Page 115 of Clinically Awkward

“You’re—”

“I know,” she said, her voice breathless and shaky. “I’ve been thinking about this since I woke up.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I slid a finger inside her warm cunt, and she moaned, a low, desperate sound that went straight to my cock. Her inner walls clenched around my finger, hot and tight and absolutely perfect. She was trembling already, her thighs shaking against mine.

“Quinton.”

“I’ve got you.” I whispered as I added another finger, curling them just right to hit that spot that made her see stars, and she rocked against my hand, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. Her hips moved in a rhythm that was both deliberate and frantic, grinding down on my fingers as I worked her open.

“God, yes! Just like that!”

I kissed her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, my fingers moving in a steady rhythm as she rode my hand. I could feel her getting wetter with every stroke, her arousal coating my palm. The sounds she was making. Breathy moans and gasps, and my name falling from her lips like a prayer, were going to be the death of me.

My thumb found her clit, and she keened, her whole-body jerking against me.

“Fuck, Quinton!”

She was close. I could feel it in the way her thighs trembled, the way her breath hitched, the way her inner walls started fluttering around my fingers. Her nails dug into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks, and I didn’t care. I wanted her marks on me. Wanted proof that this was real.

“Come for me,” I murmured against her skin, my voice rough. “Let me feel it.”

And she did as her whole body tensed, every muscle going taut as she came with a cry that was probably loud enough to wake the neighbors. I felt her clench around my fingers, rhythmic pulses that seemed to go on forever as I worked her through it. Her head fell back, exposing the long line of her throat, and I watched her come apart in my lap like it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Because it was.

I didn’t care and held her through it, my fingers still moving, drawing out every last shudder and aftershock until she collapsed against me, boneless and satisfied and trembling. “Holy shit,” she breathed against my neck.

“Yeah.”

She lifted her head, her eyes dark and satisfied and still hungry. “Your turn.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” She smirked as she slid off my lap and onto her knees between my legs, her hands already working at my belt with an efficiency that suggested she had been thinking about this for a while.

“Vivian.”

“Shh.”

She pulled my jeans down, my boxers with them, and then my cock sprang free. Hard and aching and already leaking. Her hand wrapped around me, and I forgot how to form words.

“Fuck.”

Her grip was firm and perfect. Her hand was warm as she stroked me once, twice, from base to tip. I could feel every ridge of her palm, every squeeze of her fingers. My hips bucked involuntarily, and she grinned up at me, that wicked, knowing grin that told me she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

And then her mouth was on me, and I was pretty sure I had died and gone to heaven.

Her tongue swirled around the head of my cock, lapping up the pre-cum that had been steadily leaking, and the sensation was so intense I had to grip the couch cushions to keep from coming immediately. She hummed, a low, satisfied sound, and the vibration traveled straight through me.

“Vivian. Jesus fuck.”

She took me deeper, her lips stretching around my girth as she worked me into her mouth inch by inch. I could feel the wet heat of her tongue sliding along the underside of my cock, the gentle scrape of her teeth, the way her throat constricted when she took me deeper than I thought possible.

How the hell is she—She hollowed her cheeks and sucked, and my vision went white.

“Holy shit!”