Page 63 of Beg Me

“It appears that you can’t follow instructions, Mr. Plath,” I tease.

His chuckle is low and gravelly, the vibrations felt against my lips. Each ripple sends a shot of need straight to my core. My thighs are coated with desire, and I’m this close to reaching between them to alleviate some of the building pressure.

I gasp softly as Jory lowers his lips until they’re almost touching mine.

“Please,” he whispers, the words fluttering across my mouth.

It’s one word—a single syllable in the English language—but it might as well be a spark landing in dry tinder. Heat explodes inside me, racing from the spot where his breath touches my skin all the way to my toes.

I lift my chin, desperate for contact, but he only allows our lips to brush in the lightest, faintest way before pulling back.

“Hey,” I yelp, fighting irritation and frustration.

He grins mischievously, moving down my body until he’s at my feet. A hand grabs each ankle. I start to ask him what he’s doing, but all I manage is a gasp as he separates my legs in one quick motion.

“Oh!” I shriek as he pulls me toward him. My back skims smoothly across the comforter until he’s kneeling between my thighs and peering down at me like I’m a snack he’s about to devour.

“Please let me fuck you.” Gone is the tender whisper of before. Now every word is edged in temptation. “I’m on my knees and begging for your permission to lick …” His fingers press deeper into my skin. “Taste.” His palms travel closer to the apex. “And fuck you senseless.”

I suck in a breath as a startled, disbelieving laugh escapes me. My brain lacks the capacity to process the sensory overload. His touch, his gaze—his fucking words. It’s too much to absorb.

“This is no laughing matter,” he says, grinning.

I bite my lip, trying to stop my giggles. “No, it’s not.”

“Let me know if you need help keeping that mouth occupied.”

My smile turns into a smirk as I pull my dress up to my waist, putting my pussy on full display. “I was thinking that it was your mouth that needs something to do.” I toss him a wink before dragging the fabric up my body, exposing all of me, and then tossing it onto the floor.

“How are you real?” he asks, clearly in a state of shock. His gaze travels over me. “For fuck’s sake, Markie. How are you fucking real?”

I let my knees fall to the side as I pull the lace under my nipples, letting my tits set on the top of it.

“You haven’t exactly said yes,” he says, teasing me. “And if you’re not going to, you need to get some clothes on and get off my bed. Or you can also lie there and let me look at you while I jack off.”

I laugh. “You’re talking an awful lot for a man whose face is supposed to be buried between my thighs.”

He hops off the bed and drags me closer to the edge. I hold my breath, suspended in a state of anticipation and lust, as he positions himself precisely where I instructed. Seeing him framed between my thighs is a picture I try to sear into my brain, and I get about four seconds to accomplish this before his tongue slides through me.

My body trembles. “Oh fuck.”

It’s delicious. The friction against my clit. The sound of him eating me like I’m his last meal. The pressure of his fingers parting my flesh and hitting the sweet spot against the front wall of my pussy. It’s all amazing.

I reach for him, threading my fingers into his silky hair.

“Like that,” I breathe, grinding myself against his face. “Oh my gosh, Jory.”

My words are broken, splintered by the earliest waves of an orgasm. I close my eyes, digging the back of my head against the comforter as my back arches in pleasure.

“Harder,” I say, gritting my teeth as his fingers fuck me within an inch of my life.

It’s so deliriously good. And so worth the five-month wait to be ravaged like this.

Each thrust of his fingers gets me closer. Every nudge of his nose against my swollen bud brings me higher. And when he chuckles against my flesh before sucking my clit? I unravel.

I scream as I come, arching off the bed like I’ve been possessed. He holds me open, refusing to let me stop until every last drop of my orgasm has been extracted from me.

“I can’t,” I yell, fighting the desire to keep going and the need to stop.