I waste no time licking her upwards, tasting every inch of her from her entrance up to her clit. She tastes like a delicacy to me: incomparable and rare and perfectly-crafted to turn me into an addict. I had imagined it for years, but the real thing is pure indulgence.
“Holy shit,” she grits out, as if she didn’t expect me to take it this far or even know what to do when a luscious pussy is hovering an inch above my face. I give her another lick to drive home my point: that I know exactly what to do with a pussy now, and she’s going to resent any man who makes a pathetic attempt to lick her better than I can.
She dips lower, just for a moment, as if to ask me for more. Immediately, I know that if I’m not careful I could make the grave mistake of getting used to this. The view from below is unparalleled: Olivia’s breasts poke out gracefully with her nipples hard and pebbled. She has her head thrown back, but as I give a particularly hard suck to her clit, she angles her attention back down to me. The eye contact could kill me—could end me right here, right now.
Fuck. I see her mouth the word, even if she doesn’t say it.
Her thighs tighten against my ears as she works to prop herself up against the overpowering sensation of pleasure. She’s holding back, clearly. If this is going to work, I’ll need her to give in to her desire.
“Just do it.” I say it right against her pussy, tickling her while I speak.
“What?”
“Sit on my face,” I clarify roughly. “Sit on my face like you’re so desperate to do—like any desperate slut would do.”
“Davis!” she exclaims breathily, and I know that she’s frustrated with me—that she’s annoyed that I’m using every opportunity to evoke that free speech clause.
Now that I have her where I want her, I lick faster, homing in on her clit. “Such a whore. Such a needy, greedy whore. Pretending like she doesn’t know how to sit on a man’s face.”
“Stop it,” she breathes out, panting through her objection. “You’re a—”
She doesn’t finish the sentence. Before she can, I suck her clit hard, which makes her cry out instead. Despite my disappointment that she got rid of that piercing, I’m actually grateful it’s not there. There’s nothing forcing me to be gentle or tender with her right now.
“God, you taste good. You’re worth every penny, Olivia,” I go on, not relenting. “Now, sit on my face like you’re paid to do.”
Fury. That’s what I see when she tilts back to get a look at my face. With a sharp inhale, she presses herself down harder, shoving her pussy against my chin. Sitting on me. The mild taboo of it all has a hold on me that I can’t even put into words.
She’s real. I’m real. And I, a guy who kept his virginity until he was twenty-two, am eating out the most gorgeous woman that I’ve ever known. Not just eating her out, but feasting on her sweet folds and licking every crevice that I can reach with my tongue. It’s a goddamn gift from the universe, and my karma must be pretty damn impressive.
“Such a creamy pussy,” I muse, sensing that she’s getting closer to a climax. “Are you trying to drown me with this thing?”
“I hate you,” she blurts out, slamming one hand against my headboard in exasperation. “I hate you right now.”
Unfazed, I shift my grip on her soft thighs, palming them roughly in a way that I would kill another man for doing. She moves in kind, grinding herself against my face because no matter how much she hates me, the energy between us is cosmic. Cosmic and undeniable.
Cosmic and twisted and eight years in the making.
“Come for me. Come on my face like only a good little slut can.” I deliver the order before I groan against her, trying to summon up a vibration to amplify the sensation. Above me, her body tightens—a sure sign that I’m on the right track.
“Yes,” I hear her cry out. “Oh my god.”
Olivia comes with abandon, making noises so loud that I’d fear a complaint if anyone lived on this floor but me. It’s a thing of beauty—of sheer poetry, really. At the same time, it’s absolutely grating because why the hell should she get to enjoy herself so much?
I stick with the plan though and I continue to suck through her climax. Nearly boneless, she’s still singing my praises as she lets her weight sink onto my face. It’s uncomfortable, but I don’t care. I’d endure it for her. For this body. Hell, I’d pay ten times as much to do it every day if that’s what it took.
Right when I think she’s about to stop, she tightens up again. Her hands push away from the headboard and go to her breasts as she grates out another wave of her orgasm. Practically speaking to the ceiling, she manages to moan out a sentence: “It’s so good. It’s so—thank fuck for you, Davis Henry Ridgeway.”
That quickly becomes the greatest compliment—or maybe the greatest sentence—that I’ve ever heard in my life. She slows, still sighing sporadically. I can practically hear the waves of pleasure languidly petering out until she stills above me. Triumphant, I give her ass a quick slap and guide her to climb off of my face.
Back on the bed, she falters next to me. I can feel her watching me intently as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, mostly for show and to piss her off. When she keeps staring at me, almost like she’s expecting more, I stare right back at her.
Her hands rise up to her elbows, arms crossed over her chest. The gesture looks involuntary almost, as if she’s thinking about speaking. For once, Olivia looks like she’s been shrunken down—like she’s not the confident woman who normally left piles of men in her wake when she was done using them.
“What?” I question, forcing myself to be cold despite the urge to take her into my arms and hold her close. I assume that’s what she wants—a little snuggling or whatever. Normally, it would be my first order of business, but I’m not here to give her what she wants.
Olivia rolls away from me and hops off of the bed, snatching her dress from the floor in the process. Confused, I sit up in bed and gingerly hold up her underwear.
“Thanks,” she mutters disingenuously as she grabs it from me, refusing to meet my eyes.
“Sorry, where do you think you’re going?” I’m partially amused, but mostly curious about how far she’s going to take this tantrum.
She turns away from me as she puts on her bra. When she turns around again, the vitriol is apparent in every feature on her face. “Home.”
Yeah—fuck that.
“I told you that you were spending the night.”