“Well, now you know otherwise. I was actually the pervert who had to spend five minutes breathing hard in a dark locker room just to get back some of his control. And by breathing hard I mean jerking off.”
“You jerked off in the locker room while I was in the pool panicking?”
“I might have. It depends how actually outraged you are.”
“I am very outraged. Extremely outraged.”
“God, I know I—”
“Tell me more about it and I might forgive you.”
Now it was his turn to be shocked—though obviously he was much better at it than her. He didn’t hide his face. He let her see it all in dazzling detail.
“Oh you asshole, I thought you were actually mad at me for a second.”
“I am mad at you. And the penalty is you confessing everything.”
He raised an eyebrow, half panicked and half incredulous.
“What, like every filthy thought I ever had about you? You realize I only have around sixty years left of my life, right? I was hoping to visit the Grand Canyon before I die.”
“The Grand Canyon can wait. I need details, if you want to convince me.”
“Christ, okay. Um…all right…”
“Tick-tock.”
“Stop, just…lemme block out the part of my brain that controls embarrassment, first,” he said, which apparently involved being completely adorable in every conceivable way. He winced and took deep breaths and fanned himself like a teenage girl before finally squeezing out some words. Some very good, very shocking words. “Okay, so, when you came across me sitting on the stairs? I may have possibly just sort of stayed where I was so you would…you know…squeeze past me. Not in like a gross way though, where I rub my face over your vagina as you do it. Just so I could possibly smell your perfume or feel, like, your shin against my arm or shit yeah I hear that this sounds bad now that I hear it, sorry.”
He shook his head at himself, face contorted into an expression best described as grossed out.
But he really didn’t need to be. Her focus was all on something else entirely.
“That far back? You had sexy thoughts about me that far back?”
“Well…yeah. I guess so. I didn’t think that was the weird part, to be honest.”
“It is totally the weird part. I mean…what changed that drastically between high school and college?”
“I guess…I did. I changed. Into someone who tries to get girls to rub their shins on them.”
“You are seeming a little like a creeper.”
“To be honest, most of these stories are going to make me sound like a creeper. I mean, there aren’t many decent ways to say when you put a pencil in your mouth I thought long and hard about how those lips would look around my cock.”
Her face heated—so much so that she glanced down to try to hide it.
She couldn’t, however, hide the excitement in her voice.
“You thought about that? While I was innocently taking notes? In the library?”
“I think the fact that it was the library only made it more thrilling, to be honest.”
“You’re not serious. You cannot be.”
“Think about it. You have to be super quiet—you moan once, everyone is going to hear you. There’s just enough shelter here to hide whatever we might be doing, but not enough to make either of us feel completely safe. Someone could walk up any time, see you on your knees, see you taking it all.”
“And by all you mean that…big thing.”
“Why not? In fantasy you can pretty much ignore the laws of physics.”
Now the heat in her face was up to five thousand degrees. It had taken over most of her throat and chest, and was slowly working its way downward. That was fine though. It was cool. He looked pretty red-faced, too. In fact, he was flushed all the way from his temples to his collarbone.
“So what you want is to make five plus ten equal three in my mouth.”
“No, what I want is to bend you over this table and pull that flirty little skirt up over your ass, then show you exactly how good getting your pussy licked feels. Matter of fact, that is pretty much all I’ve thought about since you said you’d never had it. I almost did it when you were in my bed, but I wasn’t sure I could manage it through a mouthful of jeans.”
“I’m not wearing jeans now.”
He fell silent then. Extremely, intensely silent, eyes heavy on her the whole time. Just a hint of mischief in them, and around the corners of his mouth. Like he wanted to smile knowingly, but thought it better to play it cool. Check the ground he stood on first, before things went too far.
“Okay, I feel I have to warn you that despite what I said about fantasy, I would totally eat your pussy right here and now. Like, that’s not a problem for me at all. So if you keep talking about it, chances are I’m going to think you’re serious and make a total ass of myself.”
“And how exactly would you make an ass out of yourself?”
“I might say something like: slip your panties off and hand them to me.”
It was a smart way to make the suggestion, really. He gave it all the sly charm of the real thing, but without any of the negative consequences. She couldn’t rebuff him. He hadn’t honestly meant it. It was just a suppose so, a what-if—though tantalizing enough that it turned the temperature up another notch. Just hearing him say the words was enough to send a tingling shock through her. And then there was the sound of his voice, all low and slightly hoarse. The way he touched his tongue to his teeth after saying it, as if he was imagining what it would truly be like if she did.
Though he didn’t have to imagine for long.
“Oh my god, you’re actually fucking doing it. This cannot be real life.”
“You want me to stop? I can stop, if you really want.”
“Fuck no, never stop. Never, ever stop being this awesome.”
“You better be sure, because they’re almost at my ankles.”
“Are you serious right now? Are they—”
He ducked below the table to see, but he didn’t need to.
She had already pushed them into his hand—and the second she did everything changed. The faint wince that was still in the back of his expression disappeared entirely, and was replaced by a steely sort of single-mindedness that she recognized immediately. It was the look he got when he was about to take somebody down. It even had that quick assessment of his wrestling opponent, before he made his move—the one that reminded her of someone rifling through a dead man’s pockets.
And in this case, she was the dead man.
She had around ten seconds in which he stood to check no one was coming. Then he was on her, brisk and all business. “Stand up,” he said, voice so rough it should have scared her. It should have made her think of the bully he had been—only it didn’t.
Probably because his hand was on her breasts as he said it.
More than on them, in truth. He touched them as though he couldn’t get enough. He fondled them, squeezing and exploring so thoroughly it kind of knocked her sideways. It underlined all the things he’d said, about the steps and the pencil and the pool. It made them unavoidably obvious—though even if it hadn’t there were other signs.
Like the way he hurriedly stuffed her panties into his pocket.
To keep, before she could change her mind.
And the hand he slipped under her skirt, the second she stood up.
Gentle, but greedy all at the same time.
And his cock.
Fuck, his cock.
He wasn’t exactly trying to push that stiff shape against the side of her ass. But he wasn’t exactly not, either. Quite clearly, he wanted her to see and feel and know that she had done this to him at some point. She has made him hard—maybe when she handed him those panties. Maybe before, over some look she had no idea she had given him. Everything was possible, now.
Including him bending her over this desk in the library, in the middle of the day. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the
squeak of a cart, the whisper of students trying to be quiet, the clatter of a book coming off the shelf. But it made no difference to him. He barely lowered his voice to tell her that she was wet. Words just blurted out of him, rough and ready.
“Fuck, baby, you’re always soooo wet,” he said. Then even sweeter: “Do I make you that way? Do I get you excited?”
As though he was a little unsure, too. He needed her to show him how much she wanted him, and when he touched her like this it wasn’t so hard. He slid two fingers in and the yes came out all on its own, half moaned and half sighed. More than that, in fact: she practically pushed back against him. Her back arched before she could stop it, her whole body flushing as she felt him ease them back and forth.
Slow, at first. Easy enough to take.
Then faster, and firmer, and not quite as straightforward as he had before. In their dorm rooms he had used stiff, straight fingers, but not this time. This time he crossed them, one over the other, until each slow push into her pussy made her want to cry out.
But then someone called for quiet in the distance, and she remembered.
They were in a library. He was fingering her pussy in a library.
Being quiet was of the utmost importance, no matter how good he made her feel. No matter how firmly he worked the thick knot of his knuckles right over that aching, tingling place, no matter how many rude things he panted at her as he worked her pussy, no matter how shocking it was when he finally got down on his knees. She had to keep her mouth closed.
And then she heard and felt him move, and it got just that little bit harder. He was actually doing it. He was lifting her skirt and spreading her legs. How was she supposed to be silent when that was happening? It sent a zing of pleasure through her the size of a lightning bolt. It made her knees crumple and turned her hands to claws—holding it in was impossible.
But she managed. She put her fist to her mouth, as tightly as she could stand.
And just in time. A second later his mouth was on her, and after that there was pretty much nothing she could do. She just had to stand there with her face pressed to the table, trembling, teeth deep in her fist, as he showed her just what a kiss felt like on her spread pussy. As he licked around the slowly working fingers he still had inside her, before easing them out so he could taste the place they had just been.
More than taste, really.
He sank his tongue right into her, lapping in a way she didn’t fully grasp until he made it explicit. “You like me fucking that pussy like this?” he said, and only then did it hit her. Fucking, he’s fucking me with his fingers, her mind babbled as her body went haywire. Those trembles suddenly doubled, until she was pretty much shaking the table. Some sounds leaked out, and they were not small ones.
They were practically groans of agony.
Someone was going to come and check just to make sure no one was being killed back here, and she couldn’t blame them. It felt like he was murdering her. He kept switching back and forth between his fingers and his tongue, and when he licked it was never a faint little flick that barely made contact. He rubbed the fucking thing over every fold and hollow, firm enough to make her go a little faint. And just when she was sure she couldn’t accept another ounce of pleasure…
He found her clit with the flat of his tongue, and lapped and licked and sucked until she could hardly stand it or believe it or process it. Of course she had known, on some level, that he had told the truth about going down on a girl. She had imagined someone licking her there often enough, while her own fingers strummed her clit. But even in her most lurid, intense imaginings, she couldn’t have predicted this. This was life changing. It made all previous pleasure seem like a faint dream of the real thing.
She had sleepwalked through sex before now, and here was the waking truth. A hot, sweet ache that unfurled low down in her belly, and spread and spread and spread through the rest of her until she barely cared if anyone heard. She had to tell him, at least, how good this felt. Only when she went to do it, something more like a sob came out. A sobbed, broken sort of thank-you.
Then a yes and a now and a more.
Oh god, she would have given anything for more. Nothing was ever going to be enough from here on out. She would never be able to look at him again and not want this pulsing, shivering pleasure. She was done for, doomed, destroyed, and he knew it.
She could tell by the way he teased her, tongue dancing around her clit until it felt as though that little nub was straining. On the verge of bursting. After a minute of this insane torture she pushed back against him—like some beast in heat—but that only made it worse. He sat back as soon as she did, a half laugh on his lips. Words spilling out of him that sent her even deeper into the red. “You want to come, huh? You want to do it all over my mouth? Ohhhh yeah, you do, you do, look how swollen your clit is. Look at how wet you are. You want to see how wet you are? Come here, baby, lick these fingers. Taste your sweet pussy for me.”
But the most horrendous part was: she did it.
When he offered her his fingers, slick with her honey, she twisted her body and opened her mouth to accept them gratefully. Even greedily, if she was being honest. The look on his face told her how she must have seemed as she did it—those low-lidded eyes rolling up as she sucked eagerly, lips parting to let out a soft moan. And when he spoke again his voice was hoarser, rougher.
“Is it where we are? Or is it me?” he asked, and she answered with the truth.
“It’s you. It’s just you. It’s always you.”
That was all it took. There was no more teasing after that, no more hesitation. He just pushed his face between her legs, tongue lapping firm and insistent over her taut bud. One stroke, two, three and she was there, back arching, body shuddering, moans jammed tight against the bars of her gritted teeth. In the middle of it she might have even reached back to grab his head, forcing him to keep going and going.
Not that she needed to. He carried on licking long after the point where she couldn’t take it—just like before, only so, so much more. Now it was completely unbearable and completely incredible at the same time, cramming more and more pleasure into her until she was sure there couldn’t be room for anything else. That was it, that was all, and then he fucked two fingers into her tightly clenched pussy again and fuck fuck fuck.
She made a mess of his face. She knew she did; she felt it running down her thighs.
She saw it on him when he stood, all of it gleaming on his lips and chin.
Though she soon forgot about it, in light of the words he fumbled out. They were broken, those words, stuttered and too desperate—but all the better for it. “Is it okay to finish in your mouth?” he asked.
And she didn’t even hesitate.
She was on her knees in front of him before he’d even finished speaking, hands shaky but capable on his bared cock. The cock he must have been stroking as he licked her. The cock that stuck out like a a fist, swollen and slippery with pre-come, so ready to burst that she barely had to put a hand on him before it jerked and shot the first streamer of liquid over her lips. She had to quickly part them around that thick head to catch the rest, sucking and licking in an effort to make it as good for him as it had been for her.
Though she didn’t need to.
His moans were high and desperate and much too loud, punctuated with the kind of praise she could have come over. “Good girl, get me off, take it, take my hot load,” he groaned, barely sensible of what he was saying but all the better for it. She would remember those words forever, in every fuck session she participated in from then on. Other guys might come and go, but nothing would ever be sweeter than this:
Tate Sullivan saying the filthiest things, and turning them into bliss.
Chapter 17
She wanted to say something to him on the way back to her dorm. Something lighthearted, maybe, or at the very least grateful. But when she went to speak, nothing came out. Her lungs were suddenly full of sawdust and simply couldn’t suppl
y the necessary air. She could barely even lift her feet to take the next step, in truth. Every part of her was limp and weak, from her noodle arms to her rubbery legs.
And as for her face…
She knew how it looked. She made an effort to keep her expression neutral, but failed on every conceivable level. Her mouth just refused to close. The distraught frown wouldn’t leave her face. All her features were set to shell-shocked, and nothing could change that.
It was the only possible response to everything he had done.
And all the things he had said.
Since the stairwell, she thought.
But it only made her dazed expression worse. By the time they got to her door she felt as though she’d just staggered through the rubble of a postapocalyptic wasteland. Her hair was sticking up on one side where she’d worried at it. Her eyes seemed to be staring far too intently at every single thing about him. And when she finally got words out, they were not the ones she had intended.
Play it cool, her mind insisted.
But her mouth had her other ideas.
“Do you want to come inside?”
Of course she immediately realized her mistake. His answering expression said it all. A grin stuttered across his face, followed by an excruciatingly disbelieving laugh. It was the one he used to aim at her when she tried to do something outside her wheelhouse—something cool maybe—and it made her flush all over just like it had then. It made her want to correct him: no, I didn’t mean for more sex.
Only it was too late to clarify. Much too late.
“I would love to, but I really got to get some sleep.”
“Oh right, yeah, absolutely.”
“My wake up call’s, like, six thirty.”
“No, you don’t have to explain, it’s cool.”
She tried to laugh like he had as she turned to put her key in the lock, but it didn’t come out right. Her voice was too hollow, her amusement too tinged with that raw, red embarrassment. And it got worse the longer he just stood there. Why was he just standing there? He was supposed to go now.
Instead, he seemed to have gotten closer.
Never Sweeter (Dark Obsession #1) Page 15