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The scruff on his cheeks is rough against my inner thighs, in a good way. I might even enjoy it if the circumstances were different. “Is this what I have to do to show you what you mean to me?”
I can barely hold back a whimper of... what? Anger? Dismay?
Arousal? Because here's the thing—stroking my legs, pressing his lips to my inner thighs, lapping at them— what he's doing to me feels good. All I can do is lie here, staring at the ceiling, questioning everything I thought I knew about myself when telltale heat spreads through my core, moistening my pussy.
His throaty chuckle tells me he notices the change. “At least some part of you knows what's best for it.”
My body freezes up when he parts my lips with his fingers, but dammit, I can’t bring myself to tell him to stop. Not when his breath feels so exquisite against my sensitive flesh.
His ragged breathing betrays his excitement. “So pretty. Pink and fresh and sweet.” His thumb circles my clit, and, God help me, there's no silencing the moan that stirs deep in my chest. I'm too weak. I don't stand a chance when he's determined to break me down with his skillful touch.
“Don't be stubborn,” he mutters, and even the tiny vibrations from his lips make my toes curl. “Admit what you want. Take it. It's yours. I'm yours.” I barely register what he's saying when the way he plays with me leaves me panting, my traitorous body straining against his tongue as he swirls it through my slickness.
He's right. My body knows what it wants; what it wants more than anything right now is pleasure. Release.
The flat of his tongue travels the length of my slit, delving in deep, parting my inner folds, and invading my entrance, pushing in deep. When I seize up, my back arching against this new burst of sensation, he rewards me by slowly, rhythmically fucking me, going as deep as his tongue can reach.
His greedy little noises, his grunts and moans, touch an even deeper place inside me. They bring me to life, waking me up to something more intense, darker than mere pleasure. Hearing him, the way he clearly gets off on tasting me. The worderoticisn't one I've ever used when it comes to myself, but it's the word that comes to mind as I begin to writhe because I can't help it, I can't stay still, this feels too good to hold back.
He chuckles against me when I lift my hips, rolling them, and he responds by withdrawing from my cunt—only to replace his tongue with one finger, then two. Now he can go deeper. Now he can stroke my walls while using his tongue on the bundle of nerves threatening to kill me here and now. It’s aching, pulsing, demanding.
Little by little, one stroke at a time, he strips me of my resolve, of any ounce of strength I had against what is so clearly unfolding. I'm helpless, moaning with abandon now, the pleasure intensifying with every skillful, deliberate lick, with every pressing of his fingers against my inner walls. My head rolls from side to side as an unintelligible string of moans pours out of me.
The pressure builds and builds, my hips bucking frantically, hands sliding over the satin sheets, pleasure flooding my system. It's coming, I know it is, I feel it, and as much as a small part of me still doesn't want to give him my orgasm, a much bigger part of me needs to. Right now.
“Oh God,” I moan, my body tensing, my legs closing around his head. When he clamps his lips around my clit and sucks it up between them, that’s it. I'm gone.
My hips shoot up from the bed while my thighs clamp tight around his head as I scream it out—bliss, yes, relief, release.
But there's more, too, so much more. Everything that's inside me. Confusion, anger, frustration with myself and with him and the situation, all of it pours out of me as the waves of bliss roll on and on until, finally, I'm left sinking into deep, dark oblivion
And I welcome it. I welcome the escape, however brief it may be.
His low chuckle rumbles through me, his mouth still locked onto my pussy. Now he slowly, carefully licks me clean, swirling his tongue around like he wants to catch every last drop, moaning like he's consuming a delicacy he's craved for far too long. Is this for real? Does he truly feel that way?
Why me?
That question lingers longest, still with me when I open my eyes, and the world comes rushing back. My cheeks are damp with tears I didn't realize were falling. Now I know what it must feel like to live through a tornado because that's how I feel. Like my whole world has been shaken up and I don't know where to start putting it back together.
“See?” He lifts his head, wearing a shit-eating grin. If the word self-satisfied had a physical form, he’d be it. “Once you get out of your own way, you know what you want. All you have to do now is take it.”
I'm too ashamed and confused to do anything but close my eyes and turn my face away. He leaves me like that, letting out a knowing little chuckle as he walks toward the door. “Why don't you rest while I get you something to eat? And drink—your throat must be sore from all that screaming.”
He didn't have to sound so smug about it. Like this is exactly how he knew it would go.
“And by the way.” The teasing note is gone from his voice now. “Your apartment is gone. Your few possessions are gone. It’s time to start building a new life.”
At least I manage to wait until he’s out of the room before I start crying again.
6
WARREN
“Today?” Winter’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at my announcement. “You want to go to the mall today, of all days?”
“Why not?”
“It's Christmas Eve,” she reminds me as if I had forgotten.
