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Flicking the hem of my babydoll up, he reveals my smooth, hairless mound. I started doing it this way at his request.
Cunnilingus is his thing.
Like, it’s really his thing.
Even though he brought me to a screaming orgasm with his luscious cock earlier, leaving me thoroughly wet and satiated, I know he likes a bit of afters. When it’s more potent.
He slides his long tongue through my tissues until he reaches my clit, barely tapping it, and he keeps repeating this motion, over and over again. Licking the length of me from opening to clit, even nibbling sometimes on my vulva and mons pubis, making a meal of me indeed.
“You really do taste the best.”
I shake my head. A flash ofhimsaying the same thing pops into my mind.
Although they all might say that to every woman they go down on.
After all the teasing, when he begins thrusting his tongue into me, that’s when I start to get a little crazy. It’s being kept constantly on edge and never knowing when you’re going to tip over the precipice and ride the rollercoaster down the mountain. Honestly, I don’t know how he does this. He’s so good. He’s the don. He knows when to use the tip of his tongue, or when to fatten it widthways instead… and especially when to lick like a fiend, over and over again, until you come…
I shake on the bed, thrusting up to him, and he sucks at my entrance and from my clit, making it go on and on and on. I’m floating. I have no complaints.
I’m still lying here a mess, barely covered, when I peek one eye open and see he’s got dressed, suit and dress coat and everything. He stares at what’s between my legs with hunger and regret, perhaps temptation, but shakes himself out of his longing.
“I’m going to miss you, a lot,” he says, not staring at me but still at my sex, licking his lips heartily. “See you next year.”
I realise as the door slams, he never even gave me a Christmas card or a silly, novelty gift. Even a Christmas pudding for one would’ve sufficed.
Looking down at all the liquid smeared between my thighs, I say to my own sex, “Well, you got your Christmas present, didn’t you? And it appears he’s only interested in appealing to you, not me!”
I laugh for a while, then I run the bath, pour wine… and try to ignore the card from Albie that came through the door yesterday. It went straight in the bin when I realised who it was from.
It’s still in there, taunting me.
And his words:
Maybe one day, you’ll understand.
For now, sending my very best wishes.
Albie x x
Right now, all I understand is that he hurt me more than anyone else ever has or could.
Even more than my mum leaving me.
Yes, even more than that.
He took away my hope.
Chapter Two
“So, do you even know where he lives?” asks Kallie, who like me is fairly recumbent on the sofa, with snacks galore balancing precariously on her middle and between herself and the two-seater sofa arm. It really has been one of those years.
Christmas Eve evening and we’re having aDoctor Whomarathon. David Tennant, because, of course! The venue of our festive debauchery had to be my house because I’ve got the bigger TV. One year Albie didn’t know what to get me for Christmas, so I sent him a link for a fifty-inch flatscreen and hey presto. If I were less honest, I’d have sent him a link to a diamond bracelet and pawned it for cash, then bought myself a vehicle, since I still haven’t found the cash to run my own car around London. Not many can. The “severance” pay I got from Sharon went on clearing debts, buying myself a new wardrobe for my new job, and a little holiday to Thailand that was much-needed.
“No, only that he has a flat somewhere near Soho.”
“Ah, so he can afford to live near work… unlike us,” she chuckles.
“Well, I expect he can afford to be married with kids by now, so… hmm.”
