Begging for his tongue

EMILY KING

He couldn’t go slow.

I didn’t want him to. I was scared, I wanted to get over with this. I needed to cloud my mind and this was the most potent way. I loved the feeling of his body under my hands, how his muscles jumped at my touch, I only melted like butter under his.

He took that thrill away by handing my hands up, I needed a form of contact, I needed to touch him one way, I leaned in and caught his lips again.

He groaned into my mouth; I loved it. I didn’t have much experience in kissing but I kissed him the way he kissed me. Open-mouthed, consuming, devouring. It was way better this way, I felt more. I sucked at his lips, enjoying how it felt inside my mouth, it was smooth to lick, and it gave me a wonderful thrill.

He snapped away before I could do it again, I scrolled at him. He wasn’t touching me and he wouldn’t let me touch him. I didn’t know where he found it, but he brought up a rope and swirled it around my hand, restraining me from touching him, it was tight enough to hold my hands together but not enough to hurt me. He tied it like he was very good at it, experienced.

He clipped my hand to the headboard and I lay still, looking at him, wondering what he would do this.

He was right. He didn’t go slow. His hands moved to my breast, he didn’t kiss them first, he wrapped his hands around them, molding them into his hands, shaping them with his touch.

“Do you like when I do this?” He asked, smirking as he looked down at me. I watched every one of his movements below my eyelids.

I didn’t answer him, only pushed my body up, maybe to make him touch me more or to push him off.

My nipples itched for his touch as he avoided them, playing with me, toying with my breasts. “Answer me.” He snarled, squeezing them harder.

“Yes, yes I do,” I answered this frustration was getting past what I could handle, I was more than turned on. I wanted more too.

My clothes went away before he did, and we both stared into each other’s eyes before his eyes did a tour around my body, I couldn’t do the same. Call me a prude but I just couldn’t look at him there. I had that part of him in my mouth and I clearly remembered what he felt like, how he felt like. He was as endowed there as he was with every other thing.

He was big and intimidating, I just didn’t want to think of what magic would make him fit.

He seemed to sense my fear as he worked on calming me, his hands were persuading yet gentle, and his movements weren’t slow, but they were yielding, soon my fear was lost in the need for more. My hands were still suspended in the air as he took my nipples into his mouth, feasting on them with his tongue and teeth, one after the other.

I wanted to fix my hand into his hair and pull to show my urgency, but all I could do was buck under his touch. His mouth left my breasts to trail down to my navel, playing with it. I didn’t know that was an erogenous zone, but it was because my body lit up like it was.

It proved to be just the beginning because he changed his mind about going slow and decided to tease me, he didn’t use the words, but his actions were loud.

He lifted my legs, spreading them apart and settling his head between my legs, I closed my eyes and wished he had just done it. It was a feeling I couldn’t forget. I loved it when he did it, I felt bad, I felt like a slut, I felt like I couldn’t have enough of it.

I closed my eyes in anticipation waiting for his tongue to work its magic.

But he decided to delay my gratification, his hands teased around me as his lips fluttered kisses down my thigh, steering away from where I needed him. I held the plea in, trying to restrain my wanton desires.

What woman would be shameless enough to beg a man to put his tongue inside her? Even the thought had me wet. I wondered if he could see how soaked I was.

Would it be very obvious, or he would have to look deep before he would see it? He used his tongue on my thighs, doing the right things in the wrong places.

“Alexandro…” I hummed from deep down my throat, I had no words to explain how I felt and couldn’t beg him without sounding desperate. The sound of his name resonated from my core where I felt the need the most. everywhere he touched burned but nothing could feel the void of where I desperately wanted him.

“That’s not my name.” He answered cockily, skimming back to my center and getting my hope up, only to trail kisses back up my other thigh. It seemed like he was enjoying himself doing just that.

I knew what he meant; he wanted me to call him like I did the other day. Xandro. I closed my eyes and thought of it, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. Here, when his hands were on my skin, here, he was mine.

Finally, he came to focus on where I needed him most, yet he didn’t give me what I wanted, he teased me more, running one finger through me, I lifted my hips, trying to push myself to his touch, but I didn’t want to give him he wanted.

He chuckled against me, his breath tickling me down there, I writhed under his touch, my moans were that of frustration and impatience.

“Alexandro,” I called his name again, trying to be stubborn and hot-headed. I wasn’t willing to give him what he wanted the same way he refused to give me what I wanted.

“No, Emily. That’s not what you called me.” He ticked. I was a weak woman, I was losing my will to keep stubborn while he looked like he could tease me all day.

At this point, I had to give in. “Xandro! Xandro! Xandro!”

At my third call, he dived his tongue into my heat.