Page 57 of Rev

“More?” He barks a low rough laugh. “You want more?”

“Yes,” I breathe. “Please.”

He’s done with words. He lets go of my wrists and withdraws his finger from within me. Shuffles back a step. His eyes blaze black, jaw pulsing, chest heaving slow deep drafts of breath. He grabs me, palms on the outside of my thighs, and scrapes up over the swell of my hips, over my waist, up my sides. I’m still wearing my work shirt and a plain black full coverage bra, unsexy and supportive. He yanks my shirt up, whips it off. My shorts and panties are still on the floor around my ankles. He spends half a breath fumbling at my bra closure, and then gives up with a snarl—he grabs the bra between the cups at my diaphragm and simply yanks it up and off. My breasts jounce free with a brief sharp twinge as the strap scrapes against my back and the cups catch against the not-insignificant weight and heft of my breasts.

I’m naked.

He’s clothed.

I’m not sure if what just coursed through me like fire in my veins was an orgasm or a precursor to one or several—it was so far outside my realm of experience that I don’t know what it even was.

And I haven’t so much as touched his skin, beyond his face.

My thoughts, scattered and chaotic, are blasted into vapor when I’m suddenly airborne. I’m not even sure how it happens—one instant I’m on my feet and feeling the air against my skin and the cold of the AC billowing and Rev’s heat and feeling the slowing sway of my breasts as they come to rest from their abrupt freedom, and then the next instant I’m in the air, squealing in shock. My hands slam upward and catch against the popcorn of the ceiling, and my back goes to the wall above the door. I’m sitting on Rev’s shoulders, his hands on my bottom and sliding up my back and then around to my hips and then to my thighs and then he’s prizing my sex open and—

Searing, furious, sun-hot pressure explodes through my being as his tongue drives against my clit.

Thisis the orgasm.

I’m screaming. The scream cuts short as a fresh wave of intensity wracks my body, curling me forward over Rev, and I clutch at his head and then slam back against the wall and ceiling, trying desperately to move against his tongue, against his mouth, needingmore more moremoremore.

“Rev,” I gasp.

We’re moving through space, his mouth greedy on my sex, tongue swiping up through my lips and feathering against my clit, fat, flat licks up and up and up slowly, and then the narrow hard tip teasing in quick circles.

I’m airborne again—he’sthrownme.

I land on the bed, and he’s on top of me before I bounce even once. I barely have time to catch my breath and orient myself before his big hands grab my hips and I’m yanked hard to the edge of the bed. He’s kneeling in front of the bed, wrapping my thighs around his neck, supporting my bottom with his hands, thumbs pressing my slit open. His tongue drives in, and then settles into a slow-tasting rhythm, and I feel something more building inside me.

“Rev, ohmygosh, Rev!” I feel my hips move, trying to find the pace of his tongue, trying to match the rhythm.

He won’t give it to me. He teases me, fast and faster until my hips are bucking and I’m about to find the rhythm with him, and then he slows down, and each time he does this the edge is pushed farther away and the ceiling of my peak drives higher and the heat of the nascent climax goes hotter.

“Rev, please,” I whisper. “Please.”

“Please what, Myka?” He settles me onto the bed, my bottom at the very edge. “Please stop?”

“NO!” I cry, desperate, ragged. “Please, give it to me.”

“Give what?”

“Let me come,” I hiss, mortification revving through me—I don’t even swear, much less talk dirty during intimate times. “Make me come, please, Rev.”

“You have. Twice.” He’s teasing. Not using his mouth anymore. Just tracing his fingertip down my seam in a slow drag.

“Again. Please. I’m so close.”

Who am I? Begging this man for an orgasm?

He slides a finger inside me, piercing me slowly, deeply. Withdraws it. Adds a second finger, and now I’m spread apart. Filled. His fingers slide in, withdraw. Set a rhythm.

His tongue, on my clit. Circling, licking, and then his lips suck it into his mouth between his teeth and I scream, hips driving up, locking. His fingers move in me, in and out, in and out, driving, sliding, separating and spearing and curling, and his tongue and lips and teeth ungently ravage me.

It hits me all at once, and I throw my head back and cry out raggedly, back bowed up, hips locked, spasming, my sex clenching around his fingers.

He refuses to let me down, keeps me pinned at climax, wrenching and curling, hips bucking, grinding against his mouth and fingers until I’m out of breath and still trying to scream, can’t, can’t, can only ride out the endless waves of the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

And then I’m down, floating, drifting.