Page 13 of Full Out Fiend

“Deal, angel. Get up on the bed. I want you to sit on my face.”

Chapter 9

Daphne

Heremoveshisshirtand pants, simultaneously chasing after me and swatting playfully at my backside as we cross the room. I don’t even have a chance to worry about how my behind looks because he hasn’t taken his hands off me.

I climb onto the bed and kneel as he props up against the headboard and arranges the pillows the way he wants them.

“Come here,” he murmurs in a low growl that sends a fresh surge of moisture trickling down my legs.

I crawl toward him, then straddle his torso awkwardly, uncertain about how exactly this is supposed to work.

“Up,” he instructs without hesitation, jutting his chin.

Is he serious?I shift forward and straddle his chest, but I stop when my knees meet his shoulders.

This feels… unbearably awkward. And maybe even physically impossible?

“Hey, Daphne,” he murmurs, running his enormous hands up my thighs as my muscles twitch from the awkwardness of the position.

When our eyes meet, he’s got that cocksure smirk on his face.

“When I said sit, I meant sit. You can’t expect to enjoy the ride if you aren’t securely locked in place.”

He grips my legs in encouragement, massaging where my thighs meet my ass as I scoot up farther.

“There ya go,” he encourages when my center is finally hovering above his mouth. It’s easier to straddle his head, but I’m still off-kilter and confused about how the hell this is supposed to work. What if he passes out from lack of oxygen? Should I ask if he has a safe word?

“You can put your hands on the headboard or in my hair. Nowsit,” he commands.

He tickles the backs of my knees then, making it impossible to hold my own weight as I careen back from his touch. I plop down not-so-gracefully onto his mouth, then suck in a ragged breath when his tongue darts out to greet me.

He chuckles against my folds, the feeling both unfamiliar and thrilling, before he speaks again.

“I figured you might be ticklish. If you want to get me back later, my weakness is my armpits.”

And then he stops talking altogether and makes much better use of his smart mouth.

The first few licks are tentative and exploratory, like he’s getting acquainted and purposely holding back.

It’s exquisite.

But when the flat of his tongue runs from my ass up along my entire slit, then presses hard against my clit, I’m done for. I whimper at the sensation. He grips my thighs in response.

I should be worrying about crushing him, but then he does that hard, delicious stroke again… andagain… and my hips start to move in rhythm to the symphony he’s composing between my thighs.

Emboldened by his eagerness, I grip the headboard and use it to bear down, notching up the pressure of his mouth on my pussy. He growls in what I assume is pleasure or approval, the vibrations reverberating deep in my core.

He’s holding my hips so tight there will no doubt be blue and purple fingerprints in the morning, grinding me against his face with so much force I cry out again and again. The sheer power of him has me singularly focused on wringing out every ounce of satisfaction he’s willing to give me.

And, fuck, does this man know how to give.

This is exactly how I like it. It’s how I do it when I’m alone. Forget gentle touches and soft caresses—I live for hard, steady pressure on my clit, just like this.

A euphoric sense of confidence blossoms in my chest as I moan my pleasure.

My thigh muscles tingle from the position, but it’s nothing compared to the delicious heat warming my veins and percolating low in my belly.