CHAPTERTWELVE
fawn
“You smell so sweet, little deer,”he says through a growl that radiates through my bones, “and I’mstarving.”
Those words reach into my dreamless state and draw me from its cloak of darkness. I moan in half-coherence as the blanket slides down my body. Air rushes over my core as Clay presses my thighs apart with his palms.
“Open for me.”
The mattress brushes my outer legs when I drop my thighs apart, exposed completely. The air cools the wetness now gathering between my thighs.His voice.That is all I need to be completely ready for him. Primed. He wanted to condition me to be ready for him, and I am.
“Pretty,” he purrs.
I missed him. He was busy all day and gone all night. I missed his voice. His large presence that holds me, envelops me, soothes me. That dreamily coats me in his scent—cigars and gun powder.
Power—Clay Butcher is what power smells like.
My eyes stay closed. My senses are fine-tuned to his movement and warmth. Reaching down, I find the strands of his dark hair hovering above my waist. He dips down and runs his tongue over my clit in one long slow lap.
“Imissedyou today,” I whisper to the ceiling, writhing to the quiet sensation he offers me.
“I know, sweet girl. I had business to organise. And now I want to spoil this pretty pussy.” He groans, burying his head into my blonde pubic hair, inhaling me, deep and primal, forcing a flush to creep along every inch of my skin. “But I also want to fuck it sore, fuck it swollen, just like I want to do to your arse one day, and you will allow me. Offer your pretty holes to me. You belong to me.”
God.
Firm, authoritarian lips bracket my pussy. I lift off the sheets on a spasm. Arch my back.
He doesn’t focus on one spot between my legs like he has done in the past; he is passionately kissing me. He is making out with my pussy, deeply, sucking my lips into his mouth, spearing his tongue in deep, mouthing me.
Not at all trying to edge me in a direction, not at all controlled or measured. Just dirty. Carnal. Strange. Amazing.
I let him taste me, all of me. His tongue venturing down lower until he’s fluttering the tip over my arsehole. Then he’s back to kissing me and my head swims in the sensation of waking up to this attention.
A loud moan falls from my lips as I arch again. He pulls on my labia, running his tongue inside. A deep hum, a hum ending in a growl of need, vibrates against my wet pulsing flesh.
“Mine. You calm something in me.” He flattens his tongue and uses it to apply pressure to my clit. A zap of sensation spreads from the bundle of nerves up and down. Up and down.
The buzzing following the now meaningful strokes of his strong tongue. “I want to hear you say it.”
“I’m yours.”
He licks hard. “Your pussy is mine.”
“Yes.” I shuffle my backside on the mattress, my hips seeking, needing, desperate, but he pins me down.
He slides his tongue upwards, dragging it between my hipbones, leaving my pussy beckoning in his neglect. “This body”—he peppers kisses along my lower belly— “is mine. To use. To fill. Say it.”
“My body is yours, Sir. To do anything you want with.”
He dips down again, licking once. “To use.”
“Yes.”
Twice. “Fill.”
“Yes!”
“Don’t move then, sweet girl. I want your little pink clit vibrating on my tongue.”