Jesus, I miss her honesty. This is why I need her. No more games, just . . . Ever. If her eyes were open right now, she would witness the intensity of that wish all over my face, so it’s a good thing she can’t see. “I’m going to kneel now. You know what to do.” I push my hand inside her panties and groan—so fucking loud—because her pussy fits my palm like we were matched up by God himself. “Quit playing keep-away with this pussy. Pull up that stupid, little skirt you wore to be professional and let me lick what you’re trying to hide from my tongue.”
It’s the filth that makes her cave. I love saying these borderline disrespectful things to her and she loves hearing them, otherwise I wouldn’t. Thank God she does, though, because by the time I’m done talking, she’s arching her back on the wall, a moan building in her throat. “Charlie, please . . .”
Yeah, I’m not waiting around for Ever to change her mind. My knees hit the deck like someone is robbing me at gunpoint. “Shhh, I’ve got you.” The sight of Ever sliding the tight, black material to her waist and revealing a thong I haven’t seen before sends a ripple through my blood. It’s arousal, it’s jealousy, it’s making me ache. “You didn’t buy this because you started dating.” I hook a finger in the gray lace and drag it down to her knees, the axis of my world skewing right, then left. “Did you, Ever?”
“No.” Her reply emerges as choked as my question, her fingers already sliding into my hair, holding tight. Oh yeah, she knows I’m going for a ten on the cunnilingus rating scale. “I bought it for myself. And I w-wouldn’t suggest mentioning my new lease on life right now, unless you want me to overthink this.”
“Roger that.” My hands are a blur as I rip the panties down to her ankles, shove them into my front pocket and surge forward. The scent of her—warm apples—wallops me in the senses and if we weren’t on the clock, I would have taken a moment to bury my nose against her soft cunt. Inhale her. Maybe paint a mural in its honor. But my mouth is apparently controlling my brain, because the taste is what I’m most frantic for. Her hips are doing these sexy, little circles, but I need her still. I need her to understand I’m a fucking maniac that’s gone over a week without her. No, she took herself away from me, and it’s my mouth’s job to remind her why that was a bad decision.
I’m breathing like a bull as I tunnel my tongue into the tops of her slick folds. Right at the top, where the center of the storm lives. Eyes closed in euphoria, I slide the tip of my tongue down through her lips, like I’m making a credit card transaction. One that definitely got approved—’cause, damn, she goes wild. So fucking wild. I’m not talking screams or begging. No, this unicorn of a woman climbs me. She throws both of her thighs over my shoulders, giving me all her weight, which I gladly accept, using the wall to keep her leveraged. Then she does a little scooting shimmy to bring herself right up against my mouth, turning my cock into a goddamn crowbar.
“Charlie, please. I missed this so bad.” In the middle of polishing up her clit, I glance up and find her half-delirious against the wall. Jesus. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how desperate for proof I’ve been. Proof that she’s had a hard time separating from me. That it hasn’t been one-sided. “You’re so good. The way you . . .” She whimpers and yanks at my hair. “And that, too. That, too. Your tongue.”
This. This is the greatest show on Earth. The girl of my dreams telling me she missed me, telling me I’m good with my tongue. I’ve barely gotten started and she’s already close to an orgasm. Those gorgeous little muscles on the inside of her thighs are contracting in my peripheral vision, and she’s giving that sweet, sexy babble above me. Pride is like a ribbon threading in between my ribs, pulling tight. I’m tempted out of my mind to stand up, take out my dick and fuck the ever-loving shit out of her, but it would be too much, too soon. Not just for her. For me, I realize. I’m barely going to retain my sanity witnessing her attempts at dating. If I’m sleeping with her, I don’t know how I’ll handle it. I’ll find a way, but . . . one day at a time.
My brain is a little tilted from thinking about Ever with someone else, so the strokes of my tongue get somewhat mean. Can’t stop it. I shove her mind-blowing thighs wider and cram my tongue inside of her, deep. Deeper. Shoving her into the wall with my head, massaging her clit with my upper lip while I tongue-fuck her.
“Charlie. Jesus Christ.” Here it comes. “Big man.”
I growl at the nickname and there she goes. That slick heat shudders and tightens against my mouth and she’s done. I replace my tongue with two fingers and worry her clit between my lips, just to give her a little extra and fuck, does she appreciate it. Yeah, Ever’s weakness has always been my mouth between her legs, but this reaction is another level. I’m going to need a hair transplant, because I’m pretty sure she ripped some of it out and she’s still twisting, twisting my strands in her fists. It’s goddamn heaven. She can have my hair as long as I don’t have to live without this pussy. Her come is dripping down my fingers as I milk them in and out, groaning at the wet sound it makes.
My connection to her needs is still lit up, still throbbing, and I know that although she came, she hasn’t gotten that knockout punch yet. Probably because she’s gone a long time without me. So I deliver. I want her to be sure I’ll deliver every damn time, and then some.
I push my fingers in deep, deep enough that she gasps, and let the pad of my middle finger tickle her G-spot. “No one knows your pretty cunt better than I do. Isn’t that right, Ever?” She’s babbling again—shit, I love when she does that—but I think I catch an agreement. Yes, I’m using the C-word out loud now, and I know that’s part of the extra push she needs. I’m her filth man, and she can’t be bashful about wanting more from me, because I never stop being hungry for her. “I’ve got a map of you in my head. In my bones,” I rasp. “Look at me.”
Her head pitches forward, like her neck muscles have taken a vacation. Both of our gazes are obscured by heavy, lusty eyelids, but we’re looking at one another when I begin flickering my tongue against her clit. Her G-spot is still being exploited by my middle finger, but this additional attention to her sensitized nerves is going to orgasm her again. I know this, because I’m a certified Ever Expert.
“Look at me. On my knees, lapping at you. Fingering you. I’d stay here all fucking night, soaking up this sweetness. You know I would.” I’m so hoarse at this point from needing to fuck, needing to make her come, that my voice isn’t mine. “Who do you call when you’re the kind of keyed up no one else knows how to handle?”
Several shaking drags of air into her swollen lips. “Charlie . . .”
I know that wasn’t an answer. It was the beginning of an admonishment. But I’m taking it as my answer, anyway. Moving my middle finger faster, I lean in and give her clit a light suck, followed by slow side to side rubs of my tongue—and obliterate her.
Disorderly Conduct (The Academy #1)
Tessa Bailey's books
- Baiting the Maid of Honor_a Wedding Dare novel
- Protecting What's His
- Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)
- Risking it All (Crossing the Line, #1)
- Up in Smoke (Crossing the Line, #2)
- Crashed Out (Made in Jersey, #1)
- Rough Rhythm: A Made in Jersey Novella (1001 Dark Nights)
- Thrown Down (Made in Jersey #2)