Page 16 of Geek in the Streets
The first long, slow swipe of hot tongue makes my spine arch and my teeth grit. Every muscle in my body is tensed.
“Dallas,” I pant. “Don’t tease. I’m gonna explode.”
His hum vibrates the most sensitive parts of my body. My toes curl; my eyes squeeze shut then open again as specks of warm rain start to dot my cheeks.
Then the weatherman grips my ass in both hands, squeezing possessively—and with a ragged growl, sucks my clit into his mouth.
“Oh!”
My hips buck up, so suddenly that Dallas flattens a hand over my lower belly and pushes me back down, pinning me to his truck. He’s so much bigger and stronger than me, so in control, and it leaves me breathless in the best way. Whining and gasping, I writhe beneath his lips and tongue.
“So good,” Dallas mutters against my folds, licking and nibbling and sucking every over-sensitive inch of my pussy. “So fucking good, Shelley. You’re sweet and salty at the same time.”
“Best popcorn flavor.”
Dallas’s laugh makes my body arch and roll, seeking more of his touch. More of the primal, possessive way he claims my body as his own.
“Exactly.”
As the rain comes down faster, harder, plunking off the truck roof and drumming on the glass windshield, soaking into my hair and trickling down my face and shoulders, Dallas bends over and feasts on my pussy, seemingly oblivious. Thunder rumbles, but my nerve endings are already jangling.
An extra cold raindrop slides over the hard bead of my nipple, making me grunt and arch my chest for more. Down between my legs, Dallas’s white shirt is going see-through, clinging to the muscles of his back so tightly that I can see a small birthmark on the back of his left shoulder.
This is perfect. Like something in a dream.
And as Dallas presses one long, thick finger past my entrance, there’s barely a pinch of discomfort before my body stops fighting and sucks him greedily inside. That stretch and press, the feeling of something brushing against my most sensitive spots inside, makes my eyes drift shut and my ears ring.
Lightning flickers through my eyelids.
My teeth dig hard into my bottom lip, and my hips roll, trying to chase the press of Dallas’s finger.
“More?” he asks, his normally smooth voice scraping on its way out.
I whimper and nod, eyes still squeezed shut—and when a second finger joins the first, a hot mouth closing over my clit, I cry out, my whole body starting to shake.
It’s somuch.
Sensory overload, in the best way. The storm, the static, the whip of the breeze and the icy sprinkle of the rain. Dallas’s hot, hungry mouth and the shameless sounds that he makes between my legs, not shy at all about how much he enjoys licking me. Those hard, long fingers spearing deep, so much deeper and thicker than I could ever get on my own.
It builds and builds, until my eyes open, hazy and damp from tears of pleasure, to find Dallas watching me from between my thighs. He pins me with those ocean blue eyes, and that gaze is filled with so much possessiveness and love that my heart actually skips a beat.
My hips twitch; my abs clench.
My channel clamps down on his fingers, my inner muscles shuddering with pleasure.
And it’s so different, so much more intense than any orgasm I’ve ever had on my own, that for a split second I don’t realize what’s happening to me. I’m too far gone, hips rolling against Dallas’s fingers and tilting up to seek his tongue, my nipples beaded in the onslaught of the rain. The pleasure rises up and washes over me in a powerful wave, drowning me in sensation, and once it’s over, my teeth are chattering.
Dallas stands up and wipes his mouth on his forearm. “Are you cold?” he asks.
Dazed, I shake my head, then reach out for him from where I’m flopped on the trunk. My core is weak as jelly as I sit up. When I get a handful of his shirt, I have to tug a few times, weak as a kitten, before he realizes what I’m trying to say and steps forward, hips between my bare thighs.
“We don’t have to,” the weatherman says, hands already tugging his belt loose with a clink. “We can stop here, Shelley.”
My whole body throbs with the need formore, more, more, and I start to flick his shirt buttons open one by one. My fingers are clumsy but determined.
I pin the weatherman with a fake glare. “Don’t you dare.”
Eight
