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His hand left my hair, joining his other on my chest. Brett tweaked both nipples with his fingers, drawing out new sounds from me, sounds I’d never made before.
I’d been with Zak, yeah, but we’d never taken our time. We just… jumped into it, I guess. It was never quite as memorable as all the movies made it out to be. It was sex. Nothing really special at all. And up until Brett, that’s just how I thought it was, every single time.
I’d never been more glad to be wrong.
Brett’s head dipped lower on my body, moving away from my collarbone. He stopped when he reached my chest, and he moved one of his hands off my tit so he could take a nipple into his mouth. He sucked it past his lips, sending me on another wave of bliss. His tongue swirled around it, running over the pebbled tip before he latched on again.
I writhed. I moaned. I couldn’t keep still or quiet, not when his mouth was fixed on me like that. And when I thought he was done, he went to the other tit and did the exact same thing, paying the same amount of attention to the other nipple.
God. Was it wrong that I felt like I could come right now, just from that? It felt that freaking good.
Brett eventually tore his mouth off my nipple, but he didn’t leave my body. No, his lips continued to track downward, over my stomach, trailing kisses along the way as his hands accompanied him on his trip down. My legs were closed; I still had my underwear on, so when his mouth found the base of my hips, I couldn’t help it. My thighs tightened—and not because of how good his mouth felt.
No, they tightened because of what would come next. The bedroom was pretty dark, so he wouldn’t see… but he could feel them. He was taking his time now, as opposed to Saturday night when we’d pretty much jumped right into it.
What if he felt my scars? Would he say something about them? And if he did, what would I say? I was so delirious with desire I couldn’t quite think straight.
Brett said not a word, but one of his hands pushed between my thighs, running over my panties and pressing harder upon me when he reached my clit. His thumb ran small circles around it while his other hand gripped my outer thigh.
Was it wrong to want him like this, but not want to share that part of me? He’d told me he didn’t want me to hurt myself, that he’d stop me from doing it… what would he say if he saw my old scars? He had no idea I kept a small box cutter blade in my desk, tucked away in case I never needed it, in case I ever needed to feel.
It hurt, of course. Dragging a blade over any part of your skin wasn’t easy. It showed me I wasn’t brave enough to end it for real, that maybe I was only here, on this earth, to feel one thing: pain.
Brett stopped rubbing my clit through my panties, and he hooked both his thumbs around the soft fabric. He had to kneel a bit as he tugged them off me, and once they were around my ankles, he yanked them off and tossed them to the floor.
Spreading my legs, he lowered himself to my apex once more—this time no barrier to my most intimate part. He ran his hands up my inner thighs as he spread them wide, and I shivered with a mix of anticipation and dread.
The moment of truth.
His hand slid over the scars, and he didn’t say a word. He had to have felt them… unless he was so fixated on putting his head between my legs that he didn’t notice. It was almost too much to hope for.
No, knowing Brett, he noticed and he’d ask me about it later, and that gave me something fun to look forward to. There was nothing like trying to explain the conflicted feelings you’ve been battling for the last few years, how they’d finally risen to the surface and made you hurt yourself. Someone like him… I didn’t think he’d understand. I didn’t think most people would.
But I couldn’t think about that or the conversation that was waiting for future me, because the moment my thighs were spread wide, Brett lowered his face to my apex. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him, and the first moment his tongue flicked around my clit, I was once again lost.
Here I thought his mouth on my tits had almost pushed me to an orgasm. This? This was ten times better than that, and he’d only just started.
Brett got to work, and he was a diligent worker. His tongue and his mouth worked in unison, showering my aching clit with affection. Flicking, sucking, licking. It was all so much to take in, an overload of carnal pleasure, and I became a slave to it.
I moaned loudly, my lungs heaving. My hands gripped the fitted sheet below as I struggled to find something to ground me. I feared if he kept going down there, I’d float right up off this bed to ride cloud nine.
His tongue swirled around my clit over and over, applying the right amount of pressure to it to make me whimper. My lower half ground against his face, a bodily reaction I couldn’t control. It was bliss. It was heaven.
I was definitely going to come.
Brett must’ve sensed the shift in my body, because his mouth latched onto my clit and refused to let it go. He sucked on me, ran his tongue along the swollen nub, all the while inching me toward the precipice.
The pressure built within me, an unstoppable force. It built and built until it could grow no longer, and the moment that happened, the pressure exploded inside. It swallowed me up whole, coursing through my body at record speed. I cried out loudly, my muscles tensing as the orgasm swept through me. My thighs clamped around Brett’s head—but the man didn’t seem to mind, because he didn’t stop assaulting my clit, as if trying to make it last.
Or maybe make me come again.
The orgasm took its time in dissipating, and my head was fuzzy by the time it cleared. My thighs were slow in releasing their pressure on Brett’s head, and all I could do was lay there. If that’s what orgasms were for other people, I totally understood how some people were obsessed. It was like all my worries faded away, receding with the tide the orgasm had come in on.
Brett’s tongue left my clit—which practically pulsated after that orgasm—dipping low enough to circle my entrance. Before I knew what he was doing, I felt his warm tongue pierce my core.
He was literally eating me out. God. And the worst, or best, part was: it felt so fucking good. His tongue darted in and out of my core, and all I could do was lay there and revel in how good it all felt. Like heaven. Like it should feel. Not like those times when…
No. I wouldn’t think about that right now. There was absolutely no reason to go back to that time.
