Page 33 of Sunday's Best

“Just like that, angel. You’re doing so good.” Holden takes one of my legs and slings it over his shoulder, followed by the other. He turns and presses a kiss to the inside of my thigh. “Are you sure about this?”

What a time to ask, when my bare pussy’s centimeters from his face and I’m so wet, I’m making a mess of the seat. If I dwell too much on whether I’m sure, it’ll sink in that this is wrong. And if it sinks in that this is wrong, my conscious won’t let me continue, and I’ll probably confess to Logan, and⁠—

“I’m sure.”

His tongue drags up my slit, and a low rumble carries up from his chest to fill the humid air. I gasp. My spine tingles. My throat swells with a stuck breath.

He moans against me as if he’s enjoying the act of giving as much as I am receiving. He’d be content with doing nothing but tasting me. It’s a five course fucking meal to him.

Then he makes contact with my clit, and all at once I’m fighting for more while simultaneously needing to get away. Not enough. Too much. If it weren’t for the heavy hands on my hips, pinning me to the seat, I’d be bucking against his face. But my heels drag down his back, and I sink both hands in his hair, tugging at the root.

I’m half agony, half pleasure, and when his finger strokes inside without warning, I become a sobbing, shaking mess. He follows up with a second finger, chasing it with a devastating swirl of his tongue around my swollen clit.

All the pent-up need unfurls in an orgasm so intense, my legs quiver uncontrollably on his shoulders. My entire world flips end over end, shattering and rearranging the pieces of what I know about myself. Everything has changed in an instant.

He keeps licking through the come down, arousal-coated fingers kneading lovingly against the place on my hips where his thumbs had kept me fastened to the bench seat. The spot feels hot and sore—probably bruised.

“God, Sunday. I want to—” He luxuriates in a long, slow lick, despite my thighs clamping together around his head. I swear to God he’s never looked hotter than he does now, staring up at me with shiny lips and a devilish look in his eye. “I want to bottle this up. Your smell, your taste, fuck.” He shakes his head and dives in for another swipe of his tongue.

“Holden.” I use the grip on his messy hair to tug his eyes up to meet mine. My breath comes in short pants, barely slowing enough for one whispered adjuration. “Kiss me.”

The taste of my cum on his tongue, mingling with the mint on his breath, invades my mouth in a desperate kiss. His hands skim over my body, everywhere he touches coming alive.

“You know what comes next, angel. In our texts.” A smile twitches his lips as he adjusts my wet underwear to cover me back up.

I do. I’ve read them no less than fifty times.

Suck it first. Get it nice and wet.

“Get it out,” Holden instructs, sitting up with a pained look. He yanks his shirt off and tosses it to the floor. “Take my cock out and get it wet for me.”

My fingers fumble with the silver belt buckle, then the button at the top of his jeans. I keep waiting for him to get impatient and push my hands away, but Holden’s only gliding his rough palms up and down my legs. He grazes my pussy with a gentle brush of a finger, and I lose my focus all over again.

After too long, my thumbs finally catch on his jeans, tugging them down, and Holden coaxes me through it with a gentle, yet controlling, tone. “That’s a good girl. Pull my boxers down, too. See how hard I am for you—fuck, I want to feel your hands on me.”

I know I came less than a minute ago, but I could go again if he simply bent down and whispered those filthy words next to my pussy.

I do as he says, shimmying his boxers down his hairy thighs until his cock’s freed. It’s huge, and demanding, and precum shimmers on the broad, pink head.

I’m pretty sure I’m simply staring in awe, jaw slack. There could even be drool. And eventually he whispers, “Touch it, Sunday.”

I start by tracing a finger down a protruding vein that runs the length of his shaft. He inhales a sharp hiss, followed by a guttural moan when I wrap my palm around him. His cock’s weeping with need, and without hesitation, I swipe my thumb through the clear droplet and bring the salty liquid to my mouth. Holden’s eyes hit the back of his head.

I sit up a little more, bending my back as much as humanly possible. I want him in my mouth. Want to do as he says. But also, I’m no contortionist. I took a yoga class a few years ago, and the instructor told the entire class I was the most inflexible person they’ve ever met.

“Trust me?” I ask.

“With my life.”

Twelve

Licking my lips, I wiggle my hips further down the seat and tighten the hold I have on his cock. I nudge the crown into my wet underwear, then tip my pelvis to nestle his shaft against the thin fabric.

“Fuck. W-what are you⁠—”

“Getting your cock nice and wet, like you wanted.” I smile innocently while rubbing him over me. “And skipping to the next text.”

His breathing gets heavy. Heavier yet when his cock jumps in my hand, and I slap it back down on my pussy.