“You want me to use this body, don’t you?”
“Yes!”
“You want me to show you what you’re capable of?”
“Yes, yes!” I would say anything, so long as he never stops. But I mean it, too. I want more. I’ve always wanted more. I want him to show me everything, all of it, how to please him, how I can be pleased. I want it to be him who shows me. I’ve never wanted anything else.
“Good girl.” Before I know it, his hands are at my waist, and he’s lifting me, putting me up on the counter. I don’t have time to be disappointed—I was so close—before he unbuttons my jeans. “Lean back.”
I do as he tells me, stretching out on my back, staring up at the ceiling. This is happening, it’s really happening, and I want it. More than anything, I do. I want his hands on me, easing my jeans down, running over the length of my legs. I want his face between my thighs. I want to hear him groan like an animal when he runs his lips over my pussy, still covered by my panties. I know I’m wet, I can feel it, and he groans before pressing his tongue against the cotton.
I gasp in surprise, lifting my head to look down at him. He can’t honestly like that, can he? But one look at his face tells me he does—his eyes are closed, his expression one of extreme pleasure as he licks up what’s soaked through. His groans confirm how much he likes it. Loves it.
And that sparks something in me. I want to give him more of what he loves. I want to give him all of me. I lift my hips without protest when he claws at the waistband of my panties, then spread my legs wide when they’re off.
He looks into my eyes, his brows lifted. “Look at you. Showing yourself off to me. Spreading your legs so I can look at this pussy.” His gaze drops to that spot, his lids lowering, lips parted so he can take short, ragged breaths. “Teasing me. Almost like you want me to lick you clean.”
It’s almost painful, the arousal. If this doesn’t end soon, I’ll die. “Please?” I whimper. “Please, lick me?”
“Only if you promise to come on my tongue like a good girl.” My head bobs up and down, eyes wide, heart pounding so hard I’m afraid it’ll kill me. I wouldn’t even care right now, so long as I know what it feels like to have his tongue on me.
He doesn’t take his time about it, plunging down, parting my lips with his probing tongue.
“Oh, fuck!” My voice echoes around the room, then again, and again, with each lap of his eager tongue. He knows just what to do, just how to use it. How to use me. This is what I’ve been missing out on all this time?
“So good,” he rasps before dipping inside again, dragging the length of his tongue along my slit before finally pressing it against my clit. My hips shoot up, unintelligible cries pouring out of me. It’s too good, too much—his tongue, the scruff on his cheeks scraping my inner thighs, his grunts of pleasure barely muffled against my dripping pussy.
I can’t help but lose myself to it. “Zeke!” That’s the only word I can get out before the wave crashes, my body trembling. And he keeps going, licking me clean like he promised until there’s nothing to do but sigh in ecstatic relief. I close my eyes, floating in darkness. So that’s what it feels like to get eaten out. No wonder girls like it so much.
I pull myself out of it, forcing myself to come to. “Thank you,” I whisper. Is it lame? I don’t know. What do people say in a situation like this?
As it turns out, it doesn’t matter. When I lift my head, searching for him, he’s gone. I’m alone, spread-eagled on the counter.
Did I just make a huge mistake?