Secret Beast - Amelia Wilde Page 0,36
at it.” I sound lightheaded, and it’s because I am, because I can’t get a full breath. “The next one touched me.”
“Where?”
“Over my bra.” Leo slides one hand up and takes my breast in his hand, rough and strong, and then he drags one of his nails over my nipple. It’s a clean, electric sensation. I rub harder. “Not like that.”
“The next one,” he prompts.
“A guy from my English lit class. He didn’t look like you.” The detail escapes before I can stop it, and it’s too late to get it back. “He liked hand jobs. In the library. He took...” I’m so close. This is torture. He can see everything. “He took forever. And he wouldn’t return the favor.”
“Look at me.” I do, and I can’t see my reflection in his eyes but I know what I’d look like. A gasping slut. Red-faced, with messy hair and desperate eyes. Desperate for him. What the hell. What the fuck. Leo smirks. “Those boys didn’t deserve you. Take your hand away.”
I don’t do it, can’t do it, and he takes my hand and shoves it out of the way, pinning it to my belly.
And then his dark head is between my thighs.
His mouth is on me.
At first I only have the impression of wet heat, so consuming that my arm gives out and my head falls back on the table. I don’t care. I don’t care because he presses the flat of his tongue against my clit and it’s magic, it’s dark magic, it’s everything until he seals his mouth over the sensitive nerves. I glimpse heaven. It looks like the night sky and it feels like Leo Morelli’s tongue working me over.
Because he doesn’t stay, no, he doesn’t stay. There is more of me for him to taste and he does it. He gives my slit a long, lingering lick and fucks me with his tongue. My thoughts are on fire, all of them burning up together. Both of his hands dig into my thighs, shockingly hard, and I realize it’s because my body has gone crazy. My hips won’t stay on the table. They’re as desperate as the rest of me.
I open my mouth to beg him to stop, it’s too much, it’s going to end me, but what comes out instead is a wordless animal noise filled with need and longing. A sob that’s not really a sob. Or maybe it is. Either way, he answers it with new focus. In the space of a few heartbeats, he discovers that the thing I can’t stand, that the thing driving me right to the edge, is direct attention to my clit. I can’t describe what he’s doing. I’ve lost sense of the room. Of the house. Of everything except the pleasure knifing through my belly.
It’s a bomb, ticking down to zero. I’m dimly aware of the end approaching because Leo’s fingers bruise my thighs. He’s strong. He’s the strongest man I’ve ever been with but my body has turned wild enough to challenge him. I get one hand to the tablecloth. Dig my fingers in. Hold on tight. It’s coming, it’s coming—
A sound vibrates through the glasses on the table. It can’t be from me, because I’ve never made a sound like that. I’ve never felt pleasure so twisting and huge. My body can’t deal with it, can’t contain it, and so it doesn’t. It frees itself from me in a series of hard shudders, muscles working. The only counterpressure is Leo. He’s the one keeping me on earth. I’d die without him. I would.
Luckily he stays where he is, tongue coaxing out a series of smaller aftershocks that bring me down, slowly, slowly. My hands are in his hair. I don’t know how they got there. I untangle them with great effort.
“Open your eyes.” Leo’s big hands lift me to sitting, and I open my eyes on a version of him with tousled hair and wrinkles in his shirt. It was more of a fight to keep me pinned down than I thought. He pushes my hair away from my face. Steadies me on the edge of the table.
He leans back in his chair and the chill in his eyes hauls me back down to the mortifying reality of this moment.
I’m naked on the table. Reduced to a dessert. Leo looks at me the way he would a lopsided cake. He’s eaten through the soft parts of me and left nothing behind but the horrible truth that a