Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,83
of his breath is all I feel on my thighs. I lean my head up to gaze at Tate. Cloudy eyes and kiss-swollen lips greet me. Then he scoots closer between my legs, his face at my thighs.
“Let’s see how I compare to your hand.”
twenty-one
He raises an eyebrow, smug confidence seeping into his expression. “If anything hurts or feels uncomfortable, just say so, and I’ll stop.”
Christ almighty, I’ve been aching for this. Another “mmmhmm” is the only sound I can make when my heart is beating this fast. Tate is about to explore a part of me that hasn’t been touched by another person in nearly a year. My mind goes straight back to our car make-out after our Chinese food date, to the moment his tongue slid over my breasts. A shiver pulses through me.
“I haven’t even touched you yet,” he says.
“Nerves and all that,” I babble. “I was thinking of us in your car, when you pulled down my shirt and bra and—”
He reaches up and puts a hand over my mouth, pushing me back down flat. The ache between my legs spreads. I moan, then chuckle against his palm.
“Get out of your head. Let me in for a bit.”
This tiny show of dominance drives me wild. His stubbled cheeks slide against my inner thighs, and a satisfied sigh pushes my mouth open. Pleasure and anticipation pulse through me. Then he mumbles something I can’t hear. For a moment, I wonder if I should ask him to repeat himself, but then I feel his finger hook over my panties, pulling them to the side, and I forget how to use my words.
An instant later there’s contact, followed by softness, wetness, circular motion. Delicious, divine circular motion. It starts slow in a teasing, clockwise manner. I try to count the seconds, but I forget what number comes after six. All I can focus on is the wet slide of his tongue. Then he has the audacity to change to counterclockwise movement and speed up.
My head falls back, my mouth falls open, and I make a noise. It doesn’t sound human, but it is human since it’s coming from me and I’m a human being.
Time passes. I’m not sure how long because my brain is trapped in a pleasure fog. When I finally muster enough strength to speak, I sound desperate.
“How . . .” I gasp. I press my eyes shut, hoping it helps me concentrate on speaking. “How are you . . .”
A little further, but still a challenge. I can either speak or moan. My brain won’t let me do both.
I inhale. “How are you so good at this?”
He stops and lifts his head. I tilt up, and our eyes meet.
He shoots me a heart-melting smirk. “Practice.”
“Fucking hell.” It’s all I can say without losing it.
Without another word, he lowers himself back down. He’s a man of few words when it counts, and I like it. I like it even more when I feel his teeth gently bite the inside of my thigh. When he resumes, I’m a yelping, writhing mess.
It doesn’t take long before I’m screaming and shaking, a convulsing heap on top of his couch. One of my hands grips the back of his head. The other wrenches the cushion above me. I start to speak, but the sounds I make are muddled and incoherent. I stare at the ceiling, my vision blurry and my ears ringing. Spots of black and white speckle my field of vision. I’ve never orgasmed that hard, that quickly with anyone before.
It’s a minute before I can see clearly.
“Are you okay?” Tate’s head pops up from under my thigh. His lips glisten in the dim light his living room lamp casts. He swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, his brow crinkled in concern.
“Holy shit,” I finally say. My hands are useless flesh gloves compared to the pleasure Tate just delivered to my body.
“Emmie.” The soft palm of his hand finds my knee. He props me into a sitting position, but I’m so dizzy, I nearly topple over. “Easy,” he coaxes.
“Water,” I rasp.
He darts up to the kitchen and fills a glass. I follow him on wobbly legs. When he spins around to find me standing behind him, his worried frown turns into a frustrated one. He touches my forearm. “What are you doing up?”
I grip the counter to steady myself, glass of water in one hand. It’s drained in seconds. Leaning my butt against the edge, I break