A distant, far away part of my brain is screaming at me to remember why I’m avoiding him, to pull away, push him back out of my life. But that voice is distant now, and the rest of me is all too happy to ignore it as I let him hold me in his arms, draw me closer to his body.
For now, I think, gazing up into his eyes, I can forget practicality. Forget what I should do, and instead, focus on what I really want.
On who I really want.
14
Cassidy
Images blur behind my closed eyelids. A car door slamming. An apartment door slamming open, with me pinned against it, my legs around a solid, steady torso. Lark’s mouth on mine, on my throat, my collarbone, my chest.
The kitchen counter, where we sent pots and pans flying in our haste for him to set me on top of it and push between my thighs again.
Then the living room couch where we stumbled afterward, still entangled, my lips on him now, tracing my way down the smooth, hard planes of his torso until I reached the fine V that led to between his legs. Kissing every inch of his cock before I so much as licked his length, enjoying the way his shaft clenched and shuddered at my touch, and the way he inhaled his breath between his teeth, sharp and desperate.
I sucked him into my mouth, licked and pulled until he came apart shouting my name.
Then the shower, his bed. Him again, between my thighs, for so long and hard I ached by the end of it, but a pleasant, bone deep kind of ache that I never want to lose.
And now… my eyes detect the pinkish glow of dawn approaching. I’m vaguely aware that wherever I am is warm and comfortable. A lot warmer and more comfortable than my apartment be at this hour of the morning, with its shitty heating system and my thin blanket.
Then, belatedly, I register the sensation of lips on my skin. At my hipbone now, followed by a tongue tracing a searing line across my belly to delve into my navel. It flicks on its way back out, making me shiver and burrow deeper into the blankets around me, the pillow so soft it engulfs half my face when I twist against it.
The lips move lower. Kiss a fine line from my navel down to the shaved clean mound. Then the tongue returns to trace a searing, white hot line along the curve where my legs meet my hips, tracing the crevice.
I moan a little and shift, so I’m lying flat on my back, prone and open. My legs are already parted, but I feel warm hands cup my calves and press them wider apart. I feel the weight of the bed shift beneath my hips, then warm hands slide beneath me to grip my ass. Cupping, more like, almost gently. But so, so warm.
And the tongue again, tracing each of the lips of my pussy in turn, taking it slow. So slow that by the time the tongue presses between the folds of those lips, I’m groaning, my hips arching up off the bed of their own accord. The hands on my ass tighten, pull me farther upward, and then a whole mouth presses against my pussy, wide open and hot, hot, hot.
The tongue traces the full length of my slit, back to front, hesitating just before reaching the throbbing, aching point of my clit. It runs back along my length again, and returns to swirl around my pussy entrance, licking, teasing.
“Please,” I moan through gritted teeth, not even sure if I’m awake right now or dreaming still. Not caring either way.
The tongue presses inside me so, so slowly. I twist against it, try to press upward, thrust my hips against that hot mouth. But the hands shift from my ass up to my hips, pinning me down. In control.
This isn’t my game; it’s his, and I sink back to the mattress, obedient. Enjoying the feeling of relinquishing control over my body, if only for a little while.
His tongue pushes all the way inside my pussy. Then it does a slow twirl inside me, licking, tasting, testing. When the tip of his tongue grazes over my G-spot, I gasp and buck. Then there’s a soft chuckle, hot breath against my wet pussy, and his tongue curls up, the tip digging into that sensitive spot.
It flicks back and forth, back and forth. Slow and strong. So damn sure.
I moan again, longer and louder this time. His tongue keeps moving, right over that spot, circling, pressing, digging. My hands move on their own, slide down over the comforter to clench fistfuls of the blanket. My back arches, my hips dug into the mattress still, and I’m sweating, panting for breath, as the pressure builds behind my navel, my hipbones.