Page 38 of Shot Taker

I want this. I’ve wanted him for so long.

He licks a strip from the top of my pussy all the way back.

It’s so good it hurts. I’m in physical pain from how tight I’m strung, my core begging for a release I know deep down only he can give me.

“Beautiful girl. Bet you’re aching for me to fill you up right now.”

I want to touch him, but in this position, I can’t reach.

His muscled arms wrap around the tops of my thighs and hold me in place.

Clay teases me with his tongue, slicking across my skin and diving inside.

He spreads me wider, exposing every inch of me to his attention.

“The things I’ve imagined doing when I had you like this,” he murmurs.

The past month, I’ve tried not to think of him when I’m alone in bed touching myself.

But it’s always him.

It’s impossible to imagine someone else when I’ve been with him.

Still, he doesn’t fill me with anything except his tongue, and even that strays inside for only a second before returning to my clit and my folds.

It’s maddening.

My moan spills out, the sounds of my pleasure echoing off the walls.

My fingers flex on the post, my toes curling in my shoes.

It’s as if his only mission in life right now is to make me feel him, to want him. Only him. Always him.

I never thought I’d be getting tongue-fucked by an all-star against a shelf in the back of a pub. But then, I’ve grown a lot this fall.

I arch my back, inviting him.

My fingers let go of the post and I reach back to grab his shoulder, twisting to try and look at him.

“You’re so sweet on my tongue,” he groans. “You’d be even sweeter on my cock.”

His expression is feral, the tattoos on his forearms like devils coming out to play as he grips me.

The pleasure builds until I'm out of my mind with need. My vision blurs.

He sucks me one more time, punishingly long and deep on a low groan that fills the room.

Ecstasy explodes through my body, each nerve firing off sparks of pure bliss that threaten to consume me completely.

His arms wrap around me, pulling me close in a desperate embrace from behind.

We don’t speak, just hold each other.

I’m wrecked, but in some ways, this feels inevitable.

“Turn around.” He murmurs it as my heart rate comes back down.

I do. My pants are still around my ankles, my face flushed.

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