Page 42 of Obsession: The Unspoken Sin
That pressure between her thighs, the confused pressure that hovered between acute pain and the ultimate pleasure, built.
Moaning, Alice’s hips, of their own volition, began to move; the upward and downward thrust of her hips took on a frantic quality. Her body moved to its own rhythm of desire; Alice existed as just a vessel for that all-encompassing need.
Close. I am so close.
“More,” she keened, pushing herself against his quixotic fingers.
Laurence, oh so dutifully, did her bidding.
Alice gritted her teeth. Digging her elbows hard into the white velvet upholstered cushions, she drove her hips up to meet his strokes.
“Tell me what you want, Alice,” Laurence whispered gutturally. “Tell me what you want?”
His question contained a harsh, pleading quality that added to her frenzy.
“Put your mouth on my cunny, Laurence.” The naughty command tore ragged from her throat and filled her ears; that lusty issuance thundered and echoed in this space. This haven he’d built and gifted to her.
“As my lady wishes,” he said throatily.
Laurence buried his face between her legs.
“Laurence!” she hissed his name. Alice’s hips shot up, and she gripped his head hard in her fingers.
Her obedient lover devoted himself to her pleasure. He licked her. He laved her. He sucked at her nub. He thrust his tongue over and over within her hot channel until words and logic fled, and Alice was reduced to a puddle of all-consuming lust and longing.
At some point, Alice had collapsed completely upon the chaise. Her lower body moved as if possessed. Her core burned and she distantly registered the broken sobs falling from her lips. She held his head tighter to that place she needed him most; the only place she wanted him right now. She ground herself against his mouth and jaw.
Laurence didn’t let up.
Alice wanted his loving to go on forever, but her center trembled with such need, she felt on the edge of breaking.
“Make me come, Laur—ence.” She hissed the last syllables of his name as he thrust his hot tongue deep.
Alice broke apart, shattering in an explosion of fireworks over a clear night sky—so bright, so vibrant—and the force of that cataclysmic beauty left her briefly blind.
She wept, tears of ecstasy leaving her cheeks damp. She cursed. “Laurence!” She screamed his name over and over, an entreaty, a prayer, a ballad of love.
A final deep, long shudder rocked her throughout.
With a broken, shuddering gasp, Alice collapsed into the folds of her makeshift mattress. As she lay there, her body replete, she tried to get her breathing to a place where her lungs did not fail her.
Her heart put up a valiant fight to return to its natural tempo. Her nerves tingled and thrummed.
And then, like a feather that’d flown too high and floated back to earth but settled instead upon the softest of clouds, she settled.
A slow, sated smile teased her lips, but her surrender left even her mouth too tired to form a full smile.
Laurence dropped the tenderest, most worshipful of kisses upon her soaked curls first. Then upon her soft, sweat-slicked inner left thigh. Then her right.
She trembled.
When he at last moved away from her, Laurence sat and drew Alice atop his lap, cradling her close.
Her gaze was drawn, riveted, to the gleaming dampness upon his mouth and chin from where he’d dined on her nectar.
“Is my bride-to-be pleased?” he murmured.
“Most pleased,” Alice purred.
