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“Where are you going?” I ask lazily.
“Thirsty,” he replies, as if that answers a question.
I soon realize what he means with his mouth on my stomach, tracing wet, obscenely loud kisses down the front of my pussy.
“Are you sure?” I breathe.
He spreads me open again, and I flush a deeper red, knowing this is the first time he’s seen all my business. Sure, he touched it. He fucked me until I went limp. But now he’s just …down there…staring at it.
And kissing it. And licking it. My tender flesh explodes with sensation.
“I’m sure,” he says, “that I want to clean you up with my mouth.”
Having no frame of reference, I scramble my memory banks of everything I read about leading up to this, and I don’t remember anyone talking about oral, post intercourse.
I have no playbook for this.
“Oh my god,” I moan as he slips his tongue inside me.
He groans against my flesh, and I think I vibrate from head to toe.
I can smell our shared scent permeating the air of this room.
Does he really like this, or is he just being nice?
“Harley?”
He lifts his head, a trace of annoyance in his expression that he quickly corrects. I swoon at the sight of his glazed mouth, chin and nose. “Um, you don’t have to.”
“I know.”
“I…you made me come twice; there’s no way I’ll get off a third time. I just don’t want you wasting your time.”
He tilts his head. “Have you considered that I like doing this. That I maybe selfishly enjoy eating your pussy?”
No, this never occurred to me. “You do?”
“Baby, you taste like cotton candy, and I’m addicted to your sugar. No time spent between those pretty thighs is a waste. I want it. I fucking need it.”
My entire body shudders at the intensity in his gaze as he dips his head down again.
Rough fingers spread me open, and I could be wrong, but I think I hear him mutter something like, “There she is…ready and waiting for the third coming.”
Oh my god, what?
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry because he’s both so silly and so freaking talented with those lips, that tongue…
Well, he can certainly try his best. And I definitely won’t complain about it in the meantime.
Harley’s hand travels over my stomach while he feasts on me, squeezing my curves as if memorizing my freckles and moles, my joints, my fleshy bits.
I’m overcome with the urge to touch myself, and I end up pinching my nipple so hard that I cry out with the delicious pain of it. The pinch subsides, and a flush of heat skitters over my skin.
Harley’s eyes widen, and his gaze is avid. He comes up and watches for a moment, his chest heaving, his face pink, his lips and scruff glazed over.
I can feel his ragged breath against my thigh, wafting over my most sensitive parts.
The pleasure he’s built in me for a third time grows into a desperate need. It grows and expands like two ends of a rubber band being pulled in opposite directions. I feel my pleasure growing, and I don’t want it to end, but I ache for the satisfying snap.
