Her eyes go wide again. “Oh God.”
I grab her ass and flip her over so I’m on top. “He’s not gonna save you from me, baby.” And I make her come again. So hard she bites my shoulder to muffle her scream. I’m close, but I want to see if I can get one more orgasm out of her. I slow it down, grinding against her. Amalie’s hands are in my hair, and then her nails rake down my back and dig into my ass.
“I’m gonna come soon,” I tell her. “You getting close again?”
“I don’t know if I can have another one.”
“You sure as hell can.” I hook my arm under her knee and draw it up, getting another sweet groan out of her when I roll my hips. I keep up the rhythm, slow and steady, watching her face. Her head is thrown back, lips parted, eyes closed tight. With my mouth beside her ear, I whisper, “I can feel you squeezing my cock, you better make it happen soon, baby, ’cause I don’t think I can hold out much longer.”
“Don’t stop doing what you’re doing,” she pleads.
“Want it harder?”
She nods.
“What about faster?”
“Please.”
I slide my fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and tilt her head down, holding it still as I give her what she wants. I’d say I have about six more thrusts before I’m done for, but with the way she’s started shaking again, and the whimpering moans I’m getting, she’s about to come anyway. I make it to thrust five before the orgasm kicks me in the spine.
I crush my mouth to Amalie’s, swallowing her scream, because she’s coming, too. It’s not a very coordinated kiss. It’s messy and teeth-clashing. It’s want and need. It’s possession. Hers and mine.
Twelve: After the Orgasms
Amie
Well, that just happened.
Lex is still kissing me. It’s slower now, soft, the frantic need having dissipated. I wait for guilt or regret to set in. Something to ruin the peacefulness of the moment, something to break the orgasmic bliss bubble I’m floating around in. But all I feel is the heavenly weightlessness that follows amazing sex.
Once in college I dated a guy for a few weeks who was amazing at sex. And by dated, I mean that we went out a few times and eventually got our fuck on. It wasn’t serious. I knew it never would be. By the time I hit college most of my relationships were casual dates, and if they moved into feelings territory I typically ended it. I never wanted to be my mother, always waiting for my dad to come back from a business trip only to fall apart and run away from him when he returned. It was a punishment for everyone, especially me.
But this man-boy of mine at the time was so, so pretty. And built. But under all the pretty was . . . nothing. No personality. No conversation skills. Just a beautiful outside and an empty inside, like opening a book with a fabulous cover to find the pages bereft of words. Blank page after blank page. It was such a disappointment. The only reason it lasted as long as it did was because he could screw like it was his profession. Actually, it probably should’ve been his job. He knew exactly how to move and every single time we had sex I came. It was amazing.
Except he only had one position. He was a one-trick pony. Any other position but missionary and the orgasm magic died. So no matter how pretty he was, I couldn’t continue to see him and his one-position magic man handle.
But Lex.
Lex.
He sets the bar so high I’m not sure anyone else can or will ever come close to what I just experienced.
I came three times. During sex. That’s like being told unicorns are real. And then actually seeing one.
My stomach rumbles, breaking the silence—well, silent apart from our heavy breathing and my barely audible residual moans every time I have an unexpected, but not unwelcome muscle clench below the waist.
Lex’s lips turn up against mine. The muscles in his shoulders pull tight and his chest flexes as he braces himself on his forearms. He’s sweaty, I’m sweaty, we’re both glistening from the exertion. I glance down, checking out his abs as they ripple. His body is unreal. He should never wear clothes again. Ever.
“Hungry?” He’s grinning.
“That was my vagina asking for more orgasms. We need to know how long it’s going to be before ‘Oh God’ can provide more of those.”
He laughs, then dips down to kiss my chin. “How about I order some food first and we can follow it with more orgasms?”
I purse my lips and consider the offer. I am hungry. “I suppose that would work.”
Lex lifts his hips and I raise mine, keeping the connection for another second or two before he eases out and removes the condom, tying it off and disposing of it. His gaze drops between my legs, which are spread shamelessly wide. He sucks in breath, tongue dragging over his bottom lip.
“On second thought . . .” He smoothes his hands down the inside of my thighs and presses a kiss to my knee.
I close my legs reflexively. “Are you sure you want to—” I don’t finish the sentence. Armstrong would never, ever even consider going to taco town unless I was fresh from the shower.
He pauses, eyes lifting. “Am I sure I want to eat your pussy? Fuck yes, is the answer to that, Amie. I’ve been thinking about it since the other night when you were mostly naked and under me. Unless you’re opposed to my eating you.”
Well then. I lift my hips encouragingly. “I’m definitely not opposed.”
“I didn’t think you would be.” He bites his way down the inside of my thigh, stopping to suck the skin a few times until it blushes a deep pink that might not fade by morning. Not that I care.
I don’t dare look away as those full lips reach the juncture of my thigh and then he brushes them gently over my swollen clit. I moan.
His eyes meet mine as his tongue flicks out, sweeping over the sensitive skin. I buck and grab the comforter, needing some kind of anchor. I have a feeling this man is going to be just as good with his tongue as he is with his cock.
And I’m 100 percent accurate about that. Lex alternates slow, leisurely strokes with sucking, and as soon as I think I’m on the verge of coming, he changes it up, pulls me away from the edge, only to bring me back again, higher and higher each time. When I try to lift my hips his grip on me tightens, and then his fingers—oh God—hit the right spot from inside while he tongues me. I’m so close.
This time I grab onto his hair to keep him where he is. “Make me come,” I order.
He’s stronger than me, by a lot. So it takes less effort than I’d like for him to force his head up while I continue to push down. When it’s clear I’m not going to succeed, I try lifting my hips, but he bars his tattooed arm across my stomach, keeping me pinned. As pretty as it is, I’m far too preoccupied to admire it the way I’d like to.
His smile is sinister. “What was that?”
“I’m so close.” Oh my God, I’m whining. But really, I was right there, my clit practically singing. He must be able to feel it, the way everything is tightening; a coiled spring pulled taut and ready to snap.