“Good.” His tongue darts between his lips and he places a hand on my lower stomach, pushing me back against the cushions. “Do you trust me enough to make you feel good?” His fingers curl around the waistband of my leggings and his eyebrow raises. “I know you hate it when I do shit for you, but I really, really want to do this. Just let me…” He seems at a loss for words for a moment, lips forming around an aborted reply. “Just let me show you. Please?”
I nod, pushing past the twist of anxiety in my chest. “Show me.”
He peels off my leggings, struggling to get the tight fabric over my feet. “Fucking spandex,” he mutters, before going back for my panties. His frustration makes me laugh, easing a bit of the intensity. I do trust Bass, more than anyone else, but letting him take control of my body like this is hard for me. It’s the loss of control and security, sure. But it’s also something new to begin craving. Something new to miss when it goes away.
Despite my agreement, my body fights against me like usual, knees clamping shut once I’m bare. Bass sits before me and kisses each knee before stroking up and down my legs, coaxing them to part. “Can you relax for me?”
I take a deep breath and let my legs fall apart, one against the couch, the other on the seat. This time, he runs his hands up my thighs, eliciting a spark that travels to my core. He switches to gentle kisses, while kneading his fingers into my thighs. I focus on his shoulders, the way the muscles tense and retract, the tattoo inked around his collar. I feel his eyes on me like a branding iron when they rise to my center, a soft groan pouring from his chest.
“So fucking hot, Sugar.” His eyes flick up to mine as he moves closer, and when his tongue flicks out and swipes against my clit, I seize and grab for his thick blond hair.
“Oh!” I gasp, pulling harder. He hums in response and flattens his tongue, coating my pussy with wet warmth.
It’s hard to reconcile, the squirming feeling of wanting to both let him in and shut him out. My knees keep wanting to close, even though my hips happily writhe into him, giving him more of me. He takes it in stride, curling a hand around my thigh and easing it away, spreading me, tongue working me over in expert ways.
He whispers things as I watch him, breathless and captivated. “So fucking gorgeous. Do you like that?” Some of it is completely nonsensical. “I want to, but I won’t. I’m not gonna ask.” Sometimes he’ll mutter a low curse and reach down to squeeze the tent in his pants. Mostly, they’re sweet things, though. Sweet and dirty things. “Been thinking about this for days. Always so fucking hard for you.”
When his fingers join the party, two sinking right into me as his tongue works my clit, my knees don’t even think of closing. They just spread wider and wider, until I’m nothing but an open mess of whimpers for him, hand fisting into his hair.
Fear fades into a tingling, good sensation and I lift my hips into his face. Sebastian reacts by sucking my clit with his open mouth, and it’s all so good, so right, that whatever I’d been worried about, whatever part of my body had been not cooperating, completely vanishes. I barely have time to enjoy the weightlessness of it—the ‘oh god, I’m coming’ part of it—as the orgasm rolls over me quickly, furiously, and I buck into him with a loud cry.
Sebastian breathes hot and heavy against my body until the spasms stop. Then he jolts to his knees and unbuttons his jeans, reaching inside. Through the foggy, post-orgasmic haze, I watch as he runs his hand over his erection in jerky, fast strokes. When he slides a finger back inside me, hooded eyes fixed to where it disappears, still gripping his cock, I don’t even have the presence of mind to feel weird or self-conscious about it.
His eyebrows sort of collapse as he fucks his finger into me, like he’s imagining it’s not his finger doing it. Like he wants to fuck me so bad that it doesn’t even take much to pretend this is his cock.
He doesn’t ask, though.
Maybe all that talk before wasn’t so nonsensical, after all.