“Using my tongue to spell your name on your cunt.”
He did make that promise long back. About spelling my name on my pussy if I agreed to be his. Only I was a fool back then who thought I wanted him to call me by my name instead of the name he gave me. Plus, he’s right. I totally missed most of the sensations when he licked me that night to clean my blood off, so I can’t wait to properly feel it when I’m awake.
So I don’t say anything after that. I don’t even think Icanthinkanything after that, especially when he goes ahead and nuzzles his nose in my pussy. Or rather my wet and sticky panties. He takes a whiff of them, and I moan like he’s gone ahead and licked me. God knows what I’ll do when he actually does that.
I don’t have to wait too long to find out though, because he smells my core one more time, groans loudly, making me moan again and jerk in his hold, and then he gets down tobusiness. He keeps me secure on his corded, mountain-like shoulders and pushes the crotch of my damp panties aside. I’ve felt that sensation so many times that my pussy recognizes his fingers. I know what his rough skin and smooth nails feel like dragging across the most tender part of me, his thick and long fingers skimming my core, going up and down, making everything sloppy and steamy. And he’s watching himself do it. He’s watching his fingers play with my pussy from only inches away . And he likes it so much that his cheeks have become all flushed. That his frame is shuddering with every breath he takes, his stubble raking against my inner thigh.
But I didn’t count on the fact that when he loses his patience and playtime is over, he’ll look up and our eyes will clash. He’ll close the distance between his mouth and my wet, pulsing core and take a long, slow swipe with his tongue. And well, I come.
Just from one lick of his tongue. Or maybe it was because he did it while staring into my eyes shamelessly, almost defiantly. Or maybe it was the flash of his sharp white teeth when he opened his mouth. Because that truly made him look like an animal. A vicious viper with poison in his veins.
Whatever it is, I lose control, and he feels it. Because he groans and his laps become faster, as if he’s soaking everything with his tongue, and when it gets flooded because all of this is making me come even more, he closes his mouth around my tight, clenching hole and drinks me down right from the tap, right from the source, and God, why does that have to be so sexy, him gulping me down in thick, noisy swallows and then making the most satisfied noises. Slurps and groans and smacks like this is the best thing he’s ever tasted. Just like my mouth. Although he may like my pussy better than my mouth because his noises are louder and the way his frame is shaking makes me think he’s got an earthquake inside of him.
I’d be worried about him at this. I would be. But the thing is I’m more worried about myself, because my orgasm isn’t stopping. It’s not stopping at all. In fact, it keeps rolling through my body in giant waves. It keeps pulsing out of my core and he keeps drinking it down. He keeps sucking on me, playing with my clit, French kissing my pussy like he said he would. I also think he spells my name out on my clit with his tongue but I can’t be sure. I can’t be sure of anything except that I need him to stop now. I need it to stop.
So I pull at his hair, trying to move him away from me, as I moan, “I can’t… I can’t, Shepard. I…”
But he doesn’t listen. If anything, he grabs my ass even harder and jerks me into his mouth. Ifanything, he thrusts his tongue inside my hole and licks me from the inside and oh my God, I explode. I practically explode, or my pussy does, and I feel my orgasm bursting out. Squirting out of me, my hips twisting and jerking, my thighs shaking around his face, my toes curling to the point that I feel a cramp coming on.
Still, he doesn’t stop. He eats me out through my squirting orgasm and makes me whine and moan and sob, causing my mind to go numb and making my body a convulsing, spasming mess. I lose count of how many times he makes me come when suddenly, he’s up and his mouth, instead of wreaking havoc on my pussy, is on my mouth and I’m tasting myself. I’m kissing my orgasm on his lips and his tongue, all tart and musky. I’m even burying my fingers in my juices that apparently flew everywhere and landed on his jaw, his cheeks, even his throat, dripping down to his t-shirt.
Again, I’d stop to wonder about all this, about how crazily I came all over him, but I don’t have the capacity for it. My body is still spasming from the residual orgasm, or rather orgasms, my hips randomly jerking in his arms. Plus, he’s making me taste myself in a kiss that has to be our sloppiest yet. It’s allwet and slippery and drooling. Quite possibly because I have no control over my trembling mouth and he’s making everything deliberately wet. He’s pushing his saliva into my mouth and it’s all ending up dripping from our jaws. And on top of all this, he’s plastered me to his chest, opened the door and is now taking me away from my room. Like that night at the party, he’s taking me somewhere, and I know wherever it is we’re going, he’s going to get me there safely.
And he does.
I think we’re in his room, or rather the room he moved into when me and my sister moved in. It’s upstairs; I felt him climb up the stairs as he kept kissing me. And now from what I can feel, he’s striding toward his bed. Sure enough, a few seconds later I feel his sheets at my back. I feel him coming over me, settling over me like a warm blanket. Only this blanket instead of being soft and dewy is hard and muscled, and I love it more than I can love anything else in this world.
It takes quite a while for us to break our kiss and for my hot and flushed, still-orgasmic body, to calm down. When I’m not still trembling or jerking at odd intervals, he untangles our mouths and moves slightly up. Slowly, I open my eyes and look at him. For the first time since he started eating me out. I wonder if I look the same, like he does. All mussed-up hair and pupils blown wide. Flushed cheeks and wet, swollen lips.
His strokes his thumb down my cheek and whispers, “Welcome back.”
I lick my swollen, sore lips. “Did I… pass out?”
His eyes go liquid as he shakes his head. “Close.”
I blink and remember something, the most important thing. “Your knees…”
“Are fine,” he says softly but sternly.
“But—”
“Let’s worry more about you.”
And I want to shake him for doing that, for always putting me first. But first, I don’t think I have the strength. I’m barely able to fist his t-shirt; and second, I don’t want to argue with him right now. I hated being away from him for the last two days, and while I know he’s appeared out of nowhere—and we’ll talk about him flying over from New Orleans—I’m sure he needs to leave soon, because he’s due in Florida sometime tomorrow for his next game.
So all I do is grumble, “It’s your fault.”
“Yeah,” he says, but doesn’t look very sorry.
“That was intense.”
“That was the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen.”
I blush, my channel pulsing with the memory of what he made me do. “I didn’t know I could do that.”
He rubs his thumb over my blush. “Thank fuck, you can.”
“Why?”
