Page 39 of Was I Ever Free

Not sure why he is acting so seriously about a bucket list, I try to cover up my nerves with false bravado. “You have plenty of secrets yourse—what are you doing?” I ask with slight panic when he drops to his knees in front of me, his strong hands traveling up my legs, long fingers digging into my thighs as he pulls me toward him.

“What about the one where you’ve been watching porn in the bathroom, thinking I wouldn’t find out?” he rasps with a slight curl of his lips.

My eyes grow wide, heart slamming in my chest. “How did you know about…” The words die in my throat when Bastian pops open the button of my shorts, pulling down the zipper with a jerk. I swallow hard, licking my lips, my eyes glued to his hands. His gaze slides upwards to mine, his face smooth of any expression, nonetheless, my core throbs at the sight as if he has conditioned me to it. “Tell me about your bucket list, Luce,” he says so quietly that I almost lean closer just so he can whisper it again into my ear.

“Tell you about…” Again, my voice trails off as his fingers curl around the waistband of my shorts and start tugging them down, pulling my underwear with it, my hips immediately lifting up to help him as if pulled by an invisible string. I fixedly watch as he discards my clothes somewhere behind him with a flick of the wrist, his hands finding my ankles. The metal of his thumb ring is cold against my skin as he slowly pushes them upwards. I follow his silent orders, lifting them up, my heels settling on the edge of the bed on opposite sides of my hips, my weight falling onto my palms placed behind me on the mattress.

My position is lewd, as if he is, once again, putting me on display, and I couldn’t be more thrilled at the thought. I should feel vulnerable, but I don’t.

All I feel is undeniable hunger.

His eyes flick up to meet mine, while he brings his thumb up to his mouth, dragging it down his tongue before finding where I am most sensitive, that same thumb now grazing up, parting me open, but never reaching my clit, his gaze still steadily on mine.

“Has anyone ever had a taste, Luce?” he asks just as hungrily.

My mouth opens but no sound comes out, the sensations of him there are already so acute I can hardly form a single rational thought.

I shake my head.

“Would you let me?” I only hesitate for a moment, but it is enough for Bastian to allow a trickle of desperation to be heard in his tone before saying, “Please.”

My mouth goes dry, nodding slowly, transfixed, and unconsciously widening my legs for him.

He smiles, and my heart explodes into a million pieces at the sight of the dimples appearing on his cheeks.

“What a good little student,” he drawls as he puts pressure on my clit with his thumb. “Now tell me what made your list or I stop.”

My tongue swipes my bottom lip in anticipation before I stutter, soft and breathless, “Yes.”

I scramble for the words—anything—eager to feel him on me. I start with the closest thing floating in my mind and tell him about me singing at an open mic. As soon as I start speaking, he dips down, his tongue replacing his thumb and I jolt, a small shocked noise escaping my lips.

Oh my…

The feeling of his tongue stroking, laving, exploring—the sensation is like nothing I could have ever imagined.

I stop talking, so distracted by the image of Bastian’s head between my thighs, his fingers digging into my skin, that I suddenly wish I had a photographic memory so I could revisit this memory as many times as I pleased without any detail ever fading.

I watch with undivided attention as one of his hands crawls up my stomach, over my heaving chest, and catches the top of my neck, encircling the sides of my chin. My throat bobs into his warm palm as he lifts his gaze, his mouth still where I want him most. He stops, his one eyebrow arching questioningly. Then I suddenly remember that I should be enumerating items off my list.

“Sky-diving,” I blurt out breathlessly, eager for him to continue whatever he is doing that feels this good.

Thankfully, his tongue returns, and he releases my chin from his grasp, the same hand disappearing in between my thighs.

My breath catches high up my throat, turning into a low moan when I feel one of his fingers enter me. This time, I listen faithfully to his command, too desperate to feel more of him, everywhere and all at once, to ever stop talking. Time slows down, or maybe that is just a greedy, hopeful prayer I make as I count my heated breaths, my core throbbing and clenching around Bastian’s finger.

I must be saying nonsense, but at least he has not stopped and I tell him just that, my head falling backward, eyelids fluttering shut.

Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.

Until I lose all sense of decorum, released from the voices still telling me how to behave, and reach for the back of Bastian’s head, my hips arching forward, pushing his mouth, tongue,everythingharder into me, until finally, something snaps and that same euphoric feeling washes over me.

Weightless. Free.

Lifting my head back up, my gaze slams into his and I experience another kind of freefall. I suddenly never want to reach the bottom if it means seeing Bastian like this. His lips glistening, cheeks flushed, hair disheveled. He wipes his face clean with one long drag of his palm, and then leans over, pressing his warm open lips against my right thigh. I cannot seem to keep the small shocked gasp from breaking the heavy silence.

“Can’t wait to hear you sing,” he says softly, before standing up, unabashedly palming his erection through his blue jeans, and disappearing into the bathroom.

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