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I crush my mouth to Amalie’s, swallowing her scream, because she’s coming, too. It’s not a very coordinated kiss. It’s messy and teeth-clashing. It’s want and need. It’s possession. Hers and mine.
Twelve: After the Orgasms
Amie
Well, that just happened.
Lex is still kissing me. It’s slower now, soft, the frantic need having dissipated. I wait for guilt or regret to set in. Something to ruin the peacefulness of the moment, something to break the orgasmic bliss bubble I’m floating around in. But all I feel is the heavenly weightlessness that follows amazing sex.
Once in college I dated a guy for a few weeks who was amazing at sex. And by dated, I mean that we went out a few times and eventually got our fuck on. It wasn’t serious. I knew it never would be. By the time I hit college most of my relationships were casual dates, and if they moved into feelings territory I typically ended it. I never wanted to be my mother, always waiting for my dad to come back from a business trip only to fall apart and run away from him when he returned. It was a punishment for everyone, especially me.
But this man-boy of mine at the time was so, so pretty. And built. But under all the pretty was . . . nothing. No personality. No conversation skills. Just a beautiful outside and an empty inside, like opening a book with a fabulous cover to find the pages bereft of words. Blank page after blank page. It was such a disappointment. The only reason it lasted as long as it did was because he could screw like it was his profession. Actually, it probably should’ve been his job. He knew exactly how to move and every single time we had sex I came. It was amazing.
Except he only had one position. He was a one-trick pony. Any other position but missionary and the orgasm magic died. So no matter how pretty he was, I couldn’t continue to see him and his one-position magic man handle.
But Lex.
Lex.
He sets the bar so high I’m not sure anyone else can or will ever come close to what I just experienced.
I came three times. During sex. That’s like being told unicorns are real. And then actually seeing one.
My stomach rumbles, breaking the silence—well, silent apart from our heavy breathing and my barely audible residual moans every time I have an unexpected, but not unwelcome muscle clench below the waist.
Lex’s lips turn up against mine. The muscles in his shoulders pull tight and his chest flexes as he braces himself on his forearms. He’s sweaty, I’m sweaty, we’re both glistening from the exertion. I glance down, checking out his abs as they ripple. His body is unreal. He should never wear clothes again. Ever.
“Hungry?” He’s grinning.
“That was my vagina asking for more orgasms. We need to know how long it’s going to be before ‘Oh God’ can provide more of those.”
He laughs, then dips down to kiss my chin. “How about I order some food first and we can follow it with more orgasms?”
I purse my lips and consider the offer. I am hungry. “I suppose that would work.”
Lex lifts his hips and I raise mine, keeping the connection for another second or two before he eases out and removes the condom, tying it off and disposing of it. His gaze drops between my legs, which are spread shamelessly wide. He sucks in breath, tongue dragging over his bottom lip.
“On second thought . . .” He smoothes his hands down the inside of my thighs and presses a kiss to my knee.
I close my legs reflexively. “Are you sure you want to—” I don’t finish the sentence. Armstrong would never, ever even consider going to taco town unless I was fresh from the shower.
He pauses, eyes lifting. “Am I sure I want to eat your pussy? Fuck yes, is the answer to that, Amie. I’ve been thinking about it since the other night when you were mostly naked and under me. Unless you’re opposed to my eating you.”
Well then. I lift my hips encouragingly. “I’m definitely not opposed.”
“I didn’t think you would be.” He bites his way down the inside of my thigh, stopping to suck the skin a few times until it blushes a deep pink that might not fade by morning. Not that I care.
I don’t dare look away as those full lips reach the juncture of my thigh and then he brushes them gently over my swollen clit. I moan.
His eyes meet mine as his tongue flicks out, sweeping over the sensitive skin. I buck and grab the comforter, needing some kind of anchor. I have a feeling this man is going to be just as good with his tongue as he is with his cock.
And I’m 100 percent accurate about that. Lex alternates slow, leisurely strokes with sucking, and as soon as I think I’m on the verge of coming, he changes it up, pulls me away from the edge, only to bring me back again, higher and higher each time. When I try to lift my hips his grip on me tightens, and then his fingers—oh God—hit the right spot from inside while he tongues me. I’m so close.
This time I grab onto his hair to keep him where he is. “Make me come,” I order.
He’s stronger than me, by a lot. So it takes less effort than I’d like for him to force his head up while I continue to push down. When it’s clear I’m not going to succeed, I try lifting my hips, but he bars his tattooed arm across my stomach, keeping me pinned. As pretty as it is, I’m far too preoccupied to admire it the way I’d like to.
His smile is sinister. “What was that?”
“I’m so close.” Oh my God, I’m whining. But really, I was right there, my clit practically singing. He must be able to feel it, the way everything is tightening; a coiled spring pulled taut and ready to snap.
The fingers inside me withdraw.
I clench in an attempt to keep them where they are. “No!”
Lex’s chuckle is heavy. “Maybe you should ask nicely.”
I don’t think twice. Not when I’m right on the edge like this. Not when, for the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not responsible for my own goddamn orgasms. Not when I’m having the best sex of my life. “Please, Lex.”
That gets me one finger, which isn’t nearly enough.
“Please what?” His smirk is so infuriating.
I’m totally getting him back for this later. “Please make me come.”
I get a second finger and then a curl.
“Please. Oh God.”
He drops his head, his breath warm against my aching clit. Another finger.
“Fuck, Lex.”
I’m rewarded with the feel of his tongue, followed by teeth and the finger flutter and lastly, mind-bending suction. I come in waves, sensation rolls through me, Lex’s name a scream I can’t control, along with a slew of uncensored profanity. And the orgasm doesn’t stop, it keeps going, stealing my breath, cutting out sound, my vision going white with the intensity.
“My turn.”
I don’t have the time to process that comment, or come down from the insane orgasm high I’m riding. Before I can ask questions, or tell him he’s a god, I find myself being flipped over on my stomach, face mashed into the comforter, not because Lex is doing any mashing, but because my limbs are completely incapable of doing anything constructive since they are currently the consistency of pudding.
“Show me that ass.”
I yelp when that order is accompanied by a swift slap across my left cheek. Lex chuckles, a sound full of cocky arrogance and self-satisfaction. I’d make some kind of snarky retort but I’m still trying to figure out how to use my tongue for things other than random noises. Also, that was an astounding orgasm, so he has a right to be cocky about it.
