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“I’m gonna come!” she shouts, her ass jerking and jolting against me.
Through sheer force of will, I pull out and kneel behind her, sensing her climax will be a straight-up gusher. A geyser of delicious goodness. The ultimate trophy. I eat her gently for a moment, letting her come down. Teasing her. Making her beg for more. And when I feel her ramping up again, I slide my fingers inside her and stimulate her G-spot as I eat her. When I feel her inner muscles shudder and tighten, I pull back and tease her again, until she’s literally whimpering and begging me to fuck her. Over and over again, I take her to the edge and then back away. Over and over again, I pull her strings, letting her know I’m in control here. That every breath she takes, every moan she makes is exactly as I’m commanding.
Finally, I finger her while eating her with gusto. And when her body begins tightening sharply, when her moans become primal and pathetic, I let her go, pushing through those initial shudders without stopping, until I get what I want—a torrent of sweet, warm fluid gushing into my face. With a loud growl, I lick up my prize like a rabid dog, off her lips and inner thighs, the very taste of my trophy sending me to the bitter edge of ecstasy, without so much as a single touch to my cock.
When I’ve licked up the last drop of Laila’s cum, I pick her up and carry her slack body into the living room and straight to the couch. On the night of the hot tub, Laila mentioned she likes being on top. Well, then, let the woman ride my cock until we’re coming together.
I guide her on top of me as I lie on the couch and she immediately slams herself down and begins riding me like a feral animal. As she fucks me, I devour her breasts and nipples. Her neck and lips. I whisper into her ear that she’s mine now. That I own her body. I tell her she’s a dirty little freak who’s going to come for me again. And that tonight is just the beginning of what I’m going to do to her, while we’re living here together. I tell her she turns me on like nobody else. I whisper all the things I can only say out loud while fucking her. The things I can pass off as dirty talk, even though they’re the things I should have said on that sidewalk in New York. Or during the last month of the tour. Or backstage at the awards show. Or today in the fucking SUV. I say it all. And she groans and moans and throws her head back and fucks me hard.
When Laila starts making her most primal sounds, the ones I now recognize as the precursor to her losing control completely, I press down on her clit with my thumb while twisting her nipple, hard, with my other hand, and grit out, “Come, baby.” And I’ll be damned, Little Miss Freak comes again. For the fourth time. Like she’s a goddamned sex doll with a written pamphlet of instructions. This time, with a roar so glorious, it flash-boils the blood in my veins.
When my orgasm comes, it’s unlike any other I’ve experienced. So pleasurable, it momentarily blinds me. I’m not merely seeing God right now, I’m getting my cock sucked by him. And it feels fucking amazing.
With one last groan, Laila collapses on top of me, sweaty and panting, as my body finishes convulsing underneath her. I pull her head up by her hair and kiss her deeply and she grips my face and returns my kiss like I’ve just given her CPR after drowning.
When we break from our kiss, we stare at each other for a long moment, both of us dazed and breathless.
“Wow,” she says.
I nod. “That about covers it.”
She falls on top of me, breathing hard, and I stroke her back, half crowing to myself in victory and half freaking out. That wasn’t normal. In fact, if I’m being honest with myself, it was so damned abnormal, so damned good, as to be terrifying. Now that I know sex can be that good—now that I know the night of the hot tub wasn’t a fluke, but a preview—how will I ever want to fuck anyone else, as long as I live? The very thought makes me convulse with terror. Or, shit, maybe that’s just an after-shock from my insane orgasm.
“I’m hungry,” Laila says, sitting up. “Starving, actually.”
I exhale a long breath. I need to make this woman mine. I need to make it so she doesn’t want anything or anyone but me. I clear my throat. “Yeah, I’m pretty hungry, too,” I say calmly, trying desperately not to sound like the raving lunatic I’ve become. The madman hell-bent on making this woman as addicted to me as I am to her. I smile brightly. Like a sane, normal man might do, and say, “Let’s dig into that cioppino, eh? We’ll need to fuel up for rounds two, three, and four.”
