Page 72 of In Doubt
But then her tongue swipes up my neck and her mouth meets mine and any reason I had, any reason I was hanging onto to, flies out the fucking window.
“Turn the radio on,” I yell at the driver. “And turn the volume up loud.”
I pull her into my lap and cup the back of her neck with one hand as the other unzips her trousers.
She smells so goddamn fine and I have to taste her, I need to taste her.
All this time, all those long months, dreaming, fantasising, wanting nothing else but to taste Giorgie Martinelli’s sweet slick on my tongue, to swamp my whole mouth with the stuff, to drink from her like she’s my own personal tap.
This can’t be happening, this can’t be.
But as I slide my hands into her underwear over the fine line of curls at her mound and to the apex of her sopping wet folds, I know it’s real, because this, this is a million times better than I ever imagined. Especially when the pads of my fingertips skate over her clit and she bucks in my arms like I hit a live wire.
Ahhh, Baby Girl is a sensitive one. I like that. It opens up a million possibilities. A million ways to pleasure and play with her.
But not now, no matter how desperately she pleads in my ear, begging me to get her off.
I need to taste that slick. To feel her. To sink my fingers inside her.
I glide my fingers through her folds, discovering her entrance and halting.
This is it.This is it!
“I can’t wait to see this pretty cunt of yours, Baby Girl. I can’t wait to spread you open for me and soak you up,” I whisper in her ear, loving the way my words make her whimper. “You like that?” I ask, as I circle her entrance. “You like it when I talk dirty to you?”
“Hmmm,” she mutters.
“No, Baby Girl, we use our words. Come on. Tell me if you like it. Then I can reward you with what you need. Good girls get rewards, don’t they? And I know you’re a good girl.”
“I do, Alpha. I do like it,” she says, her eyes wide as if she’s only just realising it.
She gasps as I slide my forefinger inside her, her warm walls gripping my finger.
“Shit,” I groan, sinking in deeper. One knuckle, two knuckles. All the way. Deep inside her.
I find that sensitive spot on her front wall, and she bucks against me as I stroke at it.
“Oh yeah, you like that? You know how good my dick is going to feel inside you, working this spot of yours? You know how many times I’m going to make you come?”
Her little hands grip my shoulders, her head falls back, lengthening that delicate neck of hers. I lean in and lick a stripe right from her shoulder blade to her ear, making her shiver, and then I find her pulse point and suck on it as I work my finger inside her.
A beautiful crimson flushes across her golden skin, and her thighs shake.
I’m going to make Giorgie Martinelli come. I’m going toseeGiorgie Martinelli come.
This is my fantasy come true. Giorgie in my arms. Wanting me as much as I want her. Trusting me to see her through her heat.
I’m enraptured by her face, as I massage that spot, the heel of my hand stimulating her clit.
She tenses, biting down hard on her lip, her whole body rigid.
And then she comes, slick gushing down my hand and drenching my lap, her body going fluid, her face relaxing, her mouth falling open on a soft sigh.
I can see it, see the ecstasy that seeps right through her body, and for a moment she’s like a rag doll in my arms.
But then the aftershocks of her orgasm strike and she moans and groans, as her body jolts and bucks with each fresh wave.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Fuck Giorgie. That was…”
