Page 47 of Crow

He uses my mouth, dragging his cock over my tongue again and again. I hollow out my cheeks, sucking him hard, not wanting to let him go.

His head tips back, his legs tremble, his abs are like cut diamonds right in front of my face, his ink flexing with every spasm and breath. I work him eagerly, meeting the pulses of his hips with thrusts of my own. A strange sound rumbles up out of him, a masculine moan.

“Fuck, Tare. I’m going to come.”

I nod, sucking him harder.

“No. Not in your mouth. That’ll scare the shit out of you.”

I want it. I shake my head, refusing to stop what I’m doing, working myself with my fingers.

His hand on my hair, cradling my head, stops me. “Tarynn.” His voice carries all the solemnity in the world. “I don’t want to hurt you or scare you. As hot as it would be to come down your throat, you know what I would like even more? Coming on those beautiful tits. I- shit, I mean breasts.”

“It’s okay. I like when you call them tits.” I sit back just long enough to say it, before taking him into my mouth, working him vigorously with my hand and mouth again.

I attack my clit, touching myself with my own hands for the first time. I’m so far gone that I don’t need to be experienced.

My fingers are messy and wet. So is my mouth. The sounds I make, little whimpers, but also the sucking, dirty, amazing sucking sounds of blowing him, tip me straight over the edge.

“Yeah, babe. That’s it. Love watching you shatter.”

My legs shake violently as I ride my hand, mashing my clit, riding out the electric pleasure. This isn’t gentle and mellow like the showerhead, and I thought that was good. This is red hot and wicked, almost violent because it’s so intense. I throw my head forward, using everything I have to make Owen come, and keep going, fucking myself unmercifully, pressing on my clit over and over again, though now it’s starting to get into borderline painful territory.

When I can’t take it anymore, I grasp Owen’s muscular hips, sinking my nails into his ass as I bob my face on his cock, back and forth, until he shouts something that barely registers because my brain is so fucking blown, and tears out of my mouth.

His massive hand pumps his cock, once, twice, and then he’s coming in scalding jets all over my chin, my chest, my shoulders, my belly, the floor, my neck. He roars out his pleasure while he’s painting me in his cum, and then after, stands over me breathing like a stallion.

I’m so blissed out, but I can’t help but looking at his handiwork. I find him doing the same. “Holy shit,” I breathe,feeling nothing but satisfied and glowing, even though I know that this would be construed as enough of a sin to damn me for eternity. If I believed in that, I might feel some guilt, but there’s nothing. Nothing bad at all. Only a creeping, satiated relief that turns my limbs to liquid.

“Holy shit is right,” he pants, slicking his fingers through the wetness and rubbing it in slow circles, trying to massage it into me.

I gasp at the dirty act.

“Holy shit, your aim sucks. That isn’t on my breasts at all.”

His fingers are slick with his sticky seed. He cups my small breast, circling my nipple with his wet thumb. His touch is a shockwave arcing straight down to my pulsing clit.

It’s even more shocking when he paints my lips with his cum and then yanks me up and slams his mouth over mine, licking it up before his tongue plunges into my mouth, letting me taste.

It’s… different. Musky and salty.

Not only do I not hate it, my hands grasp onto his shoulders pulling him closer. I want nothing more than to have him inside of him, filling me, stroking me the way his tongue is, coming in me so deep he imprints the shape of himself on my insides.

There’s no way that I can spend a single minute more not having him and survive.

“Condoms,” I gasp out. “Let’s get dressed and go get some.”

“Are you serious?” He holds me at arms’ length, studying me gravely.

My hands trace his hard abs, feeling like a sex starved lunatic. “I want every inch of you. Over and over again.” I’m warm wax over hot steel.” I love tracing the outline of him, memorizing the silk of his skin. I want him thoroughly mapped out, a surveyor and cartographer both. I need him to know my body the same way.

He brackets my hips, huge palms fitted there just right. It’s amazing that we fit so well, already.

For a crushing second, I think he’s going to say no, but then his face breaks and softens. The chuckle that rolls out of him is like chocolate melting on my tongue.

“Okay. Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we’ll go.”

He swings me up into his arms, carrying me to the bathroom like I’m a queen. I expect the shower, but instead he rinses out a washcloth, soaking it in hot water. It’s rough against my sensitive skin, but I revel in the sensation of him caring for me.

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