Page 7 of Lovesick
Something unnamable swells behind my navel, pulsing with anticipation and ushering another deluge of gush to splatter his taste buds. I’m moaning at an eardrum-rupturing volume, rutting my hips into the air without an ounce of mortification. His tongue delves deeper and deeper, reaching parts of me that have only ever been touched once in a blue moon, oscillating between sensitive spots with well-rehearsed flicks. My eyes fall closed, my breathing stutters, static crackles over my blacked-out vision.
Crew withdraws again, just enough to take one of my southern lips between his teeth and pull. My lower body convulses, and I silently pray for death to strike me down because anything would be less painful than this torture.
“Are you going to give me an orgasm? Are you going to squirt all over my face like the good girl I know you are? You’ve been doing so well. Hell, I’m going to come in my pants in the next three minutes whether you finish or not.”
If Sensible Merit was in the house, she’d shun being called agood girl, but Sensible Merit is MIA right now.
My belly ties into a constrictor knot. “I…”
His breath plumes against my clit. “It feels like you’re burning alive, doesn’t it?”
“I-I’ve never…”
“You’ve neverwhat, sweetheart?” he teases huskily.
Is my lack of experience embarrassing? Maybe, but I don’t feel any sort of judgment from Crew. In fact, even with that fuckboy guise he puts on, I don’t believe that he’s as shallow as a kiddie pool.
Spit it out, girl! The only man who’s ever yummed your yuck sucked on your clit like a pacifier and thought that the G-spot was a myth.
I use the headboard to suspend my weight, heat rising to my cheeks. “I’ve never had…a man-made orgasm.”
I’m not sure if I expected Crew to pity me, but the harsh sting of his nails in my thighs is all the answer I need. Determined in a charming sort of way. Sexy in an I-want-to-slurp-you-up-like-soft-serve sort of way.
“Good thing we’re about to change that then,” he promises.
The barb perched on my tongue dies a swift death when Crew torques his tongue just right, eating me out like a man starved. There’s no reprieve. He’s determined to wring my orgasm out of me with measured strokes, and he won’t be satisfied until I am, in fact, screaming his name loud enough to alert his neighbors.
And I do.
“Oh, God. Crew! Oh! I can’t—it feels…”
The floodgates inside of me open, and the warmth that’s been broiling in my groin begins to overspill, rushing out of me in gush after gush of cum. I’ve never climaxed this hard before.Ever.It hurts so good.
Crew braces himself, printing half crescents into the flesh of my thighs with his nails and gulping the geyser of wetness that erupts out of me with a velocity unknown to mankind. A keening mewl tears through my throat, and my orgasm seems never-ending while I lose the steel-tight hold keeping my inhibitions in check.
Finally, after I empty every drop, I melt against the headboard, grappling for my bearings as my equilibrium suffers a death-defying spin. Crew isn’t even exhausted. Just like his libido, his stamina is impressively off the charts, and he licks webs of my arousal off his lips, self-satisfied and rumbling his approval.
I stare up at the shadow-obscured ceiling, pushing strands of sweaty hair out of my burning eyes. “Wow. I didn’t know it could feel like that.”
“I live to please,” Crew says.
Everything’s coming back to me in sporadic flashes. For the first time in minutes, I don’t feel like I’m about to pass out. My tits rise and fall at an erratic pace, the leftover slick on the insides of my thighs congeals against my skin, and my brain is trapped in a low-visibility fog with no sense of direction.
Crew attempts to—indiscreetly—adjust his erection, which looks like it’s about to burst through the seams. “Fucking hell, Merit. You taste like goddamn heaven, you know that?”
“I didn’t crush you?”
“Sweetheart, if I was destined to die by pussy, I’d choose yours in a heartbeat.”
Thank God it’s dark in here, otherwise my face would be as red as a fire hydrant. I’m about to change the subject—or at least diffuse some of the lingering tension—but the soft groan that Crew emits is enough to warrant concern.
His godlike body is bathed in brilliant radiance, the moon inadvertently highlighting the small wet spot saturating the front of his jeans.
My eyes widen. “You didn’t…”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing a cold shower can’t fix. Plus, I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of you.”
Maybe Crew isn’t who I thought he was. Any normal fuckboy would be turning me onto my knees by now and slamming the clam with egregious obliviousness. But he’s not pressuring me to do anything.
