Page 93 of Double Standards

I don’t let her finish. I lift her thigh, slinging it over my shoulder, and press my mouth to the soaked lace between her legs. Her hands clutch my hair as I graze her clit with my teeth, and she rocks against me, desperate.

“That’s it, baby. Give yourself to me.”

My voice is a low growl, raw with hunger. She barely has time to brace before I hook my fingers in the waistband of her panties and tear them clean in one motion—fabric ripping like paper under my grip. She gasps, startled, eyes wide as the cool air kisses her soaked pussy. But I don’t give her a second to overthink.

I guide her down over my mouth, her thighs trembling as she straddles my face. Her knees press into the mattress on either side of my head, and then—fuck—her hips start to roll. Slow at first, testing, but within moments she’s grinding against my tongue, slick and desperate, chasing friction like she was born for it.

I lick her like a man starved, like her taste is the only thing that’s ever mattered. And maybe right now, it is. She’s sweet and wild and so fucking wet I can feel her drip onto my chin.

“Oh God!” she cries out, her voice cracking with pleasure as she starts riding my mouth harder. Her breaths come fast, uneven, laced with disbelief that something can feel this good. I grip her ass, fingers digging into her flesh, controlling the rhythm, pulling her down harder onto my tongue with every roll of her hips.

She whimpers, thighs trembling, every muscle taut and straining as she loses herself to the sensation. I flatten my tongueand drag it up her slit, then flick it over her clit in fast, relentless strokes. She jolts, hips jerking, head thrown back, hair a wild mess of blonde.

“I’m going to come,” she gasps, voice high and shaking, her body trembling like a live wire above me.

I don’t let up. I double down. My tongue moves faster, more precise. I suck on her clit, drawing her deeper into the spiral. And when I slip two fingers inside her tight, hot cunt, she cries out again, her walls fluttering around me, her body seizing.

“Axel, it’s too much!” she sobs, overwhelmed.

But I don’t stop. I want her destroyed. I want to feel her unravel, lose every piece of herself on my tongue.

She pants, whines, bucks against me, until she shatters. Her entire body goes rigid, then convulses, her thighs clamping around my head as the orgasm rips through her. She screams my name, wild and raw, hips jerking helplessly as wave after wave crashes over her. I keep licking through it, dragging out every second, every twitch, every last drop.

Only when her grip loosens in my hair, do I flip her onto her back in one fluid move. My lips are still wet with her arousal, my cock aching, and fuck if I don’t feel like a king with her trembling beneath me. My fingers keep pumping, and she’s gasping, eyes shut, thighs twitching. I nip at her inner thighs, painting her in bruises, in me.

“You got another one for me, baby?” I coax, my voice low.

She whimpers, completely gone—head thrown back, hair clinging to her damp skin, lips parted around a breathless moan. Her entire body trembles above me, the last waves of her orgasm still rippling through her like aftershocks.

My pace slows, deliberately. I slide my fingers in and out of her with a slow, fluid rhythm, coated in her slick. Her juices coat my hand, warm and thick, every glide drawing another shiver from her overstimulated body.

“Fuck,” I murmur into her inner thigh, breath hot against her sensitive skin. She twitches when my fingers curl just right, hipsjerking involuntarily. She’s so sensitive now, every little movement setting off a fresh gasp or whimper.

Then she bucks again. Her entire body tenses, thighs squeezing around my hand, and I feel her clench down hard around my fingers. Another orgasm hits her fast, tearing through her like a lightning strike, raw, uncontrollable. She cries out, half-sob, half-moan, as her hips grind down, chasing that unbearable high.

I don’t stop. Idevourher.

Tongue lapping up every drop she gives me, my mouth greedy as I suck and tease. Her taste is addictive—sweet, sharp, uniquely hers—and I swear I could live off it. I press a soft kiss to her pulsing clit, reverent and gentle, like I’m worshipping her. In fact, I am.

“Good girl,” I whisper against her skin, my voice rough with pride and hunger. I look up at her boneless body, her chest rising and falling with every shallow breath she takes. “That’s my girl.”

She finally slumps into the mattress, hands gripping the headboard like it’s the only thing keeping her here. And me?

I’m fucking obsessed.

With the way she tastes. The way she falls apart. The way she trusts me to take her past the edge and catch her every single time.

She’s ruined now. Wrecked. Shining with sweat and satisfaction. And she’s mine.

I kiss her again—slow, tender, lingering—and ease my fingers from her trembling heat, watching the way she flinches and whines, still too sensitive, still so fucking perfect.

I want more. Ineedmore.

But right now, I let her breathe. I let her feel safe. And I hold her in that space where she’s raw and real and entirely mine.

“Shit,” she breathes out. “That was…” She covers her face with her hand, speechless.

I slide up beside her, fingers lazily tracing her skin. Sheshivers and smiles, glowing. “I told you I’d make good on my promise.”