Page 112 of Bitter’s Sweet

He does it again, slower, tongue dragging through me before circling my clit. I grab the sheets, but Bitter catches one hand.

“Hair.”

“What?”

“You need something to hold, grab my fucking hair.”

I do. Hard.

He groans.

Apparently Bitter Adams likes having his hair pulled.

Useful information.

I pull again, and his mouth gets dirtier. Hungrier.

He sucks my clit until my thighs clamp around his head, then holds them apart and keeps going. When one finger slides inside me, I nearly come off the mattress.

“There?”

“Yes.”

He curls it, and my back arches.

“Yes.”

A second finger joins the first.

“Bitter.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

“No, sunshine. Tell me.”

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Everything I’m doing to your pussy is on purpose.”

That sentence alone nearly finishes me.

I tug his hair harder, and he rewards me by sucking my clit again while his fingers work inside me. The pleasure builds too fast. I can hear myself making noises I will deny under oath tomorrow, and Bitter apparently loves every one of them.

His hand grips my thigh hard enough that I’ll probably remember his fingers tomorrow.

I like that too.

“Come for me.”

“I’m close.”

“I know.”

“Bitter.”

“I fucking know.” He looks up without stopping his fingers, mouth wet from me, eyes dark enough to swallow every scrap of good sense I have left. “Let me have it.”