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He explores me with his tongue, testing me with long, slow strokes and hard, fast ones.
He licks me up and down.
Then he finds the spot where I need him and he tests me there.
A little harder, a little higher, a little faster, a little slower.
There.
I dig my hands into his hair. "Fuck, Tricky. Don't stop."
He gives me exactly what he needs. He works me with perfect, steady flicks of his tongue.
Soft and wet and perfect.
My eyes close.
My hips buck.
My hands knot in his hair.
The rest of the world fades away until all I feel is anticipation. His soft wet tongue against me, his hands against my thighs, his movements winding me tighter and tighter.
Closer and closer.
Until it's almost too much to take.
Then I'm there, groaning his name as I come, my entire body wracked with bliss.
The entire world, a place of pure, white bliss.
He works me through my orgasm, then he presses his lips to my thigh. Only he doesn't move on. He gives me a moment to catch my breath then he brings his mouth to me and he drives me to the edge again.
I come hard and fast. It's too much, too painful, but it's not enough either.
I need more.
I need him inside me.
"I'm ready," I tug at his hair.
He kisses his way up my body and reaches for something on his dresser. The condom.
"No. I'm ready," I say. "If you are."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. If you're not—"
"I am," he says.
"Then please."
He nods and undoes his jeans.
I push them off his hips then wrap my hand around his cock. There's a visceral, physical pleasure to the sensation, but there's more too.
A desire to feel every part of him.
