Page 25 of Good Girl
Anticipation strangles my lungs as he loops the extra fabric around the back of the chair, tying it so I’m bound. Goosebumps raise across my flesh when he reaches for the chair legs, scraping them across the floor until my chair is facing him.
My naked body trembles as my head is forced into a tilted position, no longer able to move it without completely cutting off my air. I grip the sides of the chair, my mouth going desert dry as I watch him drop to his knees and roughly shove my thighs to part them. Curling his arms under my knees, he tugs me forwarduntil I’m balancing precariously on the edge, lust mixed with trepidation has my breaths coming in short, needy puffs as the fabric around my throat pulls taut.
Watching me between dark lashes, I spasm as his thick, warm tongue swipes up my folds. “You taste of Tristan, Angel,” he groans, twirling his tongue around my sore, needy hole before prodding inside. “He fucked you so good, you’re all swollen.”
My heart thunders in my chest as my lungs beg for me to take a deep breath. Sucking in a little oxygen, I tilt my hips further to get better contact. I clasp a fistful of his hair, eliciting a dark chuckle from him when I push him firmer between my thighs.
“So ravenous.” He murmurs against my pussy, sucking my clit into this mouth before devouring me. He kisses my pussy like he kisses my mouth—with deep strokes, sucking, swirling, wielding his tongue like it’s a fucking wand, and he’s summoning all of my juices to leak from me.
I fuck my pussy against his face wildly, his grip on my thighs bruising as he eats me like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. Years.
My walls ache, and a pulse of pure bliss flows through me. Little black dots fill my vision as I gasp frantically for breath until I nearly pass out, my thighs clench around his head, caging him in. My body twitches, toes curling.
“Oh, fuck me!” Tristan’s voice booms through the room.
My eyes flutter open to see him standing by the front door. Holding a lollipop in one hand, he drops a bundle of shopping bags to the floor to take out his phone, snapping pictures.
“That’s the prettiest image I’ve ever owned.” He proclaims, chest rising and eyes narrowing on me with intention.
“My turn.”
TWELVE
Vance
Poppy is flushed red, sweat dusting her flesh like the first droplets of morning dew over grass. Her pussy lips swollen and soaked.
She’s still bound by the T-shirt attached to the back of her chair, her legs practically limp and twitching. I sweep my tongue across her thighs as Tristan comes to stand beside us. “No time for you to eat,” I tell him, standing and grabbing the back of his head before smashing my lips to his in a bruising kiss. I pull away and delight in his dazed gaze. “But I don’t mind sharing.” I grin.
“I need to get dressed,” Poppy wheezes, trying to shift herself back onto the seat.
Tristan’s brows crash together, looking down at her like a puppy being put in time out. Lowering down on his haunches, he fucking pouts. “Why?” His eyes feast on her exposed tits, traveling down to her pretty, pink, perfect cunt.
This woman tastes like cherries and sin, and I want to be drunk on her every hour of the damn day. I see now why Tristan was so damn obsessed with her. Everything about her is alluring, she’s cute, funny, and genuine. Even now, after her cruel bastardfiancé cheated on her with his own cousin, there’s no bullshit life drama tainting her, making her bitter.
“Can you free me, sir?” She bats her lashes up at me and licks her luscious fat lips, my cock jerking against the seam of my sweatpants at the sight.
Tristan releases a rough croak from the back of his throat as he swipes his sucker up her slit, collecting the wet juices I made her squirt all over my chin and down her cunt and thighs. That honeypot is always so willing to grant me nectar.
Shoving the candy into his mouth he groans around it. “You’re so sweet, Poppy. Do you not want me to eat your pretty pussy?”
“I said no, Tristan.” Unbinding the shirt, I loosen it from her throat and pull it over her head, dumping it on the table. She cups Tristan’s face then leans in to offer him a tender kiss when he glares at me for refusing him playtime. Breaking away, she giggles. “When I get back, how about I taste you?”
“Get back?” His hands go to her hips, keeping her in the seat.
Clearing the breakfast plates, I toss over my shoulder, “The boyfriend keeps calling. She’s going to see him.”
I watch Tristan’s posture solidify as he shakes his head, lines pinching around his eyes. “Why?” Although his tone is deep and dark, Poppy shifts forward to get closer to him, not balking like most women would.
“I need to get my things,” she responds softly. “I can’t live in your shirts forever.”
He quickly rises to his feet, almost knocking her backwards. “I have clothes.”
Marching over to the front door, he collects the shopping bags and brings them over, setting them on the table.
“What is this?” Poppy stands and points to the shopping bags, wonder in her voice. Her eyes travel over all the bags, then she turns to me, and I grin. Such small offerings bring so muchlight to her eyes. I want to give her diamonds, see her dripping in them and nothing else. She would shine so fucking bright.
“I called in an order for you. The personal shopper assured me you’ll have everything you need in there.” He nods to the bounty, coaxing her to check them out with a hand to her lower back.
