Ritual - Palm South University

And then, I sit on my boyfriend’s god-like, too-handsome-for-his-own-good face.

“Make me come, baby,” I whisper, and Kip answers with his hands gripping my ass and pulling my clit to his mouth.

His tongue lashes me like a whip, making me shudder with the way it flicks over that sensitive bundle of nerves. I grab his headboard and hold on for dear life, and when he sucks me, gently, over and over between his teeth, I rock my hips against the pressure, needing more.

“Fuck, I’m close,” I groan.

Kip slips his finger inside me long enough to wet it, and then with his mouth still punishing my clit, he slips that same finger right into my ass.

I barely have time to gasp, to let my mouth fall open and my eyes shoot wide and my fingers curl into the headboard before I’m flying off into an orgasm like none I’ve ever had before. It’s not the same as just having my clit rubbed or my g-spot hit. It’s shocking and forbidden and a little painful as it rocks through me.

But I fucking love it.

I sit back a little, taking his finger deeper in my ass as I ride out my climax. And I don’t give two flying fucks about the other brothers in the house. My screams are loud and wild and desperate, and I give in to every single one.

I’ve been living on masturbation alone since August.

I’m not being quiet during my first male-generated orgasm in months.

I’m still seeing stars, shaking and pulsing around Kip’s finger when he gently removes it, kissing the inside of my thighs.

But I don’t have time to rest.

He flips me over, kissing me with lips and a tongue that taste like my pussy before he hikes both of my legs up. My ankles on his shoulders, he slides back inside me, both of us growling at the sensation of him filling me again.

“Oh fuck, Sky,” he says, pulling out and pressing in all the way. My fingers curl in the sheets and I dig my heels into his ass, begging for more.

He delivers with a harder thrust, a faster rhythm, and his hands reach out to palm both of my bouncing breasts as he fucks me like a man who’s been in prison for years.

I see it the moment he crests, the moment that spark catches fire and his orgasm releases. His face screws up, a grunt escaping his lips, and he drops his grip on my tits, pulling his cock out just in time to spill hot cum all over my stomach, my chest, some even shooting up and hitting my chin.

My lips curl into a smile as I watch him come undone, and when he shudders his last breath, holding his wet, still pulsing cock in his hands, his eyes flutter open to find mine.

And I hold his gaze as I swipe a finger through the cum on my chin, sucking that finger into my mouth to taste him.

“Fuck,” he groans, shaking his head, and then he’s on top of me — sated and limp — while I giggle and kiss all over his shoulders.

We lie there for a long while, both of us coming down from our highs, our muscles already sore and aching for more.

Then Kip leans up on one elbow, his eternal blue eyes searching mine, and he sweeps my hair out of my face, gaze full of adoration.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too.”

It’s the sweetest, most tender moment, sealed with a perfect, gentle kiss.

And then a roar of applause breaks out downstairs, hoots and hollers and atta boys! so loud it sounds like we’re at a football game.

Kip and I lock wide eyes, and then I blush furiously, burying my face in his chest as he laughs and kisses my hair.

“I told you to be quiet.”

Indeed, he did.

Whoops.“AW, LOOK AT US,” BECCA teases, kissing my cheek while I carve the turkey. “We’re so domesticated.”

“Totally. Cooking a half-ass Thanksgiving meal in a frat house kitchen. So adult.”

She pats my ass, then gets back to whipping the mashed potatoes.

“Yeah, as much as this is awesome for a college Thanksgiving dinner, I have to admit — it ain’t my mama’s cooking,” Amber says, eyeing the green bean casserole suspiciously.

Amber is Becca’s best friend, a short little thing with curves for days, wild and beautiful curly black hair, warm brown skin, and a birth mark above her lip that makes her look like a glamorous Hollywood star from the twenties. She and Becca have been friends since they were toddlers, and the way they act together, the way they even mirror each other’s gestures makes them seem more like sisters than friends.

Amber goes to school in Boston, but is visiting for the holiday, and watching her with Becca makes my chest warm and fuzzy in a new and unfamiliar way. It’s one thing to see her undressed, or to have her all to myself in bed, both of us in sweatpants and lazy smiles. But it’s another thing completely to see her with the ones she cares about, the ones she loves, joking and laughing and reminiscing on old stories.