Page 38 of Carver
“I’m going to come,” he grunts, arching his head back and surging his hips forward.
His breathing is rocky until it punches out of his lungs. I can feel the tremors race through him right before his cock kicks in my hand. He bows forward, taking me with him as he comes. It’s so intense that it feels like he’s going to rattle apart. He groans something that sounds like my name as his come covers my hand in hot jets.
I’m too far gone. Too ridiculously turned on. All I can think is that I need to taste him. I need some part of him inside of me.
I bring my hand to my mouth and lick my palm. The salty musk of him bursts over my tongue. I would have gone a scarlet red in the past if I ever had to admit how much I love having him come in my mouth. It’s not just the release. I genuinely love what comes after. I know I’m probably in a very slim minority here, butnothingturns me on like the raw taste of my man.
I can’t help a wild whimper of pleasure as I lap up his seed. I pop my finger in my mouth, licking the shining trail clean.
“Jesus, fuck,” Dom curses under his breath. “Fuck, Bronte.”
Before I can even process what I’ve unwittingly unleashed with my own need, Dom picks me up basically one-handed. The kitchen is so small that it’s only a few paces to the antique table so like the one my parents have, except this one is blue withfloral chairs. It’s rectangular and fits perfectly into this corner of the kitchen.
It bangs against the wall in protest when I’m set down on it. Not slammed. Dom’s gentle with me, but I can’t say the same for my leggings. He tears them away and throws them somewhere behind me. My thong is just simple cotton with two little straps. He pulls until they snap, then he shoves the chair out of his way, knocks my thighs open, and fuses his mouth over my aching pussy.
I fall back against the table, spread out like his new favorite meal. I try to get my hand between my legs to hold myself open for him, to shove his face away before I come, to just dosomething, but he catches it and then he’s licking my fingers, sucking each one clean, tasting himself on me.
He rears up, and even though I’m so wet that I’m probably leaking all over the table, he spits on me.
“Watch me, Bron,” he commands, more words than he usually ever speaks. He holds me open, and I do watch while he drags his tongue from my entrance, all the way up to my clit, lapping up his own saliva.
His face is fierce and so damn beautiful. He’s always been beautiful in his own right. The world’s gauge of what makes a person attractive or even valued is so skewed.
He lifts up one of my legs, spreading me even wider for him. I nearly weep when he licks along my inner thigh. He nips the sensitive skin, laving his tongue over the sting. I want to bury my hands in his hair, but I’m still half terrified of hurting him in any way. If my hand glances off or I pull too hard…
I lift my sweater and tank top up instead, shoving the cups of my bra down to pinch my nipples. Dom inhales sharply, so I know that he sees. I circle the hard buds while he licks me from my knee back down to the crease of my leg, teasing me unmercifully. He breathes in loudly, drinking in the scent of me.
There’s no part of me he hasn’t seen, touched, known, and loved, but it’s been a while. My face heats, but my blood also boils. He takes his time, running his finger down my seam before he parts me. I watch him studying me, glistening and swollen for him. He just looks, reverently, before he tastes. He finds my entrance and dips his tongue inside of me, almost tentatively and shy.
“Oh my god!” I grasp the edge of the table at the deep rumble of pleasure that vibrates through him.
He slips his tongue inside of me, giving me just a fraction of what I truly need. I can’t do anything except close my eyes and try to hold on against the sweet onslaught. He eats me without caring how loud it is, clearly enjoying himself. He’s not shy at all, not when he teases me as he tortures me with slowly making his way back to my clit, not when he sucks it into his mouth and rolls his tongue over it, not when he notches two fingers at my entrance and pushes them inside like he has all the time in the world.
My shoulders jack right off the table as I curl up and around the wild source of pleasure ripping through me. I’m very conscious of the fact that everything about us is different now, including our situation. We’re not alone anymore. We have a family. Our daughter is sleeping soundly right upstairs in her brand-new crib. It’s not like I can just moan the house down.
I slap my hand over my mouth while I grasp the table with the other, keeping my whimpers trapped inside.
It’s so good. So good the way Dom uses his fingers to fuck me leisurely while he licks my clit. I’m half wild with it, shaking and sweating, writhing away and forcing myself back, closer.
My eyes snap open when Dom leaves my clit. He licks me lower, tongue circling his fingers where he has me spread open. It’s so hot, so filthy, so exactly what I need and want, that my soul pretty much tears out of my body. I’m built on memories, founded on every moment that came before this. It’s not just this moment or just us. And that’s what makes this so perfect. We’ve lived. We’ve fallen. We’ve waited, ached, cried, and lived some more. We’ve known distance and closeness, separation and togetherness, darkness and light. We’ve known death and we’ve known life. Loss and rebuilding. The love of family and the painful absence of the ones who should have protected us but couldn’t. Dom broke. We broke. But we’ve gathered the pieces and we’re here now. Together.
All those thoughts ground me while at the same time, gravity escapes me completely. I’m coming apart, shattering, floating. I’m not a solid form any longer. I’m something lighter, barely corporeal.
I come, biting deep into my fingers so that I don’t make a sound except for my ragged breathing. The climax rattles through me, tearing me apart. I writhe on the table, soaking Dom’s hand and face. He eats me all through it, licking me and thrusting long past the point where I’m too sensitive and want to beg him to stop. I don’t. I eat up the pleasure and the pain, solidifying it deep inside of me.
He takes me the point where I can’t take anything more. I have to press my hand lightly over his hair. He lifts his head, his lips glistening from me, chin soaked. He edges away, withdrawing his fingers, caressing me one last time like a silent thank you. He stands and I watch, a flushed, sweating, tangled, heaving, delicious mess on the table after he just ate me like he was starved. My heart is slamming, my pulse racing, but it picks up when he pops his fingers into his mouth and licks them clean.
“Mmm,” he sighs. He walks around the table and slides his arm under my shoulders, helping me to sit up.
He has a devious glint in his eyes. They’re so blue right now, darkened by his blown pupils. He bends over, but not to help me off the table. He kisses me so hard that it has to hurt him. I’m much gentler, but I do let him capture my whimper of surprise and passion. I glide my tongue over his lower lip and then his top, tasting myself on him. I want to devour him, but I force myself to slow down and be gentle. Just a few weeks ago, it was painful for him to eat. I saw how carefully he chewed at dinner. I’m not sure how long stitches take to dissolve, but his are still there. If I hurt him, I’ll never forgive myself.
“I love you,” I breathe against his lips, feeding him the words, letting him drink them straight from the source.
The first time I ever said those words to him, I was scared and elated. I’ve never required him to return them. I was scared senseless thinking he wouldn’t, but steadfast I that it wasn’t going to change my mind or my truth if he needed more time.
Dom’s hands bracket my face, tilting it up. I’m hypnotized by the slow sweep of his lashes. The curve of his nose and jawline, the dimple in his cheek as he illuminates this entire room with that tilted smile that so rarely appears. I adore theway working with stone has given him defined strength, building up his shoulders, defining his pecs, and trenching out his abs, defining the V muscles. It’s devastating how that same stone could cause so much damage. His right arm is clearly smaller, atrophied despite the exercises he’s done to try and improve his range of motion.
I scrape my eyes back to his, worried that he’ll be angry for drinking my fill, but his eyes are just as dark with desire and tenderness.
