Sheltered (14 page)

But he held her fast. Two hands spread over her thighs now. Thumbs notched in a giddily sensitive place, between groin and leg. That tongue sliding wetly over everything on the surface, before working all the way in.

She didn’t think she could stand all the way in. Him rubbing her clit through her panties had seemed like too much, but now here he was, stroking through her folds, with something other than a finger. Every touch of his tongue so long and wet and agonizing, somehow. The bliss clung for a second and then dissipated, clung then dissipated, and each feeling fed the other. Stoked it higher. Made her beg for more.

God, didn’t he know how awful it was to have to beg for more?

And he didn’t even stop there either. Just as she’d humiliated herself thoroughly with sounds that seemed frankly inhuman, he moved one hand from her thigh. Stroked over the lips of her pussy with two firm fingers until everything just opened up to him, and then oh no. Oh Lord.

“No don’t do that. No not like that, don’t,” she babbled, but she could tell he wasn’t going to listen. There was too much heat in his eyes, too much wickedness, and though he said something innocent sounding such as
like what?
he didn’t stop working her open.

Yeah, he knew exactly what he was doing, all right. Every stroke he made around the swollen bead of her clit just exposed everything further, until she could practically make out its exact shape without looking. He’d drawn a line around it, and then once he was done with that torment, he went ahead and started another.

“Oh that’s so
rude
,” she blurted, without any permission from her higher thought processes. But then, her higher thought processes had left some time ago. They just didn’t know what to make of something so wet and warm and mobile, easing over the whole of her swollen clit.

He didn’t even do it hesitantly either, or maybe just at the side of the place where every nerve in her body seemed to have gathered. He just went for it, licking and licking until her thighs actually shook and her hand went to her mouth.

The latter she couldn’t help any more than the former. There were just too many sounds inside her, too many filthy words she wanted to say, but didn’t yet dare to. If she said them, she’d never be able to take them back. When they next had dinner with each other, there it would be—her, gasping out guttural
uhhhs
and
ahhhs
. Maybe with a
fuck yeah, lick my clit
thrown in there for good measure.

Not that Van seemed to mind. In fact, she suspected he kind of wanted those words between them, over breakfast. And the suspicion grew once he stopped that delicious back and forth over her now completely oversensitized clit to tell her, “Take your hand away from your mouth.”

Of course she immediately wondered if she’d misheard. It was possible, after all. Most of her senses were taken up with the heated, almost tense pleasure gathering throughout her lower body, and those that weren’t couldn’t help feeling a little faint at the sight of him.

His mouth looked wet, as if he’d dipped his face in honey a second earlier—though she supposed he had, really. He’d dipped his face in her, and come up flushed and lust-shocked and probably ready to do just about anything.

Which thrilled her more than the words he repeated, a second later.

“Take your hand away from your mouth, Evie. I want to hear you.”

She’d never seen him be so firm about anything. Not even in his sudden need for the bathroom, or all his talk about taking it slow—though she couldn’t imagine why he wanted this so badly. What did he really think she was going to say? The password to her million dollar trust fund?

She didn’t even
have
a million dollar trust fund. All she had was babble, about how good it felt even when he wasn’t touching her. She could feel her clit thrumming and thrumming, and the more he made her wait the more she could make out the slow slide of liquid between the cheeks of her ass.

Though of course, neither of those feelings was enough. And apparently, he knew it.

“I tell you what. I’ll lick you again, when you take your hand off your mouth.” He paused, as though for dramatic effect. “How does that sound?”

She knew exactly how that sounded. Like agony. Like torture. He knew he was torturing her, didn’t he? And if that was what this was, why in God’s name did it feel so good?

Just that one word—
sound
—sent a strong answering pulse through her body. His tongue curled around syllables that weren’t there, like a promise.
This is what you’ll get, if you just let me hear.

“I can’t. I can’t. Nothing sensible wants to come out of me.”

“Who says I want sensible?” he asked, and then oh God he licked again. Right over the underside of her clit, so quick and wet it almost stung.

“No—no—”

“If you keep saying no I’m going to think you really want me to stop.”

“Oh Jesus, no—crap. I mean
yes
. Yes, this is nice, please don’t stop it.”

“This is
nice
?”

Oh Lord, the expression on his face. Apparently she’d just stepped in the sex talk equivalent of an open sewer.

“Um, okay, I can do better than that. How about—”

She had to stop mid-sentence. Had to. This time when he licked between the folds of her shivering sex he did it quick, one soft lick after another, and then another, until she couldn’t distinguish between each one. There was just a long pulse of pleasure, close to orgasm but not quite there.

“Oh God that’s—oh that’s really—”

Nice
, her mind threw up, but it didn’t quite get to her mouth. Instead, a shuddering moan took its place. Her hand went to his hair. Words came suddenly easier, one after the other.

“Yeah, just there,” she found herself panting, and then even more shocking, “Lick my clit.”

He was right about the
nice
. The nice was fake, it was silly, whereas these words—these were the ones she wanted to say. They were freeing, fantastic, and oh they were made so much more so by his own contribution to the proceedings.

“Jesus that’s hot. You like this, huh? You like me doing this?”

She didn’t even hesitate this time.

“I love it. I love it.”

It was the truth, after all. She couldn’t think of anything else in her life she’d loved half as hard as this, and the fact barely even shamed her. All she could do was revel in it, watching and watching as he bent to lick her again.

Then moaning for him too loudly when he struck some impossibly sweet spot. He seemed to have some sort of uncanny knack for it, searching out places that felt sensitive, but not
too
sensitive. Pulling back when her orgasm hovered close, and licking more frantically, more greedily, when it seemed just out of reach.

And then finally, just as she thought she might go mad with it, his fingers slid down, down through her slippery slit to find the entrance to her pussy.

Of course, he didn’t push in. But that wasn’t the point. The
suggestion
of sliding into her was enough, the
hint
that he might do it at any moment. It made her buck on the bed when she didn’t want to, and say things that he had to know she didn’t mean, like,
God yes, just fuck me
.
Fuck me, fuck me.

Though in truth, she wasn’t sure if she did mean them or not. It didn’t seem like such a bad thing, to imagine those fingers suddenly easing into the empty ache there—the one that clenched around nothing every time he rubbed over that little hollow.

How would it feel, to be so filled? Even his fingers felt absolutely immense, so God only knew what his cock would do to her. Split her in two, most likely, though the thought didn’t seem half as bad as it should. Instead, the image just joined with all of the insane sensations fizzing through her body, shoving her higher and higher until her hand simply had to tighten in his hair.

Words actually wanted to come out this time, but she didn’t have the breath to lend them. Everything had seized up inside her, so tightly that for a second she panicked. This wasn’t like the orgasms she’d had prior. The orgasms prior hadn’t hurt the way this one was doing, and they hadn’t made her stop breathing, and oh God what if a person could die of coming?

She was sure she’d heard that on the news, one time. Sure. But no matter how tense and out of control her body got—by this point, she’d practically started rutting against his mouth—he didn’t let up.

He wasn’t letting up now. His tongue stayed tight and rough on her clit, and those fingers stroked and stroked and ohhhhh that was it. Oh Lord, this was really it.

“I think I’m coming,” she burst out, and knew it sounded odd. How could you
think
you were doing something like this? You had to know, because so many things pointed to it—the pulse of her clit, the sudden slick of wetness, the way pleasure got hold of her gut and squeezed and squeezed.

And yet the whole thing just felt so different from anything she’d previously experienced. It went on and on, for one thing. She wasn’t even sure it had an end in sight, somewhere in the middle of it. She had to cling to the covers and his hair and anything else she could find, just to keep herself sane.

Then just as she felt sure she couldn’t take another second of it, wrenching pleasure turned to slow, sensuous ebbs. That clenching, tense sensation relaxed into a kind of syrupy warmth—one that almost felt like falling asleep. She even closed her eyes, briefly, just to let it wash over her.

Then had to open them again, the moment he shifted on the bed.

“You okay?” he asked, but it really looked as though she should have been asking that question. He had the strangest expression on his face—caught somewhere between a faintly smiling satisfaction, and a kind of agony.

It made her think of the pleasure she’d just experienced, though he hadn’t had anything like that, of course. He’d had precisely nothing—not even teasing of some sort—and it showed.

“Yeah,” she said, but oh Jesus her voice came out weird. It sounded like her body felt—like maybe she’d just been wrung out and left hanging wet. “How about you?”

She had to ask. He didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. Mostly he’d settled on kneeling over her, fingers still just about touching her spread legs. But there were so many things wrong with how he looked she could hardly count them all.

The fact that he was still fully dressed didn’t help matters.

“Oh, I’m…uh…doing great,” he said, which was amusing for a lot of reasons. The little brisk nod he did, for one. And the tone of his voice—so breathless and half-amused.

It made her want to hug him, even if other pressing matters needed resolving first.

“Well, you definitely
look
awesome.”

“Maybe I should—”

“If you tell me you need to visit the bathroom, I might have to kill you.”

He blew out a breath, as amused as his stumbling words. “Yeah, I think we’re probably past that.”

“I think you’re right. I mean, I am completely naked. And also—you just did that thing to me. You know. With your mouth.”

Even with her silly, too-cautious way of putting it, his eyes drifted closed. As though he could see it somewhere behind those lids, and feel it all over again. Feel
her
all over again.

“Did you like it?” he asked, but she didn’t think he really doubted the answer. A fool could have seen she liked it. She was still liking it as he spoke, limbs so lax it felt as though they might run off the bed at any moment.

“More than anything I’ve ever experienced.” She paused, when his breath caught in his throat. Considered, for a second, before continuing. “You liked it too, huh?”

She saw him glance down at the still-flushed and river-wet place between her legs. One hand suddenly between his legs, pushing and pushing down on that thick shape. Of course, after he’d done it he didn’t seem capable of answering with words, but she couldn’t blame him. She felt as strung out as he looked, thirty seconds after the biggest orgasm of her life. All she had to do was look at him—at his heavy-lidded eyes and his vaguely trembling body and that hand, seemingly unable to move away from his cock—and an answering echo of pleasure went through her sex.

But it wasn’t enough anymore, to just see him like that. She wanted the other stuff, the things she’d imagined but couldn’t quite see clearly. The things he obviously wanted to do, if she ever managed to get him to admit it.

Though of course the problem was—how? What words did people say, to push each other into that final act of abandonment?
Go on
sounded weak even to her ears, whereas something ruder, like say
let me suck your cock
just seemed too much. He’d definitely make a run for it, if she went with the latter.

Even if it kind of looked the way he’d said—things were past that point. He had a hand on himself and he wasn’t stopping that slow, firm rub, and though the urge to cover up was in her she couldn’t quite make herself do it.

It just felt too good to have him gaze at her like that as he stroked himself. She could see him following most of the curves and lines of her body, expression so heated and heavy it almost felt like a hand sliding over her skin. And the more he took in the worse it got, until he couldn’t seem to stop himself.