wasn’t a fluke, and it wasn’t Ardeo. The key to my pleasure is him.

A man I don’t even like.

The thought pops like a bubble as this sensation continues to twist and twine, crawling through my body until fit to burst. Distantly, I can hear myself encouraging him, telling him exactly what he’s doing to me as I climb and climb. As I peak. Break into a million glittering shards as I fall apart.

I come back to myself, to my body, panting as though I’ve been running. My skin feels electrified, my body overstimulated. “Enough,” I whimper, pushing at his head.

“Arrête.” He growls the command into my core as his tongue slows but doesn’t stop.