Page 18 of More Than a Friend
She does the opposite of what I want and pulls back. “Please, what?”
“More, please.”
“Tell me exactly what you want, Ava.”
“I want you to make me come.”
“How do you want me to do that, baby?”
I bite my lip and shake my head. I don’t know how to ask for what I want. The thought of saying it out loud still feels so… taboo. Dirty. Even though I know it’s not.
Purity culture can suck a fat one.
I take a deep breath. “I want your fingers.”
“Where?”
“In my pussy. Please, can I have your fingers in my pussy? And your mouth on my clit?”
“I’m so proud of you for asking for what you need, Ava.” Her praise makes me preen, but before I can say anything else, she gives me exactly what I want.
Skylar thrusts two fingers into my pussy and flicks my clit with her tongue, holding my hips down with the other hand.
Her fingers crook up to that perfect spot, and my eyes roll to the back of my head as a moan rips from my throat.
She pulls back long enough to say, “There’s the sound I wanted. Give me more, baby.”
Her lips suction around my clit, and her fingers pick up speed, working me to an orgasm that’s surely going to reset my entire being.
My vision goes a little hazy as the pressure in between my hips grows, tingles work their way up from my toes to my ears, and when she hits the spot again and scrapes my clit with her teeth gently, I detonate.
I chant a combination of her name, “God, yes,” and expletives, probably not making any sense at all, but I couldn’t care less.
All I care about is the pleasure brought to me by my best friend’s mouth.
Skylar works me gently through my orgasm, and only when my pussy stops pulsing does she pull her fingers out of me.
“That was––”
“Yeah,” Skylar sighs.
I sit up on the couch, suddenly realizing now that we’ve both come, this is over. I won’t get another taste of my best friend, and I’m going to have to go on with my life pretending I didn’t just have the best orgasm ever at her hands.
How am I going to do that?
Before I can spiral too far, Skylar’s face appears in front of my own, and she cups my cheek with the hand that wasn’t in my pussy.
Her dark brown eyes search mine––for what, I can’t be sure.
Then she leans forward and presses her lips against mine, slow and savoring. Like she’s trying to memorize the way they feel before we’re forced to act like this never happened.
The taste of me still on her lips, mixing with the taste of her on mine forms a heady combination that has a needy sound I’ve never made before spilling from my mouth.
Her tongue caresses mine in a slow dance, and I open for her, wrapping my arms around her neck and pulling her closer.
The thought of this never happening again has me wrapping my legs around her waist, trying to get as much of our skin touching as possible—even though she’s clothed from the waist up.
We only pull apart when my phone starts ringing, breaking whatever bubble we put ourselves in.
