She arched and writhed into him, rocking into his face, grabbing his hair, moaning and groaning and panting with every touch. His dick throbbed in his pants, and his own want thundered through him forcefully, like a hurricane. My God, she was divine. She was the embodiment of passion, the manifestation of pure sensuality. Never had a woman taken such fierce ownership of her own sexuality in front of him before, and it allured him like nothing ever had. Everything about her was an elixir, from the delicious taste of her, sexy and musky, to the sounds she made, to her sharp nails digging into his skull. She curled her hands around his head, grasping him, so there was no room between his face and her pussy. He didn’t need any room. He wanted to bury his face in her. He didn’t even need to use hands or fingers or a toy because seconds after he’d started, her hips were shooting off the couch, her hands gripping the edge of the furniture, and she was bucking into his face.
“I’m coming so fucking hard,” she screamed, as he licked her mercilessly, not stopping, not wanting to, as her orgasm flooded his tongue and he tasted her heat. He gripped her ass, pulling her even tighter as he kissed her until she wriggled, so sensitive from the orgasm ebbing away.
When he looked up, her hand was flung over her face, her chest rising and falling heavily, and her dress was twisted in a bunch at her belly.
“I’m not done eating you,” he said, as he rose, reaching for her dress, tugging it over her head, revealing the peach bra he’d bought for her. The material was nearly see-through. Her nipples were hard diamond points pushing against the fabric. Reaching behind her back, he unhooked the bra, letting it fall to the couch. She was naked now, except for those shoes. Those black pumps that made her look like pure sex. As he stripped she stood, rising up only to push him down on his back once he was naked. Then she turned around and straddled his face.
His whole body groaned with need for her. He held her perfect ass in his hands, running his fingers along her cheeks as she ground her pussy into his face. He could barely breathe and he savored it, the feel of her rocking into him once more as she went to town on his cock. She didn’t tease, she didn’t toy, she took him all the way in and lavished her tongue all over him, as heat scorched a path through his chest. All the blood rushed to his cock, thick in her mouth. She rode his face, and he drove into her mouth, and they were nothing but animals now. Powered only by the need to get off, the need to please and be pleased, to fuck and to come, to have it rough and hard and fast. She drew him in deeper, the head of his dick hitting the base of her throat, and a blast of heat roared through his veins. He could feel his body hit that point, like an engine turning over. Soon, he’d be seconds away from the point of no return.
That wouldn’t do.
He pushed her off him and it pained him when her mouth broke contact with his erection. “Window. Now. Your hands up against the glass.”
She nodded, her eyes as wild as his, her breath fast, a bead of sweat sliding between her gorgeous breasts.
She moved to the window that overlooked Central Park, bathed in the dark of nighttime and shadows, the treetops barely visible. Down below, Fifth Avenue snaked by, a strip of cabs and sleek cars, and across the street he saw other New Yorkers enjoying the night.
But not as much as he was.
He spread her cheeks, ran his fingers through her slick pussy, and then shoved into her. No waiting. He needed her as much as she needed him. She felt amazing like this, skin against skin.
He palmed her breasts as he thrust into her. “Michelle,” he moaned, the pleasure prowling through him. “You feel so fucking good like this.”
“I love this,” she said, arching her back in an invitation for him to sink his teeth into her shoulder. She yelped, but didn’t pull away.
He pumped deeper, harder. “I want to come inside you so badly.”
“Do it.”
He shook his head, grabbing a breast harder in his hand, then sliding his other between her legs. “No. You need to come again. I’ve barely started with you. Don’t hold back. Don’t stop. Come whenever you feel like it.”
“I’m so glad I have your permission,” she said with a laugh, and he loved that she’d made a joke in the middle of this heated moment.
He rubbed her clit faster, feeling it swell more under his fingers, feeling her grow hotter against his dick as he pushed into her. “Everything about you,” he said, his breath coming hard and fast. “Everything about you is perfect for me.”
She moaned his name, and nothing had ever turned him on more than this woman, and how she was with him. Their chemistry staggered him. It stole his breath and threatened to annihilate his heart. She was designed for him; and he was made for her. They were meant to be together like this. To connect in this primal and beautiful way. To share in this kind of intimacy.
“God, I love it when you come. I love making you feel good. I love when you fall apart for me,” he said.
“Then tell me how much you want me,” she said.
Blood pounded in his head. Breath ripped out of his lungs. He gripped her tighter. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I think about you all the time,” he said, driving in farther.
“Yes. That,” she panted, and rolled her hips back into him, her movements telling him she wanted everything he gave her.
“I can’t get enough of you. The more I have of you, the more I want.”
“Oh God,” she said, crying out, throwing her head back, and shouting that she was there.
And as she screamed her pleasure louder than he’d ever heard her, he pumped through it, until his orgasm plowed through his body, obliterating everything else in its path, but the intensity of coming inside her. No barriers, nothing held back. Nothing but him with the woman he needed.
And wanted.
And craved.
His words from moments ago echoed in his mind. Fall apart for me. If he didn’t watch out, he’d be the one falling apart for her. In every way.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Perceptions
Shayla could barely meet her eyes. She kept snickering and looking away. She’d been like this for the whole session, and Michelle was getting frustrated. Normally, Shayla was a challenge only because she struggled to see her own role in her troubled marriage. But never because she was a laughing bean.
Michelle decided it was time to refocus her patient on the serious nature of the hurdles she was trying to overcome. In the last few sessions, Shayla had finally begun coming to terms with the possibility that she was going to leave her husband. She’d even started talking to an attorney quietly, being cautious to make sure her husband didn’t know she was making plans. While it wasn’t Michelle’s job to advise her on divorce proceedings, it was very much her role to help Shayla out of the marriage with her sanity and her soul intact.