Page 64 of Great White
“Fuck, the way you touch me,” he mutters incoherently, and a savage little smile spreads across my face. If he likes my hand, just wait till I use my mouth.
I rip open the button on his jeans and shove them down as far as I can get them. Then, I push him off me. He rises to his knees, and I go in for an attack, grabbing his cock and swallowing the head. Tate shivers with a feral moan as I lick and suck, pushing him right to the brink of insanity.
“Fuck, Dove.” He shoves his fingers into my hair and grips the strands tightly, slowing my assault. “Not like this, baby. I want to come inside of you.” He thrusts his hips forward like he has no control. Like his mind is telling him one thing, but his body is demanding another. I slide his cock out of my mouth and gaze up at him with an impish expression. “You sure?” I swirl the tip of my tongue around his engorged head.
Tate breathes in and out so intensely, it looks like he is meditating on all the world's problems. As if they are all sitting right on his shoulders.
With the firm grasp he has on my hair, he gently pulls me up to bring our faces close. We are both now propped on our knees, mostly naked, and hungering for one another.
“If there is one thing I’m sure of . . .” He pauses, reading my eyes. The moment becomes heavy, way too heavy for a bout of just indulgent sex. Something inside me flutters. It makes me scared, excited, anxious, and aware of everything. Like all my senses have just become heightened with limitless energy. “You are my end.”
“That sounds passionately ominous.”
“It’s definitely passionate. It doesn’t have to be ominous.” He kisses me before I can analyze his response. It’s such a deep, rolling, affectionate kiss, I nearly forget what we are talking about. Tate urges me down onto my back. We both agree enough talking. Our bodies are screaming for each other. I’m so amped up I could implode if he doesn’t touch me soon.
After some quick work of our clothes, we are both bare, lust-filled, and consumed with desire.
The feel of skin on skin is like an awakening, and when Tate slides inside of me, I see the light. My entire being becomes paralyzed by him. His long, deep, hard strokes imprison me. I’m helpless. Trapped in a steel cage of pleasure as he lashes at the door with merciless blows. The tension reaches a high peak fast and furiously, everything building and bubbling inside me like a rumbling volcano.
“Tate, Tate, Tate,” I squeeze my eyes shut and expel, my voice vaporizing.
“All over me, baby, pour it all fucking over me.” His thrusts become harder and punchier, his pelvis grazing my swollen clit like an abrasive silk. When it starts to throb, I know the rush is close. Then, I lose my breath — no, it’s stolen from me, and I fall. Careen to my blissful death as the orgasm pours out of me and onto Tate just like he demanded.
“Yes, fuck, yes.” He feels it all. Every spasm and shudder and wet wave that washes out of me. My thunderous orgasm has barely passed when Tate pulls out of me and skates his lips down my body. He pulls my intolerably sensitive clit into his mouth and sucks, sending another shockwave through my system. I buck, but he keeps a strong hold on me, lavishing and licking until I’m shaking again, and the ache between my legs is riotous. It’s too soon, I haven't recovered.
“Tate, please. Oh God, please,” I pant, squirming all over the bed. I need some reprieve. A chance to catch my breath, but he’s relentless. Another orgasm brews, this one wilder and hotter than the one before. My pussy burns, and my skin is searing from the pressure building in the middle of my core. I arch back and grab the pillow, spreading my thighs to set the climax free. Slashing his tongue furiously, he sinks a finger inside me, and I shudder. I’m soaking wet and a centimeter away from exploding. Then, he finds the detonator, and it’s all over. I emit a sound that is both torturous and rapturous. The release as extreme and exquisite as I feared it to be. It just seems to keep going, current after current of pleasure electrifying me. In the depths of my torrent, Tate slams into me, the new sensation of fullness sending me to another level. We fuck hard and fast, riding the sexual superhighway until there is nothing left. Nothing left inside me anyway. Just as my body gives out, Tate groans in agony,“Oh shit,”grabbing my ass so hard he pinches it as his own release finally drags him under and drowns him in an ocean of ecstasy.
We’re both left shattered on the bed. No reason, rationale, or energy left.
Just transparency.
Just two people who gave everything and got everything in return.
These are the moments I feel closest to Tate. Unburdened by my past. Self-governing, and liberated to feel without consequence. The man has changed me without me even realizing it. And I have no idea how to express that.
When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are a tempestuous brown. There is so much swirling in his dark irises, I almost don’t want to know what it all means.
And I almost do.
“What?” I ask, my heart hammering.
Tate clings to me, grasping my face with one hand. He’s silent for way too long, then he drops a lingering kiss on my swollen lips. “Esta´s enredada con mi alma,” he whispers. “Cuando nos tocamos, las nubes se llenan, los cielos retumban, y la lluvia cae. La belleza de nuestro amor es parte de la tempestad.”
I breakout in a rash of goosebumps from just his soft, sexy tone. I want to ask what it means, but he’s turning me over and caressing my shoulder blades with the tip of his tongue before I can question him.
“I want you again.” He massages my lower back. “Like this.” He grips my hips and tugs. I slide my backside up, and he presses his semi-hard erection against my slick entrance. “I want to hold you tight and fuck you hard.” He then leans forward, bracing himself on one hand. We are skin to skin, his mouth tickling my ear. “Then, I want to go slow.” The words linger in the air seductively.
I peer back at him fiendishly. “What’s stopping you?”
* * *
I dropthe hot baking sheet on the stove. “Shit.” I charred the tortillas.
“Dove?” Tate’s anxious voice carries from my bedroom before he appears in the kitchen with nothing but a pillow covering his privates.
“Everything is fine.” I blow out some hot air. “Except the tortillas.”
“Tortillas?” Tate comes to stand next to me realizing I have attempted to cook. Attempt being the operative word. “Aw, honey. You made me breakfast,” he toys.
