Page 41 of Vivacity
I kneel. I crouch down. I push her legs wider, my palms imprinting themselves on her soft, tanned thighs. And when I have her spread precisely how I want, I lean right in. Run my nose and mouth along her skin, so slowly that her legs shake beneath my palms as I reach the spot where she wants me so badly.
‘Shit, Ethan.Please.’
‘We talked about this.’ I kiss the crease at the very top of her thigh. ‘We’re doing this my way. This is for my pleasure, not yours.’
It’s not true, of course, not in the slightest, but Sophia’s predictable enough and stubborn enough to make reverse psychology a real joy. If she thinks I in any way resent her chasing her pleasure, she’ll come like a fucking freight train.
I turn my head, my lips millimetres from her swollen clit. God, she’s as beautiful down here as she is everywhere else: pink and silken and all mine to play with. To feast on.
‘Now. Where was I?’
Her breath catches raggedly in her throat. Whether she’s bracing herself for me to touch her or not touch her, I don’t know. Either way, it’s an entrancing sound.
‘Keep your legs like this,’ I order her, although I’m confident the heft of my shoulders will act as a wedge between them. I withdraw my hands and splay one across her stomach to hold her down as I use the other to part her labia as delicately as possible. I’m a mesmerised explorer pinning down a rare butterfly, even if my motives are less altruistic: I know she’s aroused enough to find the lightness of my touch positively maddening.
Sure enough, she groans like a stroppy teenager, and I allow myself another private smile against her flesh.
Fortuitously for her, her scent is fucking up my senses far too much for me to hold off much longer. She’s intoxicating, and I’m not a man operating at peak willpower. Not after that meeting.
I need my fix, even if I’m selfishly intent on drawing it out. I need to throw myself a bone here.
Proponents of mindfulness should offer up Sophia Petrakis and her beautiful cunt, because it’s my whole world right now. Like a man stupefied, I allow myself my first taste.
CHAPTER 20
Sophia
Oh god.
Ohgod.
Ethan licks a line up from my entrance before his perfect tongue circles my clit, and I might die from the pleasure of it. If that doesn’t kill me, his low, hungry noise of approval will. My own noise of approval is more high-pitched, more desperate. I keep my legs spread and my arms stretched out above my head like the good girl I’m pretending to be, but I also absolutely thrust my pussy against his face like the brazen ho I actually am.
Why the fuck has he been withholding his tongue from me all week? It’s clearly his second-best attribute, and I’mnottalking about his personality. He circles my clit again, the slippery sensation telling me that I’m soaking down there. I moan out an involuntaryah-ah-ahsound and begin to pray.
Please god, let him be a generous lover and not a sadistic arsehole.
It seems there is a god, because he takes the fingers holding me open and shoves two of them inside me with a single hard thrust that would have me shooting off the bed if it wasn’t for those fingers splayed firmly, possessively, over my stomach.
‘Fuck, you’re ridiculous,’ he hums, his breath warm on my pussy.‘Ridiculous.’ (I am extremely confident from his tone that he means this as a compliment.) ‘The question is, can you give me what I need?’
‘Anything,’ I say with a pathetically breathy gasp. It’s not my coolest moment. ‘What do you need?’
‘I need you so fucking hot for this that you blot out every single thing that’s happened today up until now. I want to destroy you, and then I want to fucking drown in you.’ He pauses, his voice dropping to a whisper. ‘I need a win today. Think you can manage that?’
Be still my heart.
My uptight, controlling, humourless boss confessing his vulnerabilities, and against my clit, at that?
He’s already destroyed me.
He’ll be drowning his dick in my dead, smutty corpse at this rate.
But he doesn’t need my pity. Absolutely not. All he needs, in this moment, is to know that my greedy, greedy vagina and I have his back. He’s treating me like a whore in the best way: he’s paying for this, and he’s asking me to give him what he needs. This isn’t some random hookup. It’s a transaction, and I’m about to prove to him that I’m worth every penny.
‘You’ve got the right girl,’ I promise. ‘Try me.’ I’m suddenly glad that he’s tied me up in this token way. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to resist reaching down and stroking his hair.
He clears his throat as if he’s already embarrassed. ‘Glad to hear it. Nowshow me.’ And with that, he presses his mouth to my pussy, issuing what’s probably the easiest demand of my entire career, because I’m physically incapable ofnotshowing him.
