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The smile she wants to taste darkens, and I murmur to the girls on my lap, “Nap time.”
CHAPTER 42
Andrea
FIVE YEARS LATER
When I wake up with his fingers buried inside me, I moan.
“Savio,” I keen.
“Be quiet,” he croons. “Your parents will hear.”
Dazedly, I blink as he rolls me onto my front, hitches me higher on the camp bed, then feasts on my pussy. All these years later, he still has a God-tier level oral fixation.
That isnota complaint.
My eyes close as he sucks on my clit, dragging a soft grunt from me before I bury my teeth in my forearm.
I bite down harder when he runs his tongue through my folds, lapping up my juices and humming in delight as he does.
My hips rock as I ride his face, my inner thighs tightening around his head as I take my pleasure.
I already know he was stroking me while I slept because I’m soaking and so close to coming, his mouth is more of a tease than anything else.
When two fingers thrust into me, I bite the flesh between my teeth harder. I’ve come to associate the pain with pleasure—if you can’t beat them, join them—so it has every muscle in my body clenching as I ride the bubble of release when he pops it.
The next thing I know, his cock tunnels into my pussy. He pushes past the tensing muscles that are still twitching from an orgasm and doesn’t stop until he’s deep inside me.
When his body comes to rest on my back, both hands shift beneath me. One heads to my stomach, the other to my clit. When he rubs my clit, I gasp around my forearm, especially as he keeps his thrusts shallow.
Blindly, I stare at the canvas in front of me. The light from the campfire has flickered out, but the reminder that we’re not alone, that the whole family is here is no deterrent from the feelings he’s dragging out of me.
With a garbled murmur, I bite down harder, unsurprised when the tang of blood hits my tongue.
I try to hide my moan, but ultimately, I fail. He pinches my clit in punishment and the harsh pain triggers another climax.
As my body jerks in time to the pulses of agonizing release, he pulls a trick from his repertoire where he palpates my stomach, something that he only does after a nightmare.
I can feel the pressure building, know that my body is responding to his touch how he’s trained it to, and as he fucks me through first one peak, and then a second, I release my hold on my forearm.
“Savio,” I gasp. “I can’t stay q-quiet?—”
“You have to,” he growls, the words almost noiseless, his voice so deep.
Sometimes, I wish sex could be noisy. Wish I could scream. But then the intensity of being with him takes over any desire I have for that because the silence supercharges everything.
Our smell.
The taste.
The sounds of our breathing.
For all that, a soft whimper escapes me. When his mouth finds the curve of my throat, I’m not surprised when he bites down—it’s a punishment, but it’s too good to feel bad.
My pussy clamps around him, tightening to the point where I know I’ll be sore tomorrow as another orgasm ricochets around my nervous system.
I gulp down air in an effort to remain silent when, with one final palpation, the pressurized burst of liquid squirts from me. I sag into the sleeping bag, muscles like goo, the ones in my stomach and thighs even twitching as my nerves go into rebellion.