Page 54 of Unholy Obsession

Time to make her crave me as much as I’ve craved her from the first time I met her.

I drop to the floor, lay on my back, and fit my head in the leather hammock hanging beneath the legs of the chair.

Her sex smells fresh, clean, and salty-sweet. A drop of her moisture glistens at the top of her pretty, pretty pussy.

“What are you doing down there?” she calls.

Always so impatient.

I breathe out so she can feel my warmth against her petals.

And enjoy feeling her ankles shiver against my shoulders.

Why haven’t I thought of this before? My cock strains fully hard against my zipper. So much more fun to torture us both. I do so love it when she swears she hates me.

They say anger increases one’s heart rate and blood pressure, as well as sharpening the senses.

It’s always been my favorite emotion. And the most useful, if you ask me.

I’ve been furious at my father for almost a decade, and look how far it’s taken me. I think Moira could do with some good anger in her life, frankly. She can practice on me. And that’s how it makes me so fucking hard. But I’ve always been a fucking selfish little monster underneath, haven’t I?

I chuckle, pull down my mask, and extend my tongue to take a long, lingering lick up God’s juiciest cunt.

She shudders above me, her pussy lips fluttering, little opening puckering like she’s clenching. But there’s nothing toclenchon.

I smile, head comfortably laid in the head hammock. Waiting.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

“Goddammit, you sadistic motherfucker,” she squeals, “againalre?—”

But before she can finish the demand, I start to suckle her clit.

The ecstatic, grunting squeal that comes from her throat is truly a thing of wonder.

As is her colorful string of curses when I stop again for an extended period.

But I’m just getting started.

“Tell me how much you hate me,” I whisper into her pussy.

“Oh, I hate your smug little?—”

A surge of emotion and lust fills my chest as her words cut off when I smother my face with her pussy. She’s warmth and wetness, with an earthy, feminine scent. I lick and suckle again before pulling back.

Again and again and again.

It’s only my years of discipline that allow me to wrench away even when I want to suckle down her spurting juices.

So every time I feel the fluttering of her moist flesh around my tongue that signals she’s right on the edge of coming, I pull back.

“I hate you!” she screams at the top of her lungs, her entire body clenched in frustration at yet another denied orgasm.

That’s right. Scream for me, little dove.

Hate me and crave me.

I want to bury my cock in her while she yanks my hair out of my scalp in fury.

---