Her touch startles me in the best way, her hand finding my face, traveling over my mouth, eyes, and hair. I sense her approach, feel tiny pants of breath on my lips, and anticipation has me panting, too, shortens my breath and sharpens my senses. Her mouth seeks mine, eager and sweet when she kisses me. Her pleasure, her excitement matches, answers, fans mine.
I guide her back down to the couch, and with a hand at her shoulder, urge her to stretch out. I’d shave points off my GPA for a glimpse of her, but she doesn’t want that. I get it, so I settle for a taste.
At first I just rub my lips over her nipples, back and forth until they tighten and lift under my mouth, and then I wrap my lips around the tip, stretch open to encompass the full swell. Suck, lick, rub. Suck, lick, rub. Suck, lick, rub. I set a sensual rhythm that incites us both.
“Oh.” Every sound she makes is a mating call.
I walk my hands down her sides, over her waist, and roll the pads of my fingers through the short hairs sheltering her pussy. I find the nub crowning her slit and caress it, varying the pace from swift and urgent to agonizingly slow. Her restraint, her tenuous control is palpable, and I want to shatter it. I scoot to the other end of the couch and carefully slide one of her legs off the cushion, cracking her open. I fit my shoulders between her thighs and lower my head. For a moment, I just blow over her wet flesh, and while I’m breathing out, I’m breathing her in.
Sometimes a dish carries a scent so rich you taste it before it hits your tongue. Your olfactory sense preludes your taste buds. That’s Banner’s pussy, so sweet and musky it’s as much flavor as scent, and I taste her before even taking my first bite, my first sip. Before my tongue swipes through the soaked silky folds. I spread her, and for a few seconds content myself by simply rubbing my lips between hers, gathering her wetness and licking it away.
“Hen hào chi,” I say softly, a wicked grin she can’t see to appreciate stamped on my face.
Very delicious.
“Oh my God.” A laugh swallows her gasp. Her knees jerk against my head, but I press them open wider, determined that she may have denied me sight, but I’ll taste; I’ll eat as much as I want. I feast between her legs, sloppily, roughly, famished. My face is wet, and my tongue aches by the time I’m done. She’s making these little sobbing sounds that have me so close to spilling all over her belly. Her hands rifle through my hair, scraping my scalp while she grinds her pussy in my face.
“Chinga,” she whispers.
“What’d you say?” I demand, lifting my head.
A silence follows before she answers.
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“Nothing,” she replies hastily. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s Spanish?” I persist. “What does it mean?”
“Jared,” she groans. “Don’t.”
“Tell me or I leave you just like this.”
It’s an empty threat because leaving her “just like this” means leaving me “just like this,” and there’s no way this ends any way other than me inside her.
“What’s chinga mean, Ban?”
“It means . . .” There’s resignation and reluctance in her sigh. “Fuck. It means fuck, okay?”
“Ahhh, like fuck,” I say, lowering my head and closing my mouth over her clit again. “That feels good?”
“Oh, God,” she pants. “Yeah.”
“Like fuck . . .” I drag my tongue from her asshole to the top of her slit “. . . Don’t stop?”
“Please,” she begs, her fingers twisting in my hair. “Please, don’t stop.”
I fumble around on the floor until I find my jeans and reach into the pocket for my wallet. This, I’ve done in the dark. I could put on a condom in a coma.
The narrowness of the sofa makes it awkward, so I sit on the couch, find her in the dark, and tug her to her knees. And the same way I felt her pleasure, I feel her freeze and then pull back, away.
“Uh, no.” She clears her throat. “You get on top.”
Whatever. On top. Underneath. On the side. In is all I care about right now. Back on my knees at the end of the couch, I bring her legs over my shoulders. I touch her again, and she’s still dripping wet, slick, hot. I poise myself at her entrance, and though we can’t see each other, I look to where I know her eyes should be, and I sense her looking where mine should be. And even in the dark, I think we see each other. There’s an intimacy to the darkness. I see less of her, but I somehow feel this more deeply. Every smell, every sound, every texture becomes a clue to her pleasure. I plunge in, and we both gasp. She clamps around me. Is she a virgin? I didn’t even think to ask. I should have.
“You okay, Ban? You’ve . . . uh, done this before, right?”
“Yes, it’s just . . . just been awhile. Is everything okay?”