Page 68 of The Rest is History
And the visual. The sight of her dark head between my legs. Her hair cascading over my thighs. Her bare shoulders under my hands. Because I can’t stop touching her.
Pleasure courses over me in waves so intense they leave me breathless. She pulls away to tease me, to lick up the sensitive ridge on the underside of my dick, to swirl her tongue around my crown like it’s a fucking ice cream cone before taking me deep again and moaning, and holy fuck. I won’t last long. Not like this. I lie back and surrender, letting my eyes drift closed as sensory bliss engulfs me.
I’m close. I’m so fucking close. My breath is growing ragged. I sit up and cup her neck. ‘Elodie.’
‘Mmph.’
‘Stop. I’m going to come. You’ve got to stop?—’
But she swats my hand away and keeps working my dick and Jesus. She’s going to let me come in her mouth. Holy fuck. I collapse back and hang on for dear life as her beautiful mouth brings me hurtling towards my climax and the heat courses from my balls and my dick the whole way through my body, and?—
I’m coming. Hard. Christ, so fucking hard. I jerk and shudder my way through my orgasm, eyes squeezed shut, her name on my lips, and fireworks exploding behind my eyelids, and my entire body shaking with the rush. She pumps me with her hand and slides those lips up and down as I pour into her, and it’s not until my shudders have subsided that she slides her mouth the whole way off me and sits back on her heels, pressing kisses to my thighs. My knees.
‘Come here,’ I order on a groan, and then she’s straddling me again and my hands are full of her practically naked body as I hand her a glass of water and kiss her and tell her that was the best feeling I’ve ever had in my life.
I’m euphoric. Unmoored. Reeling from the wonder of what’s just gone down (yes, that was a pun). The privilege. All I know is that I want to be buried up to the hilt inside this woman, and it’s a total waste not to capitalise on her near nakedness.
My hands roam over her breasts as I kiss her. Down her silken back and those peachy cheeks and toned thighs. They grip the thin elastic of her thong and I test my theory with a good tug, and yep. Apart it comes in my hands.
Elodie gives an amused gasp.
‘I’ll buy you a new one,’ I tell her, the idea of lingerie shopping for her doing bad things to my heart, and slide my hand between her legs. Fuck. She’s so hot and slippery already.
I wind my arms around her back and lower her off me so she’s lying back on the sofa, looking up at me through hooded eyes as she predicts my next move.
‘Naked,’ I tell her. ‘Finally. Thank fuck. And so beautiful.’
‘Lose the shirt, Vaughan,’ she says, eyeing me lazily from where she lies. I tug it off and chuck it on the ground, along with some scatter cushions, to give us more room. Then I crouch over her.
‘I want to get lost in your body for a long, long time.’ I dip my head and take one perfect nipple in my mouth, giving it a deep pull.
She shudders and groans. ‘Knock yourself out.’
‘I intend to.’ I move to the other breast. Suck on the other nipple. My hands are everywhere. Skimming down her sides in awe. Her arms. Along the soft skin of her thighs. My mouth follows as I rain kisses over that flat, pale stomach. Yesterday inthe stationery cupboard was incredible, but this is a dream come true.
Having the woman who’s dominated my days and nights for so many months lying here below me in all her naked glory.
‘Every inch of you is so sexy,’ I tell her. ‘So beautiful. But I need to taste you again. Yesterday got me addicted.’
And I’m there, between her legs, grazing her silky inner thighs with my nose and lips, inhaling her scent and then settling right where I need to be. At the apex of her thighs. The spot where I could lose myself for hours. There’s a real risk that I forget about her pleasure as I selfishly explore her with my tongue for my own kicks, but she seems content to humour me.
More than content.
She’s moving, wriggling with impatience when I stray too far from her swollen core and thrusting her hips against me when I hit the right spot. I tease her for a few minutes with long, slow laps before taking pity on her and sliding a couple of fingers into her tight, slippery channel. The feeling of those plush, velvety walls clamping around my fingers has me fully hard again.
After she comes, I’m taking her.
I can’t wait any longer.
I make my tongue hard and flat and lick her with rough, rhythmical strokes and she’s building. Quickly. Her breathy moans and pleas have my head swimming—I’m pretty sure there’s no blood left north of my dick. I’m drowning in her, rutting my hips against the sofa in desperation.
And then she’s over the edge, her hips rising off the cushions, her entire body shuddering and my name on her lips. I increase the friction with my tongue, my fingers, and milk every last drop of her orgasm out of her before I’m up and ranging over her, finding her mouth with mine and kissing her desperately, my erection flexing against her stomach.
‘I need you,’ she gasps. ‘Charlie, I swear to God, if I have to wait any longer to have you inside me, I’ll combust.’
‘Me too, sweetheart. Fuck. Condom. Let me just?—’
I scrabble to get off the sofa, but she grabs my arms.
