Page 65 of What You left in Me
I slap her again.
My hand is already wet from her dripping cunt, and I haven’t even touched her properly.
I repeat myself. Again. Again. And again.
It earns gasps, and tears, and silent scream from her.
Without permission, I rip her shirt off, tossing it to the floor. But I make her unhook her bra herself, letting it fall, while I stand there, fucking mesmerized by the sight of her, bare and shaking, standing there like she’s daring me to take her.
The silence between us is electric, pulsing with the promise of what’s coming. I slide a hand up her thigh, my fingers brushing her slick folds, swollen from her arousal and my relentless assault. She lets out a soft, broken whine that makes my cock throb painfully.
“So fucking wet for me already,” I mutter, almost to myself, my thumb circling her clit in slow, torturous strokes.
Her knees buckle, but I grip the back of her neck, holding her up, keeping her right where I want her. I watch her face, every gasp, every moan, as I tease her, my fingers sliding through her heat. “You’re dripping, Ariane. So fucking ready.”
She whimpers, rocking her hips into my hand, chasing the friction, and I can’t help the wicked smirk that curls my lips.
“Not yet,” I growl, my voice pure sin. “You’re gonna take everything I give you first.”
Before she can argue, I spin her around, bending her over the arm of the sofa. Her palms splay against the leather, her body flushed and trembling. I drop to my knees behind her, my hands gripping her hips, spreading her wider.
Her pussy’s exposed, swollen, and so fucking perfect I can barely think.
“You’re gonna let me do whatever I want, aren’t you?” I ask, my voice low and rough, my hands sliding up the backs of her thighs, strong and sure.
“Yes,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, her body taut with anticipation.
“Good,” I murmur, leaning in, my breath hot against her inner thigh.
I tease her with slow, featherlight kisses, my stubble scraping her sensitive skin, working higher, closer, but not giving her what she wants. Not yet. I build the tension until she’s shaking, her body begging for my mouth. Then, finally, I give in, my tongue sliding over her pussy with a slow, deliberate pressure that makes her gasp. Her hands fist against the sofa, and I’m fucking addicted to the way she responds, her hips jerking back to meet me, needing more.
“Oh, God,” she cries out, and I’m relentless, my tongue and fingers moving in perfect sync, building her higher, tighter, until she’s a trembling mess.
“You like that, don’t you?” I murmur against her, the vibration of my voice making her clench. I slide a finger inside her, slow and deliberate, feeling her tighten around me. My eyes flick up, watching her body shake, catching every desperate cry that slips from her lips. “I want to feel you come on my tongue, Ariane,” I growl, my voice thick with hunger. “Show me how much you love this.”
Her cries get louder, her hips grinding against me as I work her, my tongue relentless against her clit, my fingers stroking in and out with a rhythm that’s got her teetering on the edge. The pleasure’s building fast, wild and out of control, and I can feel her getting closer, her body tensing, her breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. I’m fucking lost in her, in the tasteof her, the sound of her, the way she’s falling apart under me. And then, finally, she shatters, her body convulsing as she comes undone, and I’m right there, drinking in every fucking second of it.
Her body’s shaking under me, her pussy clenching so fucking tight around my fingers it’s a goddamn miracle I don’t lose it right there. Ariane’s coming hard, her orgasm hitting like a fucking tsunami, her ragged cries echoing in the lounge, bouncing off the walls like a symphony of pure, raw need. Her hands claw at the leather sofa and the surface makes a protesting sound, desperate for something to hold onto, and I can feel her soaking my mouth, her thighs trembling so bad I’m the only thing keeping her upright.
Fuck, she’s a mess, and I’m the one who made her this way. She is my mess now, to do with whatever I fucking want. My beautiful little whore.
I stand, my hands gripping her waist, fingers digging into her soft skin as I pull her up against me. Her bare back presses into my chest, and I can feel every shudder, every hitch of her breath as I hold her there, my arms like steel around her. She’s so fucking small against me, so fragile, but I know she can take everything I’m about to give her.
“Lie the fuck down,” I growl, pushing her forward until her chest hits the sofa again, her ass up and begging for me. She should be shy, should be fucking blushing, but the way she arches into it, the way she’s trembling with thrill instead of shame, makes my blood roar.
The sound of my belt unbuckling cuts through the air, the swift zip of my jeans following, and I free my cock, heavy and aching, pressing it against the slick heat between her thighs. She gasps, a needy little sound that makes my dick twitch, and I can feel how fucking wet she is, how ready.
“Spread your legs,” I snarl, my voice rough, almost feral, and she obeys instantly, widening her stance, her body trembling with anticipation.
I drag the head of my cock through her folds, coating myself in her slick, teasing her until she whimpers, high and desperate, her hips rocking back to chase me.
“You feel that?” I taunt, sliding over her clit, slow and torturous, before notching myself at her entrance. “This cock’s the only fucking thing that’s gonna fuck you right. The only thing you’ll ever need.”
She nods, frantic, a pleading moan tearing from her throat, and it’s all I can do not to slam into her right then.
“Say it,” I demand, my hand fisting in her hair, yanking her head back just enough to make her arch, her body open and vulnerable beneath me.
“You,” she pants, her voice wrecked. “Only you, Finn.”