Page 75 of Heavy
I draw my fingers out of her and slide them directly into my mouth. Her taste explodes on my tongue, and I groan. It feels like it was crafted just for me. The very sustenance I’ve been craving. Like water to dry soil, without it, I’ll wither, becoming nothing more than dust scattered by the wind.
I'm beginning to think she was made for me in every way. As her hands shift, I wait, ready to command her to place them behind her back—but I don’t need to. She leans forward, pulls her shoulders back, and slides her hands behind herself without a word from me.
The moment I’m going to praise her, she opens her mouth and pokes her tongue out.
Fucking Christ,I’m done for.
“My slut wants to taste herself?”
“Please,” she says breathlessly.
I bring my tongue down to her cunt and collect her cum into my mouth, which elicits her legs to twitch along with sultry music from her lips. It surprisingly takes great effort to not keep eating her out, because damn why does she taste so good?
When I come to stand, I grab her cheeks to angle her up and spit what I’ve taken onto her tongue. It rolls back and she swallows it before I slam my mouth against hers. I need more, and I’m determined to have it.
Calista is mine.
All mine.
24
Calista
AmIhighrightnow?
Maybe I am because I can barely breathe, and I feel like I’m floating. I haven’t smoked weed in a long time, but this might as well be the same sensation.
My chest heaves, trying to center myself from probably the best orgasm I’ve had in my life. The way he talks to me is something I’ve never experienced, and it was like each word crawled between my thighs, vibrating my clit right under my own fingers.
I’ve always begged my previous partners to tie me up, spank me, choke me; all those physical acts that most would deem vile, but never had I thought degradation would be my sin of choice. The one I’m in desperate need of.
I’m treated like a doll—a princess, something that’s fragile during the day. I’m not, and I don’t care if I break. Iwantto break. Especially if it’s in Ronan’s grip, under his tongue, between his finger. As long as it’s him that pulls me to Hell, I’ll gladly burn just to mix our ashes so there is no telling us apart.
“You must not use Big Bertha much.” A pressure builds right at my soaked center causing my back to curve instantly. His fingers dip, not too deep but enough that when he curls them up, he brushes against that spot that forms a knot in my stomach. “This cunt is so tight.”
A whimper rolls from my closed lips.
“Lean forward,” he whispers against my lips just as his free hand dips under my ass and lifts me from the couch. I do as he commands, pressing my chest against his. It’s instinct to want to wrap my arms around his neck because he keeps his fingers inside of me, and gives me no support at my back.
My legs tighten around him which has my hips rolling and bringing his fingers further inside. “Oh, fuck!” I don’t even contemplate the action; my forehead presses against his shoulder as my teeth sink right above his collarbone.
He tenses, and so do I. My hands have always been the issue, I’m not sure what parts he doesn’t want me to use to touch him.
There was just a moment of pause, then he slides his fingers out of me and holds his hand at the small of my back. He walks us, not far, only to sit on the couch which he falls right into it, setting me in his lap.
I’m not even entirely sure why but I don’t want to lean back. It could be fear of what I’ll see, maybe disappointment that I’ve not been good or gone too far.
“You’re fine.” He puts his hand to my stomach and slowly, as though mapping me inch by inch, draws it up between my breasts. Applying just a small amount of pressure, he pushes me back before his hand comes to tenderly grip my throat.
“Tell me what not to do,” I say, swallowing, which causes him to tighten his grip on my neck.
“How about I tell youwhatto do, baby girl.” He wets his bottom lip and spreads his legs ever so slightly while adjusting mine to better settle right at his hips.
His eyes slowly move from my face to my neck, then to my breasts where I watch his gaze shift from desire straight to lust. They hyper-focus, and as he trails down to my pussy, which I’ve kept free of hair minus a little patch, he draws his tongue across his top teeth.
“Pick a handprint,” he says, moving his hand from around my neck to draw it up to my chin.
I scan his torso, his shoulders, and all the places I touched last night. Most of the smeared paint is at his stomach, the more intact ones are on his upper body, where I was meticulously keeping my touch there longer.
