Page 60 of Late Bloomer
I scream as I come, the noise sharp and primal, and I barely register the quiet laugh of satisfaction from Opal as she works me through it, riding the wave with me until I’m so sensitive, it hurts.
She pulls back, crawling up the bed and pulling me to her, our bodies slick with sweat as we tangle together. Her mouth on mine. More tiny teardrops bud in the corners of my eyes, but I force them away. I can’t imagine anything quite as mortifying as crying after coming, but it was all so much I can barely control myself.
It could be seconds, it could be hours, but eventually, I come down from the high. Opal holds me through all of it.
I feel so comfortable that, for a moment, I wonder if she did kill me and this is heaven.
Something sharp and terrifying pokes at my chest, and my entire body jolts. I bottle up that dangerous sensation and shove it far, far away.
No feelings. No feelings. No feelings.
Action will definitely prevent feelings.
In a movement so sharp and assured I can’t believe I’m the one doing it, I pull back, pushing Opal beneath me, kissing her so roughly I wonder if our lips will bruise. She kisses me back.
I hover there for only a moment, but when her hands whisper across my skin and cup my jaw, a hold that feels inescapably tender, more of those sharp sensations poke against my ribs.
I sit up, tugging her to the center of the bed, then shift so I’m kneeling between her hips.
“What are you doing?” she says, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed.
“Returning the favor.”
Chapter 20OPAL
I’m dead. Or dreaming. Or astral projected into an alternate universe where gorgeous, grumpy Pepper is naked and undone and offering to eat me out.
Probably dead.
I twist against Pepper as she hovers over me, kissing her hard and deep, knotting my fingers in that long, chocolate hair. I swallow the gasp she lets out against my lips. Pepper’s hands wrap around my wrists, giving them a quick warning squeeze before pinning them to the mattress.
My skin erupts in heat as my stomach tightens with the thrill that shoots through me. I’ve always preferred taking control during sex; it’s the one thing I’m pretty confident I’m actually good at. I’ve always felt so shitty in every other aspect of a relationship, a good lay is the least I can offer. Plus, Ilikemaking my partner come. I live for that rush of finding what pushes them to the edge, how to hold them there, being the reason they finallytip over. It makes it easier for me to find release knowing they’ve enjoyed it.
But, as Pepper presses me down, biting my lip, then licking the spot, I wonder if maybe giving up control has some allure after all.
I’ve never fucked like this before, slow and unhurried—like each touch is just as important as the big finish. Pepper’s kisses alone are turning me inside out, the hungry yet careful way she explores, how she’s soft and gentle one second, deep and dirty the next. She told me she’s never done this before, and I wonder if that extends to kissing. It feels like she’s trying every variation of kiss possible—discovering what feels best. I hope that’s true.
She moves from my lips to the edge of my jaw, then down my neck, and I feel almost high from the subtle scent of chamomile on her skin. The pleasure builds slowly, languidly winding through my veins and wrapping around my bones until I’m weightless from it.
Pepper moves down my body. Palms skimming over the soft curves of my belly, framing the swell of my hips.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” she whispers as she looks between my legs, dragging her knuckles across her lips. A small blip of embarrassment pulses through me.
“Umm, Pepper?” My voice sounds far away even to my own ears, like noise can’t properly travel through my lust-crazed brain. I squirm as the anxiety grows, but it does nothing to shift Pepper’s focus from between my thighs.
“Yeah?” Pepper finally says, glancing up at me.
“I feel like there’s something I should tell you first.”
“I’m listening,” she mumbles, hooking her fingers in the elastic band of my boy shorts.
“I should probably warn you I’m not shaved.” The last word comes out as a squeak, punctuating the exact moment Pepper tears my underwear down my legs.
I instinctively cover my less than perfectly manicured vulva with both hands, squeezing my eyes shut in mortification.
I used to drag myself to waxing appointments with religious devotion, making sure every hair was ripped out. It was the only way Miles would go down on me, and him going down on me was the only way I could ever get off with him.
I haven’t been since we broke up. I like to tell myself it’s out of protest, reclaiming my body hair. When, really, it’s just from a lack of need.
