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What the hell was this?
I’d been licked out before but…now I realised the difference between an amateur and an artist.
His finger joined his tongue, teasing around my entrance, pushing through my lips. I bucked my hips up to him. More. More.
He chuckled, the vibrations rumbling through my core. “Greedy girl.”
He pushed his finger in, slowly. I was so wet he slid right in. So needy my body just pulled him in.
He let out a hiss. “You’re so fucking wet.”
It wasn’t enough. Where the ache had been was now filled with him, but the ache just seemed to grow, to expand.
I moaned, my fingers curling into the sheets, my hips bucking of their own accord. “Another,” I begged.
“Are you s—”
“Another.”
He pulled out and I felt a second finger at my entrance. He eased them both in. This time I clenched around him, revelling in the sensation of being parted, of being filled.
“Yes,” I hissed, giving him permission before he asked for it. Begging him.
He began to slide his fingers in and out of my pussy. At the same time, his tongue flicked left to right on my clit.
Sensation ricocheted around my body as my muscles tightened, as my mind went spiralling out of control. I grabbed his head, threading my fingers through his hair now damp with sweat.
I lifted my head to look at him. He looked like a god staring at me over my mound, his face and fingers buried in my pussy. I tugged at his head, a silent demand.
He lifted an eyebrow even as his fingers and tongue stilled. A question. Or perhaps he wanted to torture me. To make me say it. To make me beg.
“Please.” My voice was a pathetic whimper.
He didn’t move. That cursed eyebrow stayed lifted.
I let out a growl. “Please. Fuck me.”
There was a long pause. I felt, rather than saw, him swallow. “You want to be fucked, little girl?”
“Hard.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” I grabbed for him, tried to pull him up over me. But he wouldn’t budge.
“Not like that, baby,” he said. “Not yet.”
Before I could yell in frustration, he began to move again. This time there was an edge to the way his tongue lapped at me, sucked at me. A hardness to the way his fingers thrust into me.
It was going to be my undoing.
“Oh God,” I cried out. I could barely think as he fucked me with his fingers, as he angled them in a way that hit that sensitive spot inside me, over and over, unrelentless pounding, demanding my release, the tension growing like a sun about to explode. His thrusts increasing in pace until the bed was shaking, until every nerve in my body was on fire, until a scream uncoiled inside me.
An orgasm roared through me. Like being slammed by a wave. I was crushed under it, unable to breathe for one long glorious moment.
When I fell back to earth, I was afraid my broken tattooed angel would be gone.
When I blinked, I found him not between my legs, but by my side. He was sitting up against the bedhead and had pulled me alongside him, my head on his bare chest.
