Page 115 of IRL: In Real Life
The third had me reaching under the shirt I wore, palms finding my own breasts because I needed somewhere for all that sensation to go. I caught one nipple between my fingers and rubbed hard.
A broken sound left me, and his mouth answered immediately, licking deeper, broader, meaner, like he had been waiting to hear exactly that.
“Damn,” I breathed.
He looked up once, tongue still dragging over me, and the sight nearly sent me over by itself.
My hand stayed under the shirt, tugging at my nipple until it tightened painfully under my fingers. That sharp little ache mixed with his mouth between my thighs and his hands holding me open was too much and still not enough.
He sucked. Licked. Flicked. Slow one second, relentless the next, like he had nowhere else to be.
My thighs tightened around his shoulders, and he made a low sound into me, one hand sliding to my stomach to keep me open when my body tried to fold in on itself.
“There,” I gasped. “Right there.”
He stayed there and took me apart piece by piece.
My head fell back. One hand stayed under the shirt at my breast. The other finally gripped his head because I needed something to hold before the whole room tipped.
“Dammmmm...please?—”
He didn’t look up this time.
He just made one low sound against me that vibrated through my whole body, then slid two fingers inside me, deep and sure, curling them with the kind of practiced precision that made my breath snap in half. The heel of his hand pressed against me while his mouth stayed on my clit, and that combination was so filthy, so exact, my whole body lost any last claim to dignity.
“Micah—”
My voice broke on his name.
He kept going.
Finger-fucking me slow and deep, curling just right, dragging that rough little sound out of me every time he hit the spot that made my thighs shake. My hand tightened under the shirt at my breast. The other stayed on his head because I needed something to hold on to while he took me there.
Then it hit.
Hard.
My whole body locked and opened at once. I exploded hard enough to arch on the stool, and the release rushed out of me in a hot spill all over his fingers, his mouth, the inside of my thighs. I heard myself cry out before I could stop it, helpless and loud and gone so far past shame it almost felt holy.
He stayed there.
God, he stayed there.
Lapping at me. Sucking. Dragging his tongue through every wet, trembling aftershock of it while his fingers slowed inside me and then slipped out slick and shining. He looked at his hand once, dark eyes gone even darker, then put those same fingers back to my pussy and gathered more of me just to lick it away.
From me.
From his hand.
From wherever I had made a mess of him.
That sight nearly sent me over again.
By the time he finally stood, I was breathing through my mouth and staring at him like the city should have stopped for a second out of respect.
His mouth was wet.
His chin too.
