ducks down against it, tongue darting out to lick a hot stripe up my folds.
It’s like a nuclear explosion that awakens all my senses. My head spins with the sudden rush of wet hot sex sex sex. The second flick of his tongue, positioned right on the apex of my clit, makes my breath hitch and my thighs open even more. “Oh, god,” I breathe, melting into the bed.
He responds by sweeping his palm up my hip and settling there, tongue mapping my folds. The worst thing about it is how into it I am, letting my fingers tangle into his hair as he teases me. It’s unskilled, as far as head goes. Hardly any technique. He vacillates between tonguing at my clit and my entrance, back and forth. Sometimes he approaches it like a particularly aggressive kiss, sucking on retreat. It’s indecisive, lacking in any sort of purpose or goal.
And it might be the best I’ve ever had.
I keep my eyes trained on him because it’s the only way I can really understand what’s happening. That’s Heston Wilcox. His head is between my legs. He’s giving me clumsy cunnilingus and if he can manage to remain focused on my clit for five seconds, I just might come my goddamn brains out on his tongue.
The best part, by far, are the scant moments where he looks up my body at me with that half-lidded, cocky expression that’s so infuriatingly him.
I chase his tongue with my hips when he strays, careful not to guide his head even though I’m dying to. He doesn’t take it as gracefully as he could, letting out this annoyed punch of breath as he grips my thighs, holding me still in his sure grip.
By the time he brings his fingers into the mix, I’m already a complete mess of gasping breaths and sharp fricatives, lip trapped painfully between my teeth. My toes curl when he sinks two fingers into me, heels digging into the mattress.
“Please,” I’m gasping, and I take too long to even realize what I’m babbling about. “Please fuck me, fuck me, please, please…” His ragged rumble against my clit makes me throw my head back, and then I figure out why his fingers leave me, the slick tip of a digit dipping lower and lower, until—
We both go still.
My chest is heaving and if I had the presence of mind to feel such a thing, I’d be embarrassed by the way my thighs are quaking around his ears. He meets my gaze and holds it, eyes boring into mine as his finger presses against my asshole.
There’s this ridiculous rumor that I’m into anal. I’m not sure who started it, but at this point, there’s no telling. The truth is that I’ve never done it. I’ve never even let another guy touch me there before. Heston’s finger toys at my rim, like maybe he’s waiting for me to argue about it. My belly explodes with anxious nerves, but beyond the mortification of someone touching me in such a private place is a spark of curiosity.
I sink my teeth into my lip and buck my hips.
Heston isn’t a very expressive guy. I can tell when he’s horny because he looks all pissed off and malignant. The other day, I could tell he was in a good mood because of the way he held himself—loose and obnoxiously brash. But I have no idea what to call this.
His jaw goes slack, and even in the low light I can tell his pupils are blown wide, the reflection from the lamp glittering around the edges of his irises. He holds my gaze as he pushes his fingertip past the resistance, breaths warm and shallow against my clit as he sinks his finger into my ass.
I fist a hand into the sheets and look away, unable to endure the intensity of it all. There’s a burn that feels foreign, the sense of being invaded in a way that’s not natural, and I know instantly that I’m into it.
So into it that I curl a fist into his hair, rock against his tongue, and come so hard that I see stars.
I’m boneless when he turns me over, only distantly aware of the sounds he’s making—hard bursts of breath, shifting fabric, the short grunt he makes when he enters my pussy, hard and fast.
His mouth is right by my ear as he fucks me with short, commanding thrusts, making my headboard bang against the wall. “Fuck, that was hot,” he growls,