His mouth.
And I’m fucking gone.
The moment his tongue hits my clit, it’s not pleasure, it’s obliteration.
There’s no lead-up. No slow burn. No gentle climb to the edge.
It’s a brutal, headlong crash into sensation that tears the breath from my lungs. My spine arches like a live wire’s been jammed down my back, hips jerking wildly as my body tries to escape the intensity, only to find out there’s no escape.
He doesn’t let me move.
Doesn’t let me breathe.
He wants me unhinged.
His hands are unforgiving, fingers locked around my thighs, spreading me open like I’m his to fuck, his to break, his to feedon. His grip is rough, possessive, bruising. He’s not holding me in place. He’s staking a claim.
And fuck, he’s not eating me out.
He’s devouring me.
Starving. Ferocious.
Like I’m the only thing he’s ever needed in his life.
Every flick of his tongue is calculated chaos. Flat, broad strokes that make me see white. Then a slow swirl, circling my clit like he’s branding it, learning it, owning it.
Then comes the flick. That precise, infuriating flick that turns my moan into a scream, my heartbeat into a riot.
Hot tongue.
Wet lips.
A kiss…so fucking dirty.
It’s obscene, the way he mouths at me. Kissing my pussy like it’s sacred and filthy at the same time. Like he worships it. Like he needs it.
Sloppy, possessive, starved.
Over and over and over again…
flick
lick
circle
suck
kiss
moan
repeat.
But then the rhythm stops. He pulls back. Drives me to the edge and then fucking abandons me there, panting and ruined, drenched and shaking.
I whimper. It’s humiliating. My thighs are trembling, my pussy is throbbing, aching, soaked, needy.
