Page 230 of Mangled Memory
Like that’s even possible. But I try, and he easily goes even deeper. I hum, and he thrusts. “Fuck.” He stretches out the word in a guttural way.
His hips buck as he fucks my mouth, holding me on his cock.
I suck and hum and flick my tongue where I can around his girth.
“Stop.” His word is an order, but I fight the intrusion in the back of my throat and swallow to relieve the pressure. That’s all it takes. His hips rise what little room they have, and he comes hard and deep in the back of my throat as he chants something unintelligible and pulls my hair until I’m forced to release him.
I look up from my position between his legs and hold his gaze. “I told you to stop.”
“I know but I needed some relief.”
“Remember those words. Now strip and lie down on this couch. Show me that pretty pink pussy.”
I hold his eyes as I kick off my shoes, slip my sweater over my head, and let my leggings slide to the floor. I unhook my bra and let the heaviness of my desperate tits fall free. Finally, I push my panties from my hips and let gravity do the work of helping them off my body.
I tiptoe to the sofa and sit on the edge where I was when our conversation was on more serious matters.
“Lie down, open your legs, and show me,” he growls out.
I lean back, toss one leg over the back of the sofa, leaving the other on the floor, wide open to him.
Watching him stare down at me, my clit warms and wetness pools and runs.
“That’s right. Wet, pink, engorged. Desperate for my touch.” He runs a finger through my wetness before leaning down and licking me from my opening to my clit. He flattens his tongue and hums, heightening my desperation, but not giving enough for me to get there.
He blows a cool breeze across my clit, and my thighs tighten to stop the onslaught, unable to do so with his body in the way.
“Christian.” I don’t know whether the word is a plea or an admonishment.
His fingers continue toying with me, sliding and dipping, never quite fulfilling their promise. They heighten my arousal but never slake the need building in my core. He watches me, alternating between my face and my pussy, while giving longing glances to my breasts as they rise and fall.
“Princess, you—like this, needing me, wanting me. This is my second favorite thing.”
“What’s your favorite then?”
“The look on your face when I slide into you. Your eyes heat but you have to fight to keep them open. Your mouth opens in the slightest O. This little groan I never hear otherwise escapes you. All of that, and the feel of your wet, velvet heat squeezing my dick in perfect bliss? Indescribable. It’s a drug that I can never get enough of. One I think about constantly. One I crave.”
From my view over my stomach and between my legs, his proud cock is erect. He growls when he sees me staring. “Love that.”
“What?” My confusion must show on my face, mixed with the torturous pleasure he’s causing at my entrance.
“You licked your lips while staring at my cock. My gorgeous woman—my wife—laid out before me naked and writhing,wanting my cock. Like I said, something most men could rarely hope for. And you’re mine.” With these words he inserts two fingers into me and rubs against the wall near that place deep inside that coils me tighter and tighter. I buck at the intrusion, fighting to find some relief from it and the desire so strong in my belly that I’d chase anything that might alleviate the need throbbing there.
All too soon, he withdraws, sliding his fingers between his lips to clean them.
I groan. It’s as much about the look on his face as he licks me off his fingers as the fact that I’m desperate, maybe more so now.
I flip my leg from behind the sofa and stand. I take one step to move away from him before he tags me around the waist.
“Let go.” My voice is hard and lethally quiet. I’ve gone from desperate to pissed in two seconds flat.
“Never.”
“I said, let go.”
“Never, Princess.” His lips come below my ear and kiss me there. “What happened?”
I scoff. What happened? “Oh, I don’t know. You getting off from edging me. Giving just enough then withholding. Creating a need that you won’t fulfill. That makes me your toy, not a person.”
