Page 83 of Dirty Beasts: Chance

He laughs, a hot huff of breath on skin. “Just trust me, mama.”

And then his tongue dives in against my clit, pressing, circling, flicking, thrashing side to side. His rough-yet-soft beard scrapes my inner thighs and the lips of my sex, his nose nudges me, his breath washes over me—a kaleidoscope of sensation. When I’m spiraling up to the edge, he suctions his lips around the bud of nerves and slowly softly delicately…makes out, I think is the only accurate term…with my clitoris. And while he’s doing this, he slips a finger into me, gentle and cautious, in and curling, withdraw, in and curling, withdraw…and then he adds a second finger. His mouth moves unhurriedly on my center, suctioning and kissing and tonguing while his fingers drive in and out of me, his fingertips scraping that magical hidden place inside me.

I’m flung helter-skelter to the edge, hips bucking, breasts bouncing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I cry. “Chance, yes, please, yes, please fuck, god, please yes!”

He pulls away entirely. “Not quite yet, mama. You’re not ready yet.”

My thrashing subsides and I do an ab curl to glare down my body at him. “I’m gonna kill you if you don’t let me come, you sadistic bastard.”

He just laughs. “You’ll thank me when I’m done, I promise.”

He skims his mouth up my belly and cups each of my breasts in a hand, laving his tongue over one nipple and then the other, alternately pinching and licking and sucking on them until the sensation is nearly enough to make the orgasm he’s building inside me start rising again.

As it is, it leaves me gasping, clutching at his head.

But it’s not what I need.

As if he knows I’m about to have a tantrum on him, he wedges his massive shoulders between my thighs once more, pulling my ass to the back edge of the mattress and hanging my knees over his shoulders. My ass is suspended in the air, only my torso on the bed, the rest of my lower half entirely at his mercy. He kneels in front of me, brings his mouth to my sex.

A lick.

A kiss.

A breath of hot air, a finger delving into me and withdrawing again entirely.

Tease, tease, tease.

A series of slow licks with a flattened tongue, and then a few quick light circles, and then his finger plunging into me.

The orgasm is a pent-up wildfire, now. I feel it pounding behind my belly, swirling behind my eyelids. Pulsing against my lower back. Throbbing in my sex. Tingling in my tight breasts.

When it comes, it’s going to rip me apart.

He is purely patient, masterfully tactical. Each moment, each touch drives me higher, closer, deeper. Builds the orgasm to frenetic desperation. Even when I’m not at the edge, I’m gasping, wild, hips bucking and thrashing. The edge is always there, now, and with each switch of tactics he brings me closer and backs me away, up to the cusp of climax and away, again and again.

Time dissolves.

I become aware of a sound—a keening, a low weeping whimper. Me. It’s a pleading sound. Helpless, unconsciously emitted.

“Please, please, please,” I beg. “I need to come, I need it, I need it.” I hear my words, uttered in a ragged, hoarse whisper. “Chance…please.”

“Now?” he murmurs. “You think you’re ready?”

“I’ll die if I don’t get to come,” I gasp. “I’ll fuckingdie.”

“Wouldn’t want that.” He surges up over me, pulls me fully up on to the bed, and then cups a powerful hand under my neck, lifts my head to savage a wild, starving kiss to my mouth.

His fingers drive into me, two of them hooking deep while his palm drives against my clit.

I detonate.

I scream, a full-voiced throat-shredding cry, my entire body bucking up off the bed. Lights and heat flash behind my eyes, and my pussy clenches around his thrusting fingers. His palm rubs against my clit as his fingers drive into me, and he swallows my scream. Moves down to my breasts, using his free hand to bring a breast to his mouth, sucking hard, pinching the bud with his teeth until I gasp at the sharp nip of pain that only makes the pleasure explode all the more potently. The other breast, the same treatment.

To use the word “orgasm” for what I’m experiencing is to dull the razor sharpness of it, is to dim the brilliance of it, is to domesticate the wildness and mute the roar.

I’m torn apart, shredded, dissolved.

I heave, my hips thrash.