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He grabs my other breast, nipping it before sucking my nipple with a deep groan. My back arches underneath him, the heat inside me liquefying in my veins.
Releasing me, he slips lower, running his tongue down my stomach, past my navel, and then lower, to nip the inside of my thigh. I yelp from the pain, but it quickly dissolves into a moan when he soothes the sting with his tongue.
“Mason,” I breathe when he makes a quiet, dark sound, slipping my panties to the side. I’ve never . . . done this. I don’t know how to tell him that as a new kind of heat floods my cheeks.
He eyes me darkly, slipping from the bed and yanking me forward until my ass rests on the edge. Even on the floor, he still has to hunch over to reach me.
“I’ve never—ah. . .” The most erotic sound I think I’ve ever made tears from my throat when he leans down and runs his tongue from my ass to my clit. I surge off the bed, jumping at the new sensation and he bands a hand over my stomach with a raw possessiveness in his eyes.
The growl of satisfaction that rumbles through him goes right to my core.
“I’ve waited years for this,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before he’s using his other hand to spread me open. He circles my entrance with his tongue before he slips it inside.
I watch him between my legs, my hand fisting the comforter below me as he moves his tongue in and out, slipping through my folds, but completely ignoring my clit. His eyes lock with mine as if he’s daring me to stop him when he spreads my legs wider, hooking one over his shoulder.
He’s never looked so . . . dangerous.
“You’re fucking soaked, Hannah,” he murmurs against my skin, circling the area around my clit, but not touching me where I need him. “This little cunt has always begged for me.”
My body tightens, my legs shaking as my orgasm already threatens to tear through me. It’s always been harder for me to come, but with Mason, it’s like a walk in the park. A few touches, a couple growled words, and I’m barreling toward ecstasy faster than I could have ever thought imaginable.
“Mason, please,” I whimper, my eyes screwed shut as he continues to deny me what I want. He’s trying to prolong this where I feel like I’m going crazy with the need for release.
A sharp sting startles me and I gawk at him.
“Did you just bite my clit?”
“Did you just tell me what to do?”
“Asshole,” I snap, though it lacks its usual bite.
“Brat,” he rasps, nipping me again and drawing out the pain.
“Want me to stop?”
He’s daring me. He raises a brow, hovering on the edge of insanity. I’m right there with him because I actually shake my head no.
“Good girl.”
God, if this is the devil . . . you better never drag me to heaven.
Though it’s slightly twisted and probably degrading, heat floods my core. So much so that my arousal leaks down my inner thighs which would be embarrassing if Mason didn’t slip a finger inside me and finally, finally draw my clit into his mouth.
My back arches off the bed and I cry out, not bothering to be quiet. I don’t care who hears me now. I just want this man inside me.
Why didn’t I do this sooner? The sight of Mason Carpenter with his head between my legs is a sight I’m sure most girls would sell their right arm to see. I didn’t think I would. But that was before. Now, I feel like I’ve been let into some secret club where it’s just me and all my dirty fantasies are coming to life, right before my eyes.
“Fuck, Hannah,” Mason rasps, his eyes locked on mine when I roll my hips into his mouth. “That’s it.” Using his free hand, he spreads my pussy, diving back between my folds and feasting on me like I’m his last meal. I writhe underneath him, grip his sheets so hard I distantly worry that I may rip them, and tug on the strands of his short hair until I’m sure I’ve given him a bald spot.
Something tells me he’d wear it with pride.
Sealing his lips around my clit with a deep sound of satisfaction, he flutters it back and forth, his fingers curling up to rub over a spot that I didn’t even know existed.
My entire body feels like it’s been dipped in a vat of lava and then finally, everything explodes, sending me catapulting into an orgasm that I’m sure will be my last. I scream—yes, scream—out his name, tugging the strands of his hair, the bed, anything I can get my hands on while the pleasure rips through me. He says something, but I can’t hear him. I can’t even see him through the blurriness in my gaze.
He rips his mouth away when the orgasm starts to fade, but his fingers stay buried inside me, drawing out the little aftershocks of my orgasm. A soft whimper tears through me because the pressure is building again and I don’t know if I can survive another orgasm like that.
He crushes his lips against mine and I moan into his mouth when he curls his fingers up again to stroke over that spot thatonly he seems to know about. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, but he doesn’t stop and I don’t want him to.
