“This must have taken a while.” He settles both hands on my inner thighs.
“About an hour.”
“I’m gonna ask you an important question, ’kay, Violet?” His hands glide lower, thumbs skimming my beaver lips. Back and forth, up and down. He’s about half an inch shy of my clit on either side. I spread my legs wider, hoping to encourage a little clit rubbing while we converse about my bedazzled girl parts.
I moan instead of using words, because all I want is for him to touch me, damn it, and he’s not.
“What’s the person’s name who did this for you?”
That’s a weird question. “Jamie.”
Alex’s eyes lift to mine. The right side of his jaw tics. Oh, shitballs. I’ve seen that look before a few times.
“What does Jamie look like?” he asks.
I roll my eyes when I realize what he wants to know. “Jamie’s a girl, Alex. There aren’t any boy vagazzlers.”
“Right. Of course not.”
I’m not about to tell him Jamie has a girlfriend, though. I’m not her type, anyway, and I like penis way too much, especially his. Which I’m definitely getting a dose of soon, if he can stop asking about the blinged-out beave.
I might be less tolerant of his insecurity if I didn’t know he was struggling with not having been his full-on alpha, protective self for the past month. But because I realize how challenging it’s been, I’m much more patient. Also, his fingers are close to my vag.
And then I get what I’ve been waiting for: Alex grazes my beaver button.
I whore-moan nice and loud. I also lift my pelvis to encourage more contact.
Alex mutters a low fuck and starts circling, slow and soft. It’s killing me, but I’ll take it. The torture is definitely going to be worth it. We have more than four weeks of pent-up hot-sex-on-hold to release, and this is likely going to be round one of many as Alex recovers his stamina.
I’ll need to make sure I have Epsom salts handy.
“Know what I love?” Alex’s voice is all sexy rasp. His attention is fixed on his fingers, still circling.
I have a feeling I already know the answer to this question, but Alex wants to tell me, because sometimes he likes to say dirty things. “What do you love, Alex?” I mostly moan his name.
His eyes flip up to mine. Mother of all things orgasmic, the expression on his face alone is almost enough to send me hurtling through Come-topia.
He slides one of his amazing fingers inside me. My eyes roll, taking away my fucktastic view for a second. He waits until they roll back down before he answers. “How wet you always are for me.”
Alex often comments on the rainforest-like state of my vag when he’s all up in there making me feel good. It’s as if my wetness is a litmus test for his sexiness.
“I can’t help it,” I tell him. “You’re just so good at making me hot.”
He adds another finger, fluttering faster. “Do I make you feel good?”
“So good.” I grip the edge of the counter behind my head and start rolling my hips to help him reach the goal. I have a feeling I’m going to be the recipient of a lot of orgasms.
The first one is like being punched in the clit with a gift bag of awesome. I moan Alex’s name extra loud.
“That’s it, Violet. I can’t wait to fuck you with my tongue.”
“Oh my God, yes, please.”
I’m not even done coming yet when he covers my still-throbbing clit with his mouth and starts sucking. I shriek and try to get away from his tongue, but he splays his hand out over my boob and holds me in place.
Releasing my death grip on the edge of the counter, I grab his hair and pull, hard. Alex groans and sucks even harder. My entire field of vision clouds with a starburst of white, a black haze crowding the edging. I can’t stop coming; it’s insane. I’m chanting something incoherent—words interspersed with moans.
I clamp his head with my thighs, and when my vision finally returns to normal, I look down my body, past where he’s holding onto my boob, over my stomach and bedazzled vagina mound to where his nose is pressed right below the crystal beaver.
His dark gaze is locked on my face. My mouth drops open when he stops with the rough sucking and starts the tongue swirls. He’s going to kill me with orgasms. I pull in a gasping breath when he leaves my poor, overstimulated beaver button, replaces his fingers with his tongue inside me, and makes good on his dirty promise to fuck me that way.
It’s like he’s trying to eat me alive, but not in a horror movie kind of way, in a love-the-fuck-out-of-me kind of way. Maybe I should vagazzle more often.