Page 80 of Role Play
“Great. Back to class. So, for example”—his voice drops an octave—“right now I can tell by the way your breath hitched that you like when I touch you here.” His hand skates higher, thumbs brushing dangerously close to where I’m starting to ache for him. “And I can see your nipples hardening through your shirt. You think that sassy mouth shields you, but your body is betraying you, Sora. I wish I could see into your mind, witness all the filthy things you want me to do to you right now.”
I bite my lip to stifle a whimper, embarrassed by how accurate his assessment is.
“Just describe one of them,” he murmurs. “I want to hear it from you. That’d be so sexy.”
His other hand slides up my back, tangling in my hair. When he speaks again, his mouth is right beside my ear, his voice a low growl.
World dark behind the blindfold, I shake my head. “I…just can’t. Can you please start and I’ll try to pile on?”
“Sure, baby. That’s fine. I have more I want to say anyway, like how I want to taste every inch of you, my sweet cookie girl. I want to run my tongue over your nipples and suck on them until they’re hard enough to cut glass. I want to slide my fingers inside you and feel how wet you are for me.”
If it wouldn’t kill the mood, I’d grab my phone and set up an audio recording. I’d trap a little sexy Forrest essence for writing inspiration later. But the further we go, the less I’m thinking about words on the page, the more I’m thinking about Forrest’s lips on my body.
I clear my throat, my mouth suddenly dry. I feel him smile against my skin.
“Are you getting a little impatient?” he encourages. “I want to dive in so bad, but I bet the teasing gets you soaked. That’s how we both want it, right? You, drenched. Me, swimming laps in your sweet pussy.”
I nod, beyond embarrassment now, lost in the sensation of his voice, his touch, the darkness behind the bandana heightening every feeling.
“Say it,” he commands. “Tell me how you feel.”
“Wet.My thong is wet,” I whisper, the admission sending another current of desire through me. “Sorry, that’s not sexy… I um, I think that’s the best I can do in the way of dirty?—”
“Shh, you’re still in your head. Just feel, remember? I happen to think that was sexy. Such a good girl telling me your panties are wet,” he praises again. “Can I see? Can I take them off?” His fingers hook into the waistband of my paint-splattered yoga pants. “Lift your hips for me.”
I immediately obey, letting him peel my pants down my legs. The cool air hits my heated skin, making me shiver.
“God, look at you,” he breathes, and I can hear the genuine want in his voice. “These too?” His fingers tease the edge of my underwear, and I nod frantically.
“Yes.”
They join my pants somewhere on the floor, and now I’m half naked, blindfolded, trembling with anticipation.
“Lie back,” he instructs, and I do, the soft bedspread cool against my back. “Spread your legs for me.”
The vulnerability of the position delivers an alarm of self-consciousness into my head, but it’s quickly overwhelmed by guttural need as he settles between my thighs, his breath warm against my most intimate place.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin. “Is this what you want? To come from my mouth?”
Before I can process, his tongue is on me, hot and insistent, drawing a startled cry from my throat. The initial touch is almost too much—a jolt of pure sensation that makes my thighs tense and my back arch off the bed. The blindfold heightens everything, leaving me helpless to do anything but feel.
“That’s it,” Forrest growls against me, his voice vibrating through my sensitive flesh. “Let me hear you.”
He starts with long, deliberate strokes, mapping me with his tongue as if committing every fold and texture to memory. My hips rise involuntarily, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of everything he’s giving me. His strong hands grip my thighs, holding me open, controlling my movements.
“So responsive,” he purrs appreciatively. “Your body tells me exactly what it wants.”
When his lips close around my clit and suck gently, a broken moan escapes me, my fingers clutching desperately at the bedspread. The dual sensation of his tongue flicking against me while his lips create perfect suction is overwhelming. My legs begin to tremble, toes curling as tension builds low in my belly.
“Forrest,” I gasp, one hand reaching down to tangle in his hair. The silky strands slip through my fingers as I hold himagainst me, not wanting him to stop, not wanting this feeling to end.
He hums in approval, the waves of vibration dizzying me. “You taste even better than I imagined,” he tells me, his breath hot against my slick flesh. “I could do this for hours.”
The thought of hours under his skilled mouth nearly sends me over the edge then and there. My breathing is wrecked, my chest heaving with each gasp and moan. I’m beyond shame now, beyond self-consciousness. There’s only the climbing pressure, the exquisite tension, the relentless pursuit of release.
“Please,” I whimper, though I’m not even sure what I’m begging for.
Forrest seems to know. His tempo changes, becoming more focused, more deliberate. His tongue circles my clit in tight patterns that have me writhing beneath him, my head thrashing against the pillows.
