Page 29 of Devour
I arrange her until she’s spread wide, her feet on either side of the table. Her skirt is pushed up to her waist. She’s wearing a blue thong and garters.
I don’t bother taking it off. Instead, I hook two fingers between the thong and the center of her pussy lips and tug it aside with just enough force to bare her.
She’s now flat on her back, her arm stretched out as she tries to reach the phone. I watch her for a moment while I play with her pussy, my thumb circling over her clit. She jumps, arching her back in response. He finally picks up after the fourth ring.
“Right on time.” With my other hand, I drag my chair closer. I sit, leaning forward, right over her pussy.
“Ariel, are you okay? I have been trying to to reach you”
“I’m—”
I swirl my tongue over her clit, cutting off her words. Whatever she meant to say melts into a breathless slur.
“Fi…in…”
The word trembles off her tongue, barely formed, as I keep my mouth on her. I flatten my tongue against her center and swipe upward to her clit, rolling over it as I move back and forth.
I would’ve taken my time—savored her taste, lingered on every reaction but I’m too pissed. Too close to snapping. I’m going to end that bastard. I swear it.
Her hips jerk, and her thighs now resting over my shoulders tremble with every flick of my tongue. I glance up.
One hand grips the table so tightly her knuckles are white. The other is cupped over her mouth, trying to muffle the sounds spilling out. The phone is just out of reach… but still on. His voice crackles through the speaker.
“Ariel? What’s going on? You sound… strange.”
She tries to answer. Tries to shape words around the moan building in her throat. I slide two fingers inside her, curling them just right. Her head falls back, lips parting.
“I—I’m f-fine,” she gasps, barely holding herself together.
I chuckle low against her skin. “Liar.” She shoots me a desperate look—half-pleading, half-wild but I don’t stop. I want him to hear the way her breath hitches, the soft slap of skin, the wet sounds echoing between her thighs.
I want her teetering on that edge—shame, need, danger—unsure which one will break her first. I speared my tongue into her, and she nearly jolted off the table. I grip her hips and thighs, holding her down as I tongue-fuck her.
“You don’t sound fine.”
Another voice calls out in the background.
“Dr. Eli, there’s an emergency in Ward 3.”
“I have to go now; I’ll talk to you later.”
The line clicks off. But she’s too far gone to notice. She screams, her body tightening, thighs clamping around my head as her release floods my tongue. She trembles, helpless in the throes of her orgasm, and I lap at her like a starving man. Finally, I lift my head. I rise, towering over her.
“Dr. Eli,” I say flatly.
“What…?” she breathes, confused until her eyes widen with understanding.
I don’t give her a chance to speak; I don’t want to hear her plead for his life. I turn her over and unzip my suit pants just enough to release my cock. Wrapping an arm around her waist, I lift her hips and drive into her with one hard stroke.
The force of it pushes her forward, her nipples grazing the table, raw from the earlier friction and she yowls. She tries to lift her chest, but my hand presses firmly against her back, pinning her down.
I start with slow strokes, savoring the way her tight core grips me. Her thong brushes against the side of my cock, adding to the thrill.
Then I build a rhythm, fucking her in earnest. Her moans deepen, her nipples dragging against the table with every thrust.
I slide my hand from her back to her hair, pulling out the band and wrapping her hair around my fist.
My other hand cups her neck, lifting her chest off the table. With her arched back against my chest, I watch as her breasts bounce with each hard thrust.
