Page 114 of Fostering Chemistry
But he knew what I wanted. The way my hips were gyrating in little circles wasn’t exactly subtle. His hands moved between my thighs, and then he was pushing my legs outward—splayed the way no lady should ever do, according to so many authorityfigures over the years—and I loved it. I was open to him, except for the small panties I wore.
He dipped a finger under the waistband, then down the side. And then he stopped and grasped the front of the panties—and there was a sting—and they were gone.
Holy shit. Had he just ripped them off me?
The arousal pooled between my legs, and I couldn’t help squirming. Cody pinned me down again—but differently this time. He pushed my knees up toward my chest and put his hands on the back of my thighs. And then his head was between my legs.
He breathed in deeply, and there was just something so raw and caveman-like about it. And he blew warm air across my slit. Then I felt his tongue lapping at my folds, teasing.
My hips rolled, and I squirmed, trying to get him to put that warm, talented tongue where I needed it—but he chuckled against my heated skin.
“Please,” I moaned.
I hooked my arms under my knees, holding my legs up, and he took that as a cue to move his hands between my legs.
And those strong, skilled, calloused fingers that could make a piano sing made me shriek as he spread me open and blew warm air along my slit.
“Please,” I panted, not even sure what I was begging for. I just knew I wanted to feel more. “Please, Cody.”
He held me open, and the cool air from the room mixed with his breath, and the anticipation was just about to kill me.
My breathing was harsh, and the sounds tearing from my throat were whimpers of need.
And then I felt his tongue lap over my clit. I about jolted off the bed—it felt so good. But even better, his finger circled my entrance.
“Yes, please, please,” I babbled, almost incoherently.
My hips kept coming up off the bed, and his fingers dug hard into the back of my thigh, holding me down in a very possessive way that thrilled me even more.
With his other hand, he spread me again, his tongue zeroing in on my clit, circling it, sucking it in, teasing it—and then his finger pressed inside me, and I cried out.
It felt so good, but almost like sensory overload.
His finger circled inside me, stretching me, his tongue on my clit, teasing me. My legs spread and opened for him. I wanted him there.
I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to drive me wild. And god, did he.
His tongue moved faster. A second finger slid inside me, and then he curled them, almost making me jolt right off the bed. I didn’t know how he knew exactly what to do to drive me wild, but he did.
The build-up was so intense that I could barely breathe.
My breathing was labored, my chest heaving as he worked me harder and harder. My legs started shaking. I was whimpering incoherently, and then it hit.
I cried out as I clamped down on his fingers—but he didn’t let up with his tongue.
I writhed around, practically riding his face as he kept going, not letting me off the hook, not letting me skip even one moment of pleasure.
I thrashed around, no longer worrying about what could be heard outside the room.
All I could do was feel—and shriek—and tremble.
He finally relented, withdrawing his fingers and giving my sensitive clit one last lick. Then he crawled up, resting his head on the pillow next to mine. He put his hand on my stomach, and every time my body jolted with an aftershock, he seemed pleased.
And perhaps a little smug. If so, he deserved to be. He’d made me come hard. I wanted to return the favor, but first I had to remember how to breathe and regain control of my body.
Except I kind of liked it better when he was controlling it.
“Was that okay?” The smugness was gone from his expression.
