Page 55 of Devour
That look powerless, hungry, undone makes— heat pulse low in my belly. I can feel myself getting wetter just watching him fall apart. I smirk at the look on his face before reaching for the hem of my shirt.
I pull it over my head slowly, watching as his gaze darkens, heated, hungry as I strip for him. My hands move to the waistband of my shorts, and I slide them down inch by agonizing inch.
I let them fall to the floor and step out of them deliberately, knowing how much it’s killing him not to touch. I see his fists clench at his sides, his restraint hanging by a thread.
I walk over to the bed and place my hand on his good shoulder, using it to anchor myself as I straddle him, my legs curled back on either side of his hip. I don’t break eye contact. Instead, I roll my already-wet center over his length, teasing him with slow, deliberate friction.
He moves to kiss me, but I turn my head before his lips can meet mine. The kiss lands at the corner of my mouth, leaving a wet trail along my cheek.
“No touching,” I whisper, reminding him softly as my hand glides from his shoulder to his jaw. I cup his face, letting my thumb brush over his lips. I expect him to try and suck it into his mouth.
He always takes control but this time, he keeps his lips sealed, watching me. Good. He’s finally starting to understand. I’m the one holding the reins now. “Open.”
There’s fire in his gaze. Defiance. Desire. But he obeys. I slide my thumb into his mouth. “Suck on it.” He closes his mouth around my thumb, sucking on it like a lollipop, his gaze locked onto mine. But I can’t hold his gaze anymore not with the way he’s looking at me.
I shut my eyes and moan softly as I grind my soaked pussy lips over his length, the friction making my thighs tremble.
The head of his cock bumps against my clit, over and over, each stroke more intense than the last. My hips begin to rock faster, chasing the orgasm building low in my belly.
One hand slide into his hair, fisting it tight as I yank his head back. My thumb slips from his mouth with a soft pop, and I replace it with my tongue, forcing his mouth open. I push my tongue into him, and he meets mine with equal hunger.
Our tongues duel pulling back, diving in again, each kiss deeper than the last. I ride the edge. I kiss him hard tongue twisting and tangling, breath mingling as I teeter right on the brink.
Then I break, moaning into his mouth as the orgasm crashes through me, my body trembling on top of him. When I finally come back to myself, I pull away from the kiss, breathing heavy.
His eyes are still on me— dark, needy. He hasn’t come yet. I lean in close, brushing my lips against his and whisper, “Soon.”
I hold his gaze as I lift my hips, reaching down to guide his cock to my entrance. Slowly—deliberately—I begin to sink down onto him. He closes his eyes like he’s trying to memorize every second of how it feels.
I lift again, letting him nearly slip out, then drop my hips, seating myself fully on him. I rock forward, my back arching, then roll back, using his shoulder and his hair for balance.
I can see the strain it’s taking for him not to touch me—it excites me. I roll my hips again, and he gasps, groaning deep in his throat. I continue my slow rocking, my breasts brushing against his chest each time I shift forward.
His breathing stutters, eyes squeezing shut, muscles bunching beneath me. He’s close I know it. Just when he’s about to come, I stop moving.
He opens his eyes, wide and desperate. I think for a second he’s going to use his good hand to grab my hips and force me to keep going. But instead, he just looks at me with pleading eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps, voice ragged. “Please… let me cum.”
I don’t know exactly what he’s apologizing for but the look on his face makes me give in. I start to move again, faster now, rolling my hips in a way that makes him tense beneath me.
His hand finds my waist, helping guide my movements. I’m nearing my own orgasm, so I keep the pace up and down, grinding, rocking. I feel him swell inside me just before he lets go, spilling deep inside me with a guttural groan.
His release triggers mine, and I shatter around him with a strangled scream, collapsing against his shoulder. My body trembles, still pulsing around him with aftershocks.
When I come to, his face is resting in my hair. I lift my head to look at him and see the strain our session has taken on him. “You need to lie down.”.
He didn’t argue as I slipped off his length, helped him pull his pants back up, and adjusted the pillow behind his back. Once he was finally lying down, I checked his bandages to make sure the stitches hadn’t torn during our session.
When I reached the one at his waist, I saw a small patch of blood soaking through the bandage. Alarmed, I started to climb off the bed to call the doctor, but his hand caught mine, stopping me.
“You’re bleeding. I have to call the doctor.”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“I want to argue,”
“Stay… please.”
