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He snarled as he plundered my mouth, rougher than he’d been before, and I loved it. I loved how he devoured me and explored me and tasted me. I loved feeling like I was a bowl of ice cream he needed to eat before it melted. I loved being the cherry pie he always ordered, wanting him to feast on me.
He didn’t savor and caress—he consumed me.
Whole.
His cock continued tunneling along my sex, making me feel all kinds of things that had me whimpering into his mouth as he stole my breath and replaced it with his own.
With the pressure of his cock against my clit, I was seconds away from…something.
I thought it was an orgasm, but it was so different from the ones I experienced on my own that I didn’t think it could be.
Normally, they weren’t like this.
They didn’t feel so good.
So strong.
So powerful.
When it exploded or imploded inside me—I had no idea which—I cried out, tearing my mouth from his, head falling back as I let the pleasure roar through me, screaming with the glory of it, the sheer joy of knowing whatthisfelt like at long last.
His mouth sank toward my throat, and that was his next feast. The contrast of his stubble, the hard graze of it with his lips, the soft caresses, had me moaning even more as it made every nerve ending along my spine stand to attention.
“I’m clean,” he whispered against the tender flesh of my neck.
I could smell his body wash—
Oh.
Oh.
Stupid, stupid.
“Me too,” I whimpered like he didn’t already know that. Like my virginity wasn’t a massive clue.
With another growl, he reached between us, taking his dick away and replacing it with his hand.
As he sucked and nibbled, marking me with a hickey that, tomorrow, I’d wear with pride, his fingers toyed with my clit before they sank down to my slit.
When he pushed one inside, I gasped, mouth agape as I sucked in air like it was in short supply while he carried on moving down, lips working on my breasts, the nipples being teased and taunted by his teeth and tongue.
One finger stretched me, then another circled the hole before he thrust the tip into me.
He bit my nipple, enough that it hurt, and as I yelped, he pushed the second finger into me entirely. The burn was real, but so was the sting from my breast.
“Ouch,” I squealed, wriggling around on the bed.
His hand squeezed my wrists. “Be still.”
I pouted. “That hurt.”
“My dick’s a lot bigger than my fingers, sweet girl,” he rumbled, but he was laughing—it vibrated against my breast.
That felt good.
Almost as good as the orgasm he’d just gifted me without even doing all that much work.
Ten minutes with my fingers and watching porn on Twitter, and I was huffing on the mattress, trying and failing to climax.
