HAZEL
I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and slid them down, stepping out of them. Then I reached behind me and unclasped my bra, letting it fall away.
Now I was completely bare before him.
"Fuck," he breathed. "You’re so beautiful."
I didn’t respond. I just positioned myself over his face, my knees on either side of his head.
"Open your mouth."
He did immediately. His tongue came out, eager, but I didn’t lower myself yet. I hovered there, just out of reach, watching him strain upward. Watching him try to close the distance between us.
"Please," he said again. That word. That beautiful, desperate word.
The power I felt in that moment was intoxicating. I had him completely at my mercy. This strong, capable man reduced to begging. All because he wanted me.
I lowered myself slightly, not quite making contact. His breath was hot against me. His hands came up to grip my thighs but I grabbed his wrists immediately.
"I said no touching."
"I need to touch you," he said. "Let me—"
"No."
I moved his hands to the headboard. The wooden slats were carved and ornate, easy to grip. "Hold on to that. Don’t let go."
He gripped the wood, his knuckles going white with the force of it.
"Good," I said. "Now stick out your tongue."
He did. I lowered myself onto his face.
The first touch of his tongue made me gasp. He licked me slowly, thoroughly, like he was savoring every taste. I rocked against him, using his nose, his mouth, his chin. Everything. The friction was perfect. The pressure exactly what I needed.
I ground down harder and his tongue moved faster, more insistently. He ate me like a man starving. Like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. His enthusiasm made me wetter, made me rock against him with more urgency.
His hands stayed on the headboard even though I could see the effort it took. His whole body was tense with restraint. Every muscle coiled tight. He wanted to touch me. I could feel it in the way he strained beneath me. But he didn’t. Because I’d told him not to.
The obedience was almost as arousing as his tongue.
I used him shamelessly. Rode his face the way I wanted. Fast then slow. Hard then gentle. Chasing the pleasure building low in my belly. His tongue found my clit and I moaned, my head falling back. He circled it with the tip of his tongue, then flattened and licked broad strokes that made my thighs tremble.
"Yes," I breathed. "Just like that. Don’t stop."
He groaned against me and the vibration sent sparks up my spine. I reached down and tangled my fingers in his hair, holding him in place while I ground against him harder. Used his nose to stimulate my clit while his tongue probed inside me.
The dual sensations were overwhelming. Too much and not enough all at once. I was soaking wet, could feel my arousal coating his face, dripping down his chin. And still he didn’t stop. Didn’t complain. He just kept licking and sucking and devouring me like he was meant for nothing else.
I changed the angle, grinding forward so his nose pressed directly against my clit. The pressure was perfect. I rubbed myself against him, shameless and desperate. His tongue worked inside me, fucking me in a shallow rhythm that made my legs shake.
"Baruch," I moaned. "Oh goddess, Baruch."
He made a muffled sound against me. Approval, maybe. Or desperation. I couldn’t tell and didn’t care. I was too close. Too far gone.
The pressure built and built. My movements became jerky, uncoordinated. I was chasing something just out of reach. Something that hovered at the edge of my consciousness.
"Make me come," I commanded. "Make me come on your face."
His tongue moved faster. More insistently. He found a rhythm that had me gasping. Had me grinding down so hard I worried I might hurt him. But he didn’t push me away. Didn’t try to stop me. He just kept going. Kept pushing me higher and higher.
And then I was there. Right at the edge. One more stroke and I’d tumble over.
"Don’t stop," I said. "Don’t you dare stop."
He didn’t. His tongue kept moving, kept pushing me higher. And when I finally let go, when the pleasure crashed over me in waves, I cried out. My body jerked and pulsed and I felt wetness flood from me, more than usual. It coated his face, his mouth, dripped down his neck.
I was squirting. Actually squirting. Something I’d only done a handful of times before. The realization made the orgasm more intense. It made me grind down harder, chase every last wave of pleasure.
Baruch licked it all up. Every drop. His tongue was gentle now, soothing, as I came down from the high. He lapped at me like I was delicious. Like he couldn’t get enough.
When the aftershocks finally subsided, I lifted myself off him and looked down. His face was soaked. His hair was wet. His lips were swollen and glistening. He looked absolutely wrecked.
And he was smiling.
"You can let go now," I said.
His hands dropped from the headboard immediately. They came to my thighs, my hips, stroking and squeezing. Finally he was allowed to touch. He pulled me down and kissed me hard, letting me taste myself on his tongue. The kiss was filthy, desperate and absolutely perfect.
I broke away and moved down his body again. He was still hard, painfully so. His cock was flushed dark, the tip leaking. He’d been so good. So patient. But I wasn’t quite ready to give him what he wanted.
I straddled his chest, positioning my breasts near his face. "Suck them."
He didn’t need to be told twice. His mouth latched onto my nipple and he sucked hard. The sensation shot straight through me, making me gasp. His tongue circled the peak before he pulled it into his mouth, sucking and biting gently.