Page 32 of Beneath the Fame

“Mmmm,” I groaned, closing my eyes as his tongue flicked against my ear. He trailed kisses down the curve of my neck, the back of my shoulder, then reversed course. His teeth grazed my skin for a gentle bite before he closed down, sucking hard enough that it would probably leave a mark.

I didn’t care.

We didn’t separate when the elevator went off—we stayed stuck together just like we were, somehow making a smooth transition to the door. He let me go just long enough to retrieve the key card and get inside. He was on me again as soon as we crossed the threshold, hiking me up to press against the cool steel of the closed door so I could wrap my legs around his waist.

We’d put this off for so long that now that we were finally on the precipice it felt so damnurgent.

Downright important.

His tongue in my mouth again was a crucial first step—it muffled my shriek of pleasure when he slipped a hand into my panties. His fingers were incredibly persuasive, coaxing ample wetness to facilitate the friction against my clit, then slipping and sliding to tease my lips, the magnitude of two fingers breaching my pussy.

“Shit,” he groaned, in clear admiration.

I hated the loss of his fingers inside me, but loved the visual of him putting those same fingers in his mouth, tasting me, so clearly enjoying the flavor against his tongue. He dropped my feet to the ground, dropped to his knees, dropped my panties, and flung them somewhere deeper in the room. He hiked my dress up over my hips, hiked one of my thighs up on his shoulder, grabbed handfuls of both my ass cheeks to keep me steady.

Then dove face-first.

There was nothing to muffle my exaltation of pleasure that time.

I watched, enthralled, as he did exactly what he’d looked like he wanted to do on the couch that night—devour me.

Nothing gentlemanly about it.

He was ravenous, unashamedly grunting, slurping, sucking, licking, getting me all over his face as he turned me into a whimpering mess with his mouth. It was kinda surreal, actually.

Black America’s favorite, “respectable” pretty boy was nose-deep in my pussy, fingers up to his knuckles pressing into just the right spot that had me moaning his name, not knowing—or caring—who might hear it. When I couldn’t support my weight anymore and was just holding on by my grip on his hair, he pushed my other thigh over his shoulder too, opening me wider for more access to lap me clean with his tongue.

I could barely breathe after.

He was fully locked in though, easily hefting me in his arms. I expected the bedroom, but no—he stopped at the first elevated surface—the counter in the miniature kitchen—to rid both of us of our clothes.

He…wasn’t lying when he said I needed multiple fingers that day on the phone.

My mouth watered as I watched him roll a condom onto more dick than any one man deserved, then step between my legs—he hadn’t asked me to open, I justdid. I was already dripping with a fresh wave of wetness, my pussy more than happy to receive his offering.

He sank in as far as he could go, and then grabbed my legs to spread wider, somehow finding space to push deeper, filling me to the absolute fringes of pain and pleasure.

It was fuckingperfect.

He grabbed a handful of my hair at the back, pulling my mouth to his as he fucked me deep and slow. My fingers gripped the edges of the counter, holding on tight as my pussy constricted and released around him, welcoming the tension, the stretching, theweightof him inside me.

Finally.

I moved my grip from the counter to his ass, digging my nails in to encourage him impossibly deeper. His free hand found one of my nipples, pulling, plucking, squeezing, making me squirm as he answered my unspoken request for him to go deeper.

Faster.

Harder.

That coil of pleasure in the pit of my stomach coiled tighter and tighter with every stroke, and as it built, I knew with absolute certainty…we never should’ve crossed this line.

His tongue in my mouth was too perfect, the skill of his fingers between my legs too masterful, the surge in his hips too seamlessly in tune with my preferred cadence for this to ever be a one-time thing the way it probably should.

This was the type of sex that made a girl feel a little possessive.

Alotpossessive, actually.

“Vee,” Alec groaned, dragging his mouth from mine to speak into my ear.

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