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I want everything, all the touching, all over, but that’s only because Alden’s hands, parting my legs and opening me up to him, feel absolutely divine, and it’s short-circuiting my brain all over again. My heart is beating so hard that it could be a jackhammer or some other cement-demolishing tool in there. He bends his head and proves to me, with a single hot kiss over my lace-clad core, that magic is possible, and it does indeed exist. I’m so wet that I know that scrap of lace is totally soaked. When Alden hums low in his throat and licks his lips, it confirms the fact. And it just about gives me a heart attack because what could possibly be sexier than him licking me off his lips? I dare you to come up with something. I just dare you.
When he glances up at me, his eyes are dark. Not haunted. Just dark. He lets me see that, lets me see the most intimate parts of him before he goes back to admiring the most intimate parts of me.
He kisses me over the lace again, and my hips arch up into his face. I’m not sure if he’s ever going to take those stupid panties off, and I really would like them off. My hands go to rip them clean off, but his hands stop mine, resting gently over them until they are still. I moan in frustration, but that moan changes tune really quickly when Alden moves my panties aside with one hand and tastes me.
He doesn’t taste me timidly, just a lick to my clit or a dabble here or there. No, he tastes me with the full-on intensity of a pie-eating competition. He licks me from my entrance all the way up to my clit, sighing in pure male appreciation as he swallows down the taste of my essence. His tongue is pure gold. Gold, people. Gold. He licks me hard, holding my trembling thighs and panties all with one big hand, the other hand resting on my stomach, not to press me down, but to ground himself, to feel every ache and spasm and tremble that rips through me.
My hips arch and buck under his hand. His tongue does more wild, punishing things to me before he suddenly stops. I stop, too, in the middle of a hip thrust. I let out a yelp of surprise and frustration.
“Don’t stop,” I command bossily. “I mean, I’d really like it if you kept going.”
“I’ll keep going,” he whispers darkly. Thickly. Deviously. “If you show me what you like.”
Oh my god. Does that mean touching myself? Yes, I think it means touching myself. Oh god. With anyone else in full daylight, I wouldn’t have the courage, but Alden has already laid himself bare in ways that have nothing to do with the physical. Hard, sad, painful ways. I can do something as simple as touching my own body while he watches, can’t I?
He stops his wonderful tongue action and crazy good finger massages and waits. Slowly, my hand travels the length of my body, past my ribs and belly, before stopping at the juncture of my thighs. I’m shocked to feel how warm I am and even more shocked to find out just how wet. My panties are sodden. And the bed below me is soaking wet. Have I ever been this wet in my life?
I hesitantly touch myself at first, slowly massaging my clit, but then, when his tongue returns and starts tasting me, dipping into my entrance to fill me, I stop worrying about it maybe looking stupid from where he is or things being not-so-right, comically out of beat, or just…I don’t know…sex-with-the-lights-on style mortifying.
I touch myself slowly, savoring every bit of it. When his tongue pushes against my fingers, I retreat, letting him circle my clit. He sucks gently, kissing it, and then slowly, his finger is there, asking permission, waiting for me to tell him it is okay. I curl my hips and mewl, wriggling against him, and yes, oh my fucking god. He fills me slowly, and the ache is so bright, perfect, coiling, and building that it actually hurts.
I can barely breathe past the tight, wound-up ache in my core. My body, it seems, doesn’t need oxygen. At least my hips don’t. They buck and thrash wildly against Alden’s hand and his mouth and chin, grinding against anything I can find to try and relieve the mounting pressure. He suckles my clit as I roll my hips, and his finger plunges deeper inside, filling my aching channel.
“Can I come?” I pant. “I think I’m going to come…Alden…” My hand is still down there, and I thrust it into his thick hair, grasping on just for something to hang onto.
“Absolutely,” he says thickly, with humor in his tone.
