Page 66 of The Cruelest Kind of Hate
She looks up at me through her lashes. “Second best.”
“Good thing I’m not done with you yet.”
Cali props herself up on her elbows, tits rising and falling with overtaxed breaths, her thoroughly fucked expression a lick of fire to the flickering wick still burning strong in the bottom of my stomach. “We’re going to miss the party,” she says.
Even though her glorious cunt is keeping my cock warm, I pull out of her, letting a viscous string of arousal stretch between us before it soils the sheets below. “I promised you another orgasm.”
She goes uncharacteristically quiet, her cheeks prickling with embarrassment and her eyes looking everywhere but where I yearn for them the most. “I don’t think I can have another…”
She doesn’t even finish her sentence. I can tell she’s still hungry for me, though, with the way her body tenses in lustful anticipation, how her tongue wets the cushion of her bottom lip, priming it for the slight indentation of her teeth.
“Guess we’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”
Before her self-conscious thoughts become cobwebbed in her head, I spread her legs apart, slapped in the face by her pretty, puffy pussy lodged full of my load. I know something about eating my own jizz should turn me off, but when it’s undercut by that sweet escape between her thighs, it doesn’t even bother me. All gentlemanly sweet talk—or ungentlemanly dirty talk—is abandoned when my tongue finds her soaked clit, and I press the flat of it to her still-sensitive entrance, feeling her writhe slightly and shake the bed.
She’s still on her elbows, except her back is arched this time, her legs are wrought by tremors, and the tiniest of moanspreviews the chorus of obscene noises just waiting to penetrate the stillness of the bedroom.
I lick over her outer lips, tasting the first dregs of salt on my tongue, and then I breach the opening of her cunt, immediately doused in the overwhelming scent of sweat and cum. A ribbon of possessiveness weaves through me, cementing the unbelievable fact that I get to taste the two of us out of what might as well be a golden chalice, and my dick’s quick to react with an appropriate rush of blood.
I swirl inside her, lapping at her tender walls, simultaneously swallowing the heady abundance now steadily dripping out of her. All my senses are going off like a security alarm, so overstimulated that every thought in my head poofs out of existence.
I chance a glance at Cali, more than satisfied with her mouth cutting into a tight-lipped grimace, her head tilted back, the soft curve of her stomach quivering. When I brush over a supposed receptive spot, her pussy begins to strangle my tongue, hips lifting higher into the air, mewls so loud they practically break the sound barrier.
“Ohhh, fuck. Oh, Gage.”
I could spend hours down here, but she’ll probably only last a few more minutes. I speed up my pace with fast flicks, exploring areas that her exes doubtfully ever ventured, using my hands to clamp onto her thighs and prevent myself from melting into a pathetic puddle of goo. She’s fully thrashing now, riding my tongue greedily, clenching fistfuls of sheets between her hands as a multitude of moans make my now-hardening dick pulse.
Devouring her like this—witnessing her as vulnerable as an exposed nerve—causes pods of butterflies to hatch in my belly, salaciousness slithering serpentine through the very structure of my DNA. I never want this to end. I never want to spend amomentnotpleasuring Cali. She deserves to have me buried between her thighs twenty-four-seven, and that’s a job I don’t take lightly.
Her orgasm is fast-approaching, courtesy of every lash of my tongue, and I give her an added incentive when I suckle on her slick folds. Her legs, surprisingly, aren’t choking me out like they were the last time. She’s so exhausted from the pleasure pendulum ride I’ve subjected her to that she doesn’t even bother with saying anything—everything’s either a soft gasp or an animalistic moan that doesn’t bode well for the state of my dick.
Just a little longer, Spitfire.
I retract my tongue the slightest bit from her cunt, looking up at her through her shaking legs, walking on razor-thin wire with the teasing she’s about to make me regret. “Legs up, baby. On my shoulders. Let me see that leaking pussy. Let me remind you who it belongs to.”
Her hand darts out to grip some of my hair, and she pulls harshly, a nonverbal message telling me that I need to put my tongue to better use. “You’re…killing…me,” she groans, slowly hauling her legs over my shoulders, a desperate attempt to ensure she finishes quickly.
“Considering what you do to me on a daily basis, this is hardly an even playing field.” I delve my tongue right back inside her, not stopping for a breath of air until I’ve swung her all the way to the highest point of her climax.
And finally, after a continuous succession of slurps, she cries out my name, and the sound clatters against my eardrums. A ripe wave of cum slathers my mouth, rushing down into my belly like pressurized water on a waterslide. Her arousal leaks down my chin, but I’m diligent enough this time to guzzle the majority of the excess up, so drunk on the taste of her that I neglect my painfully throbbing erection.
After her orgasm razes her, every tight hold of her musclesliquefies, and she’s a sweaty pile of bones above me, starving for air with urgent gasps that never seem to end. Her legs flatten against the bed, and I drag myself up a few inches, resting my chin on her belly.
“Wow” is all she manages, bringing her hand to her forehead.
“See? Told you I could get two.”
22
TRICK-OR-TRAUMA
GAGE
“Boo!” Cali shrieks from behind me, jostling my shoulders and relishing in horrifying eldritch laughter when I clutch my imaginary pearls.
Frozen, I’m like a deer trapped in the line of a hunter’s bow, and it takes a few seconds for my brain to reboot and assure me that the only plausible threat in the vicinity is a threat to my manhood.
“Jesus,” I breathe, feeling my poor heart spasm underneath my fingertips. “You can’t keep doing that, Cali.”
