Page 62 of Treat

She spread her legs so fast she nearly knocked him off the bed.

He laughed even as his dick, already set to jump in the game, gave a warning throb. “Is that a vote for option B?”

She was nodding frantically and using her grip on his hair to try to shove his head down. “God, yes. Option B. Pussy. Eat. Please.”

Still laughing, he reached up to tug her fingers out of his hair. “Option B it is. But first…”

“No, no first! Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dol—what are you doing? That’s my belly, not my pussy.”

“I know,” he said into her belly button. “But it’s cute, and I haven’t kissed it yet.”

She tried to yank her hands free, but he held them fast. “Listen, this whole body worship thing is really sweet, and I appreciate it, really I do.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, nibbling his way around to her hip.

“But it’s not necessary,” she said, her voice going up an octave when he nuzzled his nose into the crease between her hip and thigh.

“I think it is,” he said, and tracing the delightful lower curve of her belly with his tongue, wound his way to her other hip.

“You’re killing me,” she groaned.

“Welcome to my world,” he murmured. He worked his way down, down to where her pubic hair covered her mound, the dark blonde curls damp and matted and smelling of the twoof them. It was such a primal scent, so visceral and rich that something rose up inside him. Following it, he opened his mouth wide and bit through hair and into flesh.

He kept it just this side of savage—gentle enough not to cross the line from pleasure into pain, firm enough to hold her still when she jerked in reaction. Her taste flooded his mouth, salty and musky, elemental as the tides, and suddenly he was the one who couldn’t wait any longer.

Keeping his mouth open, he slid down over skin and hair until he met wet, hot pussy. Then he braced his hands, still tangled with hers, on her slick, trembling thighs and dove in.

And he feasted.

He licked, he sucked, he nibbled, listening to the cadence of her cries to discover what she liked best. When he nibbled and sucked at her labia, she panted and wiggled. When he shoved his tongue deep into her tight little hole, she arched and purred like a cat. But when he dragged the flat of his tongue over her clit, she tried to levitate off the bed, and her thighs rose to clamp around his head.

He tried to nudge them back, but she hooked her knees over his shoulders and dug her heels into his back, and he wasn’t getting untangled from that without some major repositioning. Since she was panting and moaning and chanting “yes, there, more, there, yes yes yes” he figured she was close, so if he concentrated he could probably get her off before he passed out from lack of air.

And if he died, well, at least it would be for a worthy cause.

Sucking in a breath of humid, pussy scented air—and God, wasn’t that just the best?—he redoubled his efforts, working her clit with single-minded intensity. He tried to listen for cues that he was in the right spot, but her thighs were blocking out most of the sound now, so instead he focused on the non-verbal ones. Like when he hit the top of her clit her hips jerked, and when hecircled it her thighs shook, and when he sucked it into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue her heels drummed into his spine like hammers and she let out a scream that he could hear even with her thighs plastered to his head like sweaty earmuffs.

So he kept at it, and since his fingers were out of commission—still entwined with hers and currently squished between her thighs and his head—he jutted out his lower jaw to try to get his chin in the right spot to give the rest of her pussy some friction. He was trying to figure out how to use his mustache, too—having never had a mustache before when eating a woman out, he was eager to see if he could use it to his advantage—but he’d forgotten about it until now, and the construction of the human skull made it impossible to use his chin and his mustache at the same time. He was trying to decide which one he should go with when she arched off the bed so hard she would’ve thrown him off if not for the vice grip of her thighs, let out a wail that could probably be heard in Windsor, and nearly drowned him in pussy juice.

Then her thighs went slack, and he could breathe again.

“Shit,” he gasped, his cheek on her thigh. It was wet, but so was his face, so he didn’t figure it mattered much. “That nearly killed me.”

“Me, too,” she wheezed in a voice that was more air than sound. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” He didn’t move. He had a great view—her pussy, red and swollen and wet, the labia spread wide so the deep pink of her vagina was visible. He could even see the faint teeth marks beneath her matted, tangled bush.

“Sorry,” she said after several moments. A hand landed on his head, heavy and limp, in an awkward pat. “About the almost dying.”

“S’ok.” He felt oddly content, in spite of the erection that was hard enough to drive nails. “We all gotta go sometime.”

“That’s so…romantic.”

He grinned, then froze when something wet hit the bottom of his foot. “Um, Brynn?”

“Yeah?”

“Is the dog licking my foot?”

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