Page 34 of Stitched Up in You
Cool air touches my ass, and all of the oxygen leaves my body on a whoosh when a hard tongue swipes at my pussy from behind. I lift and try to look over my shoulder at him, but a big palm overtakes my face and pushes me into the wood of the table.
“My turn.” He eats at my pussy, holding me down easily with his arm draped over my hips as he snarls, licking that thick tongue of his all over my already abused and tingling nerve endings.
Pleasure sparks like a thousand fireworks behind my closed eyes as my neck muscles strain from the scream belting from my throat. Dazed and out of my mind with euphoria, my insides seize as I orgasm. “Please, oh god. Please,” I cry out, unsure if I can take any more. My body and mind splintered.
Soft whimpered moans that I know are coming from me start to climb next. A keening cry wails out of me like a benediction as Frank sends me up and over the little death mountain yet again. Sweat lines my body, and I peek through slitted eyes, the world upside down as he devours my pussy like it's his.
I’m just a vessel receiving. Unable to do anything but hang on, it’s as if he’s an unstoppable force thrusting me into heights of pleasure I didn’t know existed.
Multiple orgasms in my experience have only been achieved with a vibrator used, and yet he pulls climaxes from my body easily. One after the other rolls through me, and a satisfiedmoan breaks my lips when he finally turns me onto my back and pushes my legs wide.
My forehead crinkles when an animalistic sound, half sob half whimper echoes in my eardrums and I belatedly realize it’s me making the pathetic noise.
As soon as I start to come down from my coming, he growls and tips one thick digit into my opening, finger fucking me anew.
“If you ever think to challenge me again, remember this. I always win,” he whispers in my ear. A light chuckle rumbles from him, and he nips at my earlobe hard, making me cry out.
He rotates his hand, and squelching sounds fill the air as he skates one big finger lightly across my clit in a way that makes starbursts collide behind my eyelids and my body contort. I’ve never had sex like this.
I have no idea how long he uses and abuses me with his tongue and fingers, forcing me to come again and again.
Shaking and quivering, satisfaction lines my bones when he finally lifts his wicked mouth away from me. My heart thunders in my chest and my entire body tingles with sensations that are coming in waves, my pussy truly sated for once in her adult life as I lie stretched out across the dining table.
I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand and marvel at the slick sheen of sweat that covers me. “Wow, that was—amazing,” I croak. My mouth parched and my throat raw from the screams and shrieks I’ve been emitting.
I stopped being able to make full sentences for what feels like ages ago.
If he can do half as much with his dick, Frank Stein fucks like a god. If I can survive it.
I watch beneath hooded lids as he adjusts the cuff links of his suit and moves to standing.
Ladies and gentlemen, monsters really do it better.
He reaches for a linen napkin and dabs at his mouth, his gaze staring holes at where my pussy lies bare to him, and I want to smile.
He lifts a brow and shrugs before tossing his used napkin at my parted legs and turns to leave the room and me—half naked on the dining room table.
Oh my god.
“9 a.m., Miss Crenshaw,” he says, when he reaches the door.
I raise up on one wobbly elbow to watch his gray-covered back leave. God damn, Frank Stein could really ruin a woman.But what a man.Monster fuckers unite, as the great Opal Reyne would say.
My heart rate starts to slow, and I move to raise myself off the table, my arms and legs shaking like the one time I stupidly signed up for spin class. Holy hell.
An image of the donkey fromShrekbouncing up and down, one of my favorite gifs comes to mind—let’s do that again. I chuckle, and the sound echoes in the empty room as I move to close my legs and wince. “Fuck me.”
Chapter 14
FRANK N. STEIN
My hands clench at my sides, the energy coursing through them so high it would incapacitate anyone who dared to get close when arcing with this intensity as I stand inside a cage of my own design, a massive metal pod built to fit my frame.
Volatile, magical, and wrong, the electrical pulses within me can range from excruciatingly painful to almost pleasurable depending on my emotional state, the energy siphoned as an electrical byproduct because of what I am. The pod is the only machine in creation of its kind that can handle the current and voltage I produce.
“Infuriating female,” I say aloud, knowing no one will hear.
No other being is within earshot as far underground as I am, and the cocooned metal pod is damn near impenetrable when closed.
