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He had a point.
With my knees in the bed, there wasn’t much for my foot to do but sit there and look pretty.
Or my toes to curl on said foot. Something which happened seconds later when Trick dropped down to his knees beside the bed.
I gasped when he maneuvered my body exactly where he wanted it, like he was positioning his plate for better access to his mouth.
“Trick…” I breathed, suddenly uncertain.
I’d had this man before. He’d been inside of me. I’d wanted him for as long as I could remember.
But saying that, there was a rather large difference in him having me with his cock, and him having me with his mouth.
His cock felt like something that was great, awesome and serious. But his mouth? It felt like he was diving deep into my soul. He was going to figure things out about me that nobody had ever known before.
And what I tasted like was something that nobody on this planet knew.
Except for him.
Up close and personal with my lower half, he groaned and leaned forward, his mouth skimming over the backs of my thighs, moving farther and farther in with each sweep of his lips.
“You smell amazing.” He nipped at my inner thigh.
I licked my lips.
“Do I?” I asked.
Thank God I’d just had a shower. Seriously. That could’ve been a disaster.
But…
His tongue delved between the lips of my sex, and I bit my lip as stars started to dot my vision.
When had I closed my eyes?
And holy crap, why did his tongue there feel so good?
These, and other questions and thoughts, were filtering through my brain at a million miles an hour.
What do I taste like?
Is it awkward having your face pressed against something like that?
I wonder what it would feel like if he didn’t have a beard.
Holy crap, his tongue swirling around my clit feels like heaven.
Oh, God.
Holy shit.
Sweet baby Jesus, who was the first person to ever think this up? I should get a Ouija board and thank him for his service.
His hands tightening on my thighs had me momentarily blinking in surprise.
“What are you thinking about?” his lips rasped against my distended clit.
I licked my lips.
“I’m trying to think about a lot of things, so I don’t end this super quick,” I panted. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.”
And it was.
I’d never, not ever felt anything like it.
Even sex with Trick didn’t feel like this.
His husky laugh against my pussy sent shivers down my spine.
He gave me one final lick, then stopped, which was exactly what I didn’t want to happen.
I must’ve conveyed my disappointment in some way, too, because he was laughing and chuckling as he wound his way up my body and patted my ass.
“Move forward so I can get my knees on the bed,” he ordered.
I moved like molasses, whining the entire way.
“Torture,” I grumbled as I looked at him over my shoulder.
His eyes gleamed as he pushed his jeans down and finally revealed his cock.
I licked my lips at what I saw.
“I take it back,” I admitted. “I’m not sure which is better. But if you could somehow get your tongue on my clit, and your cock inside of me, I think we would find the perfect match.”
He chuckled as he fisted his cock and looked down at where he wanted us to be connected.
“Sometimes,” he said, “I’d lay in my bunk at night, think of you, and do exactly this.” He pumped his cock, his fist bumping against my pussy with each shuttle. “I’d think of you, that night, wrapped around me in the dark hallway of a bar. And I’d come on my stomach.”
I groaned as his knuckles brushed my clit.
“But having you now.” He shoved his cock straight into my pussy. No warm up. No indication that he was about to go there. Just one second he was on the outside, and the next he was on the inside. “I know that I could never, not ever, do this pussy justice.”
I wailed out as an orgasm slammed into me so fast, I barely had time to draw breath.
The breath left my lungs in a sudden whoosh, and my eyes closed tightly shut as I let the tidal wave roll over me.
When I came back to, his hands were squeezing my hips, but ultimately, he was holding perfectly still, allowing me to regain control.
I panted, face buried in the duvet cover underneath my face, and tried to make sense of what had just happened.
“What the hell was that?” I breathed.
“Twelve years of sexual frustration,” he said. “Last night was only the tip of the iceberg.”
I had a feeling I was going to be very, very sore by the end of the night. Or the morning.
And I knew I wasn’t going to care.
Not one single bit.
CHAPTER 18
