Well, Actually

by Mazey Eddings

Before the thought can gain purchase, his mouth is on me, tongue making a dirty, desperate swipe up to my clit. I shudder, whimpering at the shockwave it sends through me, a sensation so intense my thighs try to close around him. My desperation doesn’t faze him. He makes another leisurely swipe. Then another. Taking his time, tracing every inch of me, circling my entrance then dipping in, lavishing his way up to my clit. “You taste even better than I imagined,” he says against me, more vibrations than voice. His breathing is almost violent, the vault of his rib cage expanding against my thighs with every inhale. He focuses on my clit, eyes meeting mine over the planes of my body as he catalogs every reaction. What pressure makes me writhe and claw at the sheets, the suction that makes me cry out as my thighs tremble against his face, the merciless rhythm of his tongue that has me babbling out his name in desperate pleas, tears gathering at the corners of my eyes as sharp pleasure builds in my pelvis. Rylie pulls back for air, curling his fingers inside me in a way that makes me whimper. “That’s it. Look how fucking good you’re taking it. So perfect.” His words are muffled, my pussy grinding against him in my wrecked desperation. “Let me hear how badly you want it.” He puts his mouth back to me, dragging his head side to side so his stubble scratches along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, and incoherent words pour out of me, voice a shout as need turns me inside out, ...