Page 18 of The Wildest One
“What?”
Instead of taking out the rubber, I left it inside the metal and set it on the dresser. As I halted in front of her, I held her hips. “I can’t believe I get to fuck you.”
She was blushing. “Stop.”
“And even though that’s what I planned to do right away, I’ve changed my mind.”
“What do you mean?”
I aligned my nose with hers. “My dick needs you, Jolie. It needs to be inside you. It needs to be fucking you so hard that we’re both shaking.”
“But?”
“I need to do something else first …”
“Which is?”
I moved my hands to the lip of the dresser, spreading my arms out wide, and I let my shoulders and head drop. This newspot put my face in front of her legs. I wedged in between them, and with my mouth only inches from her cunt, I whispered, “I need to taste you.”
FOUR
Jolie
“What”—I gasped so hard that my chest felt like it was about to cave in as I glanced down, between my legs, where Beck’s face was resting—“are you doing to me?”
It wasn’t a real question.
It was a reaction.
Along with a shocking realization of what was actually happening from a night I never could have predicted. But I was here, lost in his movements, overwhelmed by how he was making me feel.
And how amazing he was at everything.
Beck had his arms stretched across the front of the dresser, his face holding my legs apart, his mouth buried in me. His tongue was giving my clit fast, hard sweeps. Each time it landed or massaged that spot, some kind of noise came out of me.
Like now. A mix of breathing and moaning and crying, “Oh! Yes!”
I couldn’t stay still.
My hips were rocking forward, my legs shaking. I was gripping the edge of the dresser, and when that didn’t feel likeenough, I stretched up my arms and pushed them against the wall behind me. And when that didn’t feel like enough either, I grabbed Beck’s hair.
Beck.
A name I couldn’t believe I was repeating in my head.
Or saying out loud.
Because no matter what was happening—like every time I looked down and saw the top of his head or his eyes met mine—I had the hardest time comprehending that he was here. That I was with him. That his mouth was on me.
This time, with our stares completely glued on one another, his tongue moving faster than it had, his finger now deep inside me, I begged, “Don’t stop.”
There was absolutely no way he could halt, he could slow, he could do anything but what he was doing.
Not when I was this close.
And that was something else I couldn’t believe—that Beck had the ability to actually get me here without knowing my body. My last boyfriend had done this—not nearly as talented as Beck, but he’d done the act—and although it was all right, I never got off. But aside from the location of where they put their mouths, there was nothing similar between what the two men had done to me.
Not the speed.
