Page 42 of Auctioned for Her Blood
He nudges my feet farther apart where we stand. And then kneels on the floor, taking my hips in his strong grip and moving his mouth to my mound.
“Oh!” I fall back against the window, but he catches me, softening my drop. Then he gently nudges one of my legs to rest over his shoulder, and I have no choice but to lean back on the glass, completely exposing my sex to his face.
His hand holds my thigh firmly over his shoulder, as the other strokes through my wet heat. He’s looking between my legs with so much concentration and awe that I almost wonder if that part of me is strange, or made wrong.
My mind slowly registers what’s about to happen—oral sex—but my comprehension is impeded by a thick fog. I tense up, unsure of what I’m expected to do, or what to expect from him, and I wish I’d washed down there after we got back from New York. But then his hand slides from my thigh to part my folds and all my regrets vanish as he breathes against my heat.
His breath tickles my pubic hair, alternately heating and cooling my damp skin, and he lingers there so long I start to wonder if this is it, if I’ve been misinformed and hot breath is the extent of oral sex.
Then his tongue flicks out, grazing my clit.
A shuddering breath escapes my chest, and my head strikes the window as his tongue circles and flicks over my sensitive nub, stealing my breath, my thoughts, my sanity. I’ve touched myself before but it wasn’t remotely like this.
His tongue’s strokes continue, varying hard and soft, moving around my clit’s edges and then pressing hard over its top, switching course at just the right moment, almost as if his tongue and lips are under the command of my responses. But then I realize it’s me who’s under his control.
He’s playing my body—now his, completely his—and I fully surrender to his mouth and his hands.
As his mouth’s plunder continues, his hand strokes me, skimming over my opening and the pleasure is so intense that my hips jump forward with each pass, my entrance as sensitive as the clit he’s flicking and rubbing with his tongue, and…and…oh, god, now he’s sucking it.
My hips drive forward against the suction, and he nudges his finger inside me.
“Ah.”
Breaking his latch on my sex, he looks up into my eyes. “Tell me to stop if I hurt you.”
Unable to talk, I nod, definitely not wanting him to stop. I don’t want any of this to stop, not ever.
His mouth moves back to my clit as his finger proceeds, sliding farther inside me, and the intrusion doesn’t feel all that different from inserting a tampon, not yet, but then his finger moves, pulling almost out and then in again, pressing against my insides as it travels, and I can feel the hard edge of his ring. Each time he pushes, he lets more of his thick finger invade, and his mouth continues to torture my clit.
The sensation is overwhelming. My head rolls back and forth against the window and my hands slam against it. My body is completely overtaken by this mysterious pleasure. And still his mouth strokes and flicks and sucks, his finger plunges and circles and rubs, and then he slows his mouth’s action, breathing heavily against me.
The pressure inside my body increases as a second finger slides alongside the first. For a split second the thicker intrusion hurts, but it’s not really pain, or at least it quickly morphs into something I crave, something that makes me want even more thickness inside me. My body is shaking, and the tension building is so powerful that I’m not sure I can take it anymore—but neither do I want it to stop.
His other hand strokes my thigh, as his mouth renews its assault, alternately flicking and sucking, and I grab onto his long wavy hair, holding his head against me as my body detonates.
I cry out, barely recognizing my own voice, as pulses—no, massive waves—overtake my insides. My body is fully controlled now by the strings that he’s pulling, the buttons he’s pushing and sucking—strings and buttons I didn’t even know I had—and I’ve never imagined anything so extraordinary, materializing from inside my own body.
I lose track of time and space, lose track of everything except my sex rubbing against his face, but then as I slowly regain my awareness, I realize both my legs are over his shoulders now, draped over him as I lean back against the glass.
His fingers continue to slide slowly inside me as his mouth gently kisses my inner thighs and my mound, but he stays away now from my clit that’s on fire. His free hand guides one of my feet to the floor and then slides up my back to transfer my weight from the window. My other leg slips off him and onto the floor.
Keeping his fingers inside me, he stands and bends to kiss me, the sweet musky taste of my sex on his lips.
“You’re so beautiful when you come,” he says softly between kisses. “Miraculous.”
“Thank you?” I say, my mouth dry, my voice cracking. “Thank you for saying that, fordoingthat… Ah!” I cry out as he draws his fingers out from inside me.
He raises those fingers to his lips, and I’m slightly mortified to see blood there, mixed in with the juices glistening on his thick digits.
Then, looking deep into my eyes, his gaze holds me captive, as he licks his fingers as if they were dipped in sugar, or the finest honey he’s ever tasted. My mortification is amplified.
His eyes widen and his fingers plunge into his mouth as he sucks every trace of fluid from them, licking his rings, as if trying to clean off every last bit of me. He moans deep in his chest.
“Fuck,” he says, after pulling them out. “Ho-ly fuck.” His hand drops to his crotch.
My eyes follow the gesture, and I gasp at the sight of his hand sliding over the monstrous bulge there, its size even more intimidating than it felt while rubbing against me.
“Apologies, little dove,” he says gruffly, “but I need to be inside you—now.” In a flash, he undoes his pants—not a zipper but buttons—and then moans as he parts the leather and his stiff member springs forth.
