Eventually we got home. Lounged around. Watched some shows without really watching them, until Briggs abruptly picked me up and threw me over his shoulder.
“This is Dakota’s move, you know that?”
“Yeah yeah,” he teased.
He carried me up to his bed — the one place in the house I’d never been — where he proceeded to strip me down and spread me out across the cool surface of his sheets. In the moonlit darkness he pushed my thighs apart. I watched in awe as he slowly lowered his chin between my legs… and then buried his face in my dripping pussy.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhh…”
He went slow. Incredibly, agonizingly slow. First he kissed every square inch of my skin, from one thigh to the other, prying me open gently to plant soft kisses against the sensitive nub of my tiny pink clit.
I pulled on him, but he wouldn’t budge. Tried thrusting myself into his face, but he only moved back.
He was taking me at his own pace. Eating me delicately, increasing in touch and tempo, in depth of penetration with both his fingers and tongue. Each passing moment brought me closer to the brink. Each kiss, suck, or lick was a little bit more forceful or deeper or penetrating than the last.
“Oh fuck me…” I groaned, squeezing his hair so hard my fingers hurt. “Please… please make me… make me…”
Briggs continued working me over, sliding his tongue up and down. His fingers were absolute magic. They had a life all their own, and once they penetrated the sanctity of my depths it was like they never stopped moving, never stopped churning inside me.
“Please Briggs…”
I was begging now. And I wasn’t past begging. Not after what he was putting me through.
“Please… I made you come so fast! Why are you torturing me like—”
My sentence ended in a gasp as he drove three hard fingers deep inside me! It felt amazing. So fucking good! At the same time he flicked my clit back and forth, left to right, with the tip of his tongue.
“I— I—”
Then he shoved… burying his fingers so breathtakingly deep they scratched that wonderful, beautiful itch. It triggered me all at once, sending a flood of warm honey splashing all over his face…
“MMMMmmMMMMmmmMMMMMmmm!”
My whole body vibrated with my release. I came in waves, each one stronger than the last. They built to a crescendo of pure white light — a brilliant nirvana so wonderful, so life-altering, I almost cried as he started kissing me again.
We made love after that, which was exactly the word for it. I held Brigg’s face in my hands as he pushed into me, kissing him over and over a million times as he gently rocked inside me. It went on for hours. Days. Weeks. Or at least it seemed that way. We screwed hotly beneath the blankets, as connected as two people could possibly be. And not just physically or emotionally, but spiritually too.
Eventually even that rose to an intensity and speed where I was moaning and gasping and clawing at his back. Briggs cried my name again — this time while spending himself inside me — and I welcomed every throb, every spurt, every drop of himself that he put into me.
Sleep came almost instantly, and this time we didn’t wake for a second or third time. The first time was enough, and I was content to just lay there holding him, filled with his warmth. Briggs woke only once near dawn, crying out like before, only this time not as loudly or frantically. I rocked him with my body until his cries became murmurs, and eventually his eyes fluttered open to find mine.
“Briggs, it’s okay,” I smiled down at him. “It’s just a dream.”
He nuzzled into me protectively, his scruff scratching my skin.
“It is a dream,” he murmured, half awake. “And please. Call me by my name.”
I perked up, waiting, listening, wondering if he’d drifted off. And then:
“Call me Jason.”
Forty-Nine
SAMMARA
For the next few days, Jason and I welcomed spring.
We walked the lake — something I didn’t get to do that much before the snows came. The paths and trails surrounding the property were very beautiful. I could see which ones were newer, and which had been used decades or even centuries ago, by people long since gone.