“You won’t. You like me too much.” I press the vibrator back against her, and she gasps, her hips rolling into it immediately. Ilet her ride it for a minute, watching her climb toward the edge, and then I pull it away again.
“I hate you.” She groans, throwing her good arm over her face.
“No, you don’t.” I set the vibrator down and replace it with my mouth. My tongue drags flat across her clit, and she practically levitates off the bed. I grip her thighs and hold her still as I work her with my tongue, slow and deliberate, tasting her, savoring her. She’s soaked and swollen and sensitive from the vibrator, and every lick makes her shake.
“Please let me come,” she begs. “Please, Justin, I can’t take any more.”
I reach for the vibrator without lifting my mouth, slide two fingers inside her, and press the vibrator against her clit while my tongue works alongside it. The combination of my fingers, my mouth, and the pulsing vibration is too much, her whole body locks up.
“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my … Justin!”
She comes so hard, her thighs clamp around my head, and I can’t breathe, but I don’t care because the sounds she’s making are worth suffocating for. I work her through it until she’s shaking, pushing my head away, gasping for air, and my face is drenched by her. I crawl up her body, grinning. She looks destroyed, eyes glazed, chest heaving, hair everywhere.
“You’re evil,” she pants.
“I’m thorough.”
“You edged me.”
“I built anticipation,” I tell her.
“You edged me with my own vibrator.” She groans.
“And my mouth. Don’t forget my mouth.”
“I could never forget your mouth.” She grabs my face and pulls me down into a kiss that tastes like her, and I groan because I’m so hard it’s painful. She reaches between us andwraps her good hand around my cock. I hiss through my teeth. “Lettie.”
“My turn.” She strokes me, slowly, her thumb sliding over the tip, spreading the wetness there. “Tell me what you thought about when you were alone.”
“You. Always you.”
“Be specific.” She squeezes gently, and my hips thrust into her hand.
“I thought about your mouth.”
“Yeah?” She strokes faster.
“I thought about these thighs.” I grip her thigh. “Wrapped around my face.”
“What else?”
“I thought about you on top of me, riding me. The sounds you’d make, the way your tits would bounce.” I’m losing the ability to form sentences. “I thought about you coming on my cock and screaming my name.”
“Like this?” She guides me toward her. “Justin.”
“Condom,” I manage because I still have one functioning brain cell.
“Nightstand. Second drawer.”
I reach over and grab one, rolling it on with unsteady hands. She pushes me onto my back and climbs over me, straddling my hips, my shirt still hanging off her shoulders. The sight of her above me in my shirt, about to sink down onto my cock is something I want tattooed on the inside of my eyelids. She reaches between us and positions me at her entrance. Then she sinks down, slowly, inch by inch. Taking all of me until she’s fully seated and we’re both breathing hard.
“Fuck,” I choke out. “You feel ...”
“I know.” She smiles down at me, hazel eyes dark, and starts to move. Rolling her hips in slow circles at first, finding her rhythm, her good hand braced on my chest. I grip her hips andlet her set the pace because watching Collette St. Pierre ride me is the single greatest experience of my life, and I want to remember every second.
“You’re staring,” she says.
“I’m memorizing.”