Page 79 of Light Up The Night
I give in to instinct. Abandon all control, all thought, all need.
There is only what my body craves:
Him.
This.
More.
I grip his wrist with one hand and cover his hand with the other, press his hand against my sex, begging him in the only way I can to never, ever stop.
I grind myself against his touch. My hips buck and fly against him, and his finger swirls and circles and swipes faster and faster…
The edge crashes over me all at once.
A scream rips out of my throat as a battering ram of ecstasy I never knew could exist leaves me shaking and sweating, driving wild, desperate hips against his finger, pushing my sex against his touch to beg for more. I am weeping, but it is with ecstasy, screaming but with desire vanquished, overcome but blessedly so.
Wave after wave smashes through me, and then he slips his finger inside me and moves it in and out through my channel and the waves dissolve and commingle and merge and shatterinto something new, and another scream shudders out of me and that becomes a whimper and then a sob.
This is not merely pleasure or bliss or ecstasy or anything I have words for in any of the languages with which I am familiar.
It consumes me.
Time ceases to have meaning.
He plunges his finger inside me, and then circles my clitoris, and then plunges it back inside me.
And then, when I think it will finally end, he kisses my mouth and then my breasts and then my belly and then his shoulders are between my thighs and his stubble scratches the insides of my thighs and—
"RILEY!" I scream as his tongue slides, wet and hot, up my seam.
"Keep coming for me, honey," he growls. "Scream my name." Another hot lick. "Tell the stars who's making you come, baby."
"Y-you!" I gasp, arching and bucking helplessly against his hungry mouth.
"Me what?"
"You…you are…oh! Oh my! Oh—ohmygosh—oh goodness me oh my…” I clutch his head as he seems to be attempting to devour me whole.
Or, at least, my clitoris.
Despite the ferocity of his hunger, though, his mouth is exquisitely gentle upon my tender flesh. His lips are soft and wet, and his tongue hot and insistent. His finger penetrates my sex, and his mouth plunders my clitoris, and the world spins around me and my whole body bucks and clenches and spasms in time with his moving finger and driving tongue.
And then, just when I thought I could not come again, or come any harder—I do.
My orgasm seems to break apart, and from the shards and shrapnel of it emerges something new, something more.
I grasp his head in my hands and brace my feet against the truck bed and buck against his mouth, screaming shrill and loud.
He does not relent.
The ecstasy seems to overlap, waves crashing in on themselves and ripping and expanding, and I lose even the ability to control what my hips do, what my hands do, what my mouth does.
“Riley! Oh! Oh! Oh!" My feet dig against my backside and I grab his hand and guide it to my breast—he pinches my nipples and I scream again.
I clutch his head to my vagina and hand to my breast, and shake uncontrollably, no longer screaming but weeping.
Sobbing.
