Page 44 of Misrule
Her nipples hardened at Christopher’s command. Removing her nightgown, she climbed onto him and settled her pussy onto his mouth, the stubble on his face abrading the skin on her inner thighs.
The warm pad of his tongue lapped her inner lips, circling her clit, and thrusting into her opening. She moaned, riding his lips, her juices hot and flowing. Her legs trembled. He worked her pussy with his tongue, lips, and mouth, tasting her, sucking her, and licking her.
“I’m coming,” she screamed, out of her mind with ecstasy, unable to contain her loud, breathy moans or the trembles in her body.
His tongue still buried in her, he wrapped an arm around her waist and flipped her onto her back. Meggie stretched her legs open, arching her back and pushing against his face.
“Your pussy delicious,” he told her in a thick voice that threatened to make her come again. “Ima keep your cunt in my mouth and devour it.”
“Christopher,” she groaned, squeezing her nipples almost to the point of pain. “Get my pussy off.”
He raised her legs, resting her knees on her shoulders before burying his face against her and sucking her opening, his nose teasing her clit.
“The smell of your pussy the best scent in the world,” he growled, sniffing her seam and inhaling like a man lacking oxygen. Using his fingers, he opened her pussy lips, and met her gaze. “Ima lick your cunt til you come. Look at my fuckin’ tongue eatin’ your pussy up.”
She nodded, frantic, lifting her hips to offer her hungry clit to him.
He swirled his tongue around her bud, gentle touches that hinted at what he intended. He abraded her mound by rubbing his hair-roughened cheek against the delicate skin. He tongued her, gently at first, until he finally gave her what he always did. A relentless assault on her clit that made Meggie wild in her movements, her words, and her screams. She exploded over his tongue and he slurped her cream in wet laps. Lost in her orgasm, her body floated to another plateau where nothing but pleasure resided. A place where her flesh burned and her nerve endings crackled.
“You so fuckin’ wet.” He released her legs and braced himself above her. His green eyes were dark and hooded, smoldering with desire. Sinking into her, he closed his eyes and groaned, withdrawing and then slamming into her again.
“You feel so good,” Meggie gasped. “I love having your cock inside of me.”
He pumped into her harder, faster. “My cock yours, baby. Put it in you wherever you want.”
She loved the power he gave her, while still remaining so firmly of control. He swiveled his hips, grinding against her swollen clit. Clinging to him, Meggie arched, exposing the column of her throat to his probing lips. He rained kisses up, paused to nip her chin, then claimed her mouth, thrusting his tongue between her lips. She tasted the remnants of her orgasm, met his deep thrusts. When he withdrew, she lifted, rotating against him.
“Fuck, Megan. Fuck,” he repeated. “I’m about to flood your cunt with my cum.”
“Give it to me,” she demanded, jerking against him, tremors starting in her center and spreading throughout her body. “I want every last drop,” she got out, trembling.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
Powerless to deny him anything he wanted, Meggie met his gaze. Passion flushed his face; his labored breathing fanned across her skin. His dazed expression gave way to a curled lip. His body stiffened and his cock jerked inside of her before warmth flooded her insides. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding and caressing him through his most vulnerable moment, their souls and hearts laid bare.
He rolled onto his back and pulled her into the crook of his arm, then kissed the top of her head. “Sleep, Megan,” he whispered. “I got you. Always and forever.”
“I love you,” she whispered drowsily, snuggling close to him.
As she drifted off, his words, “I love you more,” reached her, and she smiled, thankful, once more, that the Fates had put Christopher in her path.
Chapter Thirteen
“What was your childhood like?”
Dr. Briscow posed her question as she had the others, with calm detachment. She was an older woman, who wore horn-rimmed glasses and a severe bun that pulled at the skin of her temples. Despite her no-nonsense attitude, similar to all Kendall’s previous psychiatrists, Dr. Briscow seemed different. Interested. As if what Kendall had to say really mattered.
“To get to the root of your problem, we have to dig deep, Kendall.”
Nodding, Kendall rung her hands together. “When my father died, my entire world changed.” In low tones, she explained how her mother had lost her mind—literally—and ended up in an insane asylum. Her father had adored her, but she’d figured out early that her mother didn’t want her or like her. She’d sought her mother’s approval for years, even after her little sister, Caroline, had been born. “When Caro hanged herself, Mother preferred to die, too. She shot herself in the head, sitting a few feet away from me.”
The image of the blood streaming from Marie’s head replayed in Kendall’s head. She sniffled. After typing a moment, Dr. Briscow handed Kendall a box of tissues.
Dabbing at her eyes, Kendall twist her wedding ring. It—Johnnie—was the reason she’d sought a new psychiatrist. She was so afraid, she’d lose her husband, whom she truly loved. She just couldn’t seem to stop herself from ruining her life.
“My childhood was lonely,” she finished. “Deprived of love. My mother was a very strict disciplinarian, though she withheld her affection.”
Dr. Briscow continued typing her notes. “Do you withhold affection from your children?”
