Page 27 of Holly Jolly Heresy
“Like you’ve thought about this as much as I have.” Her mouth pulled into a shocked little O. What he wouldn’t give to push into the perfect O of her lips. But not yet. Not yet. “Open your legs, Molly.”
She dropped her knees to the side, revealing herself to him once more, her obedience thrilling. He lowered himself to his belly between her thighs, resting on his elbows so he could get a closer look. The heady scent of her arousal curled around his nostrils, urging him on. Using his thumbs, he parted her, cataloging the needy flutter of her most secret place, the moisture gathered at her entrance. Glancing up, he met her eyes, an intrigued look in them as she watched him examine her. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, her nipples impossibly hard and cheeks flushed.
“Lay back, angel. Let me worship you.”
She drew her bottom lip between her teeth as she followed his command. Her compliance, her trust, sent fresh jolts of electricity racing down his spine and he nuzzled against her mound, breathing in her scent, his lips a hairsbreadth away from the glistening bud of her clit.
How could this woman be so perfectly made that her need should call to his own? How could he have the power to bring her satisfaction, and be expectednotto worship her?
He flattened his tongue and dragged it over her clit in a long, unhurried stroke. He worked slowly, experimenting with speed and pressure, noting the way she bucked her hips when he pressed the point of his tongue in just the right spot, the way her breathing sped up when he sucked on the swollen bud. When she began to tremble beneath him, her body seemingly unable to decide if she wanted to press against him harder or pull back, he wound his arms under her thighs and pulled her tight to his mouth, keeping her locked against him.
Her clit pulsed beneath his tongue as he drew each moan and gasp from her, the sweetness of her arousal coating his lips and chin in his relentless pursuit of her pleasure. And when at last she cried out, arching her back, her hips moving mindlessly against his mouth, he thanked God for the gift of her taste on his tongue.
Molly could hardly catch her breath, the aftershocks of her second orgasm rippling through her with each new kiss Caleb dropped against her overheated skin. He blew a stream of cool air against her clit and she groaned, shuddering when he pressed another too gentle kiss to the sensitive spot. His stubbled jawscraped pleasantly against her thighs in stark contrast to the softness of his kiss.
“Caleb,” she groaned, tugging on his hair, “kiss me.”
“I am kissing you.” She could hear the smirk in his voice.
“You know what I meant.”
“You like when I kiss you here.” Another too soft press of his lips, a flick of his tongue sending a bolt of pleasure through her.
“Father West,” she said in her best teacher voice.
He froze and for a moment she wondered if it had been the wrong thing to say, but when he looked up at her from between her thighs, his pupils were blown black, ringed by a thin circle of green. “That is not the way to get me to stop kissing your pussy, Ms. Proulx,” he warned.
Another tug on his hair and his eyes narrowed.
“I want to kiss you too,” she said.
With one last forlorn glance between her legs, he crawled over her body, settling his hips between hers and balancing his weight on his palms by her shoulders. The starchy fabric of his pants was rough against the skin of her inner thighs, but she wrapped her legs around him all the same, pulling him closer so she could press her lips to his. He tasted like her, and suddenly she was met with a fresh wave of heat arrowing down to her core. She trailed her nails down his chest, cataloging the little grunt of pleasure he made in response, and hooked her fingers through his belt loops.
She tugged. “I want to kiss you here.”
He lifted his face enough to meet her eyes, searching, as though he expected to find she was lying. As if she hadn’t been fantasizing about his cock for months. She palmed the impressive bulge in his pants, biting back a smile when he groaned in response.
“Please, Caleb. Let me touch you.”
He rolled off of her and for a moment she thought he was going to tell her no, that he was going to put an end to it right then and there. Instead, he sat up on his knees and, as he held her gaze, slowly worked his belt open. The metal buckle clattered against the hardwood floor as he tossed the belt aside. He waited, an invitation and an out all in one. But Molly didn’t want an out. She wanted him, every messy moment she could grasp hold of before time ran out.
She scrambled to her knees in front of him and drew down his zipper, shoving his pants and boxer briefs down around his thighs. His cock bobbed between them, long and thick and ready for her. The flared red tip leaked precum, glistening as it dripped down the length of his erection. She wrapped her hand around him, squeezing at the base. When she began pumping over him in slow, tight strokes, he hissed and fell back to sitting, his back resting against the couch, as though staying upright while she touched him was too challenging.
Molly knelt by his side, scooting closer until her knees brushed his thighs, and continued to slowly stroke him. “Come here,” he said, his voice gruff, as he grasped her hip and pulled her even closer. He caressed her backside, taking great handfuls of her ass, before sliding his hand between her legs again, dipping his fingers inside. “You’re so soft,” he marveled.
“You're so hard,” she teased.
“Perfect opposites.”
“Just perfect.” She leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the head of his cock, taking only the tip into her mouth. His fingers stilled between her legs, as if his entire body had frozen when her lips made contact with his erection, before he redoubled his efforts, pumping harder, deeper.
“You’re perfect,” he said.
“Shh.” She flicked her tongue over the ridge at his crown. “It’s my turn to worship you.”
She lowered her mouth over him, taking him as deep as she could—which, given his impressive length and girth, wasn’t very deep. All the same, he sucked in a breath as though he’d been punched in the chest.
“That’s blasphemy, Ms. Proulx,” he choked out.
