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He gives it to me, his tongue searching everywhere. Leaving no spot untouched. I’m gasping for air, struggling to breathe, my eyes tightly shut and my hips moving in tandem with his thrusting tongue. He licks one spot in particular and a loud moan escapes me. He licks it again.
Another moan falls from my lips and I arch my back, lifting my hips.
He concentrates on that spot, licking and sucking so enthusiastically that maybe I should be embarrassed but I’m not. It feels too good, too magical, too otherworldly. Like I’m about to have an out of body experience. And when he slides his finger inside me, slowly thrusting in and out, the suction of his mouth rightthere, that’s all it takes.
I’m falling apart. Broken into tiny little pieces, my body shaking almost violently. He never lets up, his mouth zeroed in on that one spot still, his fingers thrusting hard. Harder. A keening cry sounds and I realize it’s coming from me.
When I collapse on the bed, I have a hard time catching my breath. I lie there like my body has turned to liquid. A puddle of bones and flesh in the center of the mattress. He eventually lifts away from me, his mouth gentle. Dropping little kisses on the inside of my thighs, making me tremble. A kiss for one hipbone, then the other. Until he’s sliding up, up. His face in mine, his mouth on mine, the taste of me still on his lips.
I kiss him as if I can’t get enough, my tongue licking, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. He pins me down and I revel in the sensation of his fingers clamped tightly around my wrists, my arms above my head. When he lifts away, he stares down at me, his brows lowered, his gaze roaming over my face. Like he can’t quite believe he’s got me in this position.
“You liked that.” It’s not a question.
My nod is slow, my body suddenly languid. Like my limbs are made of concrete and I can’t lift them. He kisses me again and I let him, lost in the glide of his tongue, the way I can still taste myself on his mouth and it tugs at something deep inside me. Making me want him again.
Making me want to do the same for him that he just did to me.
Reaching out, I rest my hand on his belt buckle, somehow undoing it with still quaking fingers. He doesn’t stop me. I know he wants me to do this. He’s been wanting it for what feels like forever, but he’s been so patient with me. He cares about my feelings and my wants and needs and my fears and insecurities. He’s the most thoughtful person I’ve ever met, which is hilarious because our first interactions? He was terrible. A nightmare.
A menace.
Mean and cruel, he said the worst things. Lashing out at me for whatever reason until eventually…
He became—direct quote from his mouth—obsessed with me. And I, in turn, have become obsessed with him.
Arch rolls over onto his back, folding his arms behind his head, watching me with an almost amused expression on his handsome face as I fumble with the front of his uniform pants. He doesn’t offer to help and I don’t expect him to. I’m full of too much determination to make this happen on my own, without his assistance.
Why, I’m not sure, but I can stand on my own two feet and I want to prove that to him.
Eventually the belt is undone and so is the button and the zipper. He’s lifting his hips, kicking off his shoes and when he’s finally lying there with the unbuttoned shirt still on along with his boxer briefs and socks, I can’t help but think he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.
He's all mine too.
Greedily, I run my hands all over him, shoving at his shirt until he’s shrugging out of it, tossing it on the floor. I map his flesh with my hands and fingers, silently marveling at the defined muscles of his arms and shoulders. His chest and stomach. His body is beautiful.
Perfect.
I touch him everywhere I can with my mouth. My tongue. Nip at his flesh with my teeth. I wish I could take a bite of him. Consume him…
I’m too caught up in my thoughts and my wants and needs to focus on much else, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s reaching for me too. His fingers sift through my hair, getting tangled in the strands, and I savor the gentle tug. The soft massage of his fingertips on my scalp, until I’m out of his reach and I mourn the loss of his touch instead. I race my lips across the flat expanse where the waistband of his briefs lies against his flesh, feeling him tremble beneath my mouth. Does anyone ever kiss him there?
I hope not. I want it to be my spot. Mine.
Just like he is.
THIRTY-SEVEN
ARCH
I lick my lips,the taste and scent of Daisy’s pussy still lingering, and I close my eyes, concentrating on how good it feels, her hands and mouth all over me. She came to me with zero expertise and while we’ve messed around pretty often, this is the first time we’ve ever gone this far.
Her excitement and eagerness more than make up for any lack of experience she might have and I lie there and take it. The soft strokes and the gentle touches. Her fingers streak across my rib cage and stomach, her index finger circling around my navel. Most of my clothes are off, while most of hers are still on and I screwed up there. I should’ve stripped her naked. But I’d been too eager to get my mouth on her pussy to think about all the small details.
It had been worth it, my eagerness. Watching her come undone was the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed. It always is. I think back on the other girls I’ve been with. A couple of quick fumbles and maybe three pumps before I was coming in my very early days of sexual activity. I was sixteen and had no idea what I was doing.
Gathered some finesse as I got older but I’m starting to realize that the other girls—cough—Cadence—cough, were faking that shit when I went down on them.
Not Daisy. She’s so fucking responsive, just hearing her moan nearly has me jizzing in my pants. The girl is teaching me that I need to learn how to control myself.
