Page 57 of Race With The Devil

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Tanner

Man, that woman was a delectable piece of cunt.

She must’ve known it too, displaying her inner labia so brazenly. Most women seemed ashamed of their nether parts. I was surprised to see her lips weren’t pierced there, too. No, her lady parts were completely unscarred—physically, that is. I proceeded to eat her in a rhythmic manner until I felt her legs tense. That was a definite precursor to orgasm, so I stepped it up, using a flickering, rigid tongue-tip.

Oh, Law, she was a tasty cunt. Her juices flowed in an even stream, and soon my rough beard was flecked with more than just grey. Her fingers buried deep in what little hair remained on my head, she pressed my temples like a Vulcan mind-meld, then worried my skull like a toy.

I could tell from the various moans and groans that came from deep inside her how close she was coming. I was proud of my prowess at muff diving. It was another thing that set me apart from the rest of the pack. Most guys didn’t bother, so it really impressed the babes.

And more than ever, I wanted to impress this one.

It was the opposite of a chore to lap and lap at her inner core. Her erect clit squirted tasty juice when I licked, and I even got to swallow a few mouthfuls. She was right—she was primed and ready for a good reaming, but I wanted to tend to her needs first. I wanted to see firsthand how powerfully she came for me, so maybe it was a little self-serving too. Yet there I was, giving it my all, every cell of my body concentrating on pleasuring that jutting core of her, when she went limp.

Yeah. She shut down.

I thought maybe she’d fainted from so much sensation, but her legs stayed upright, toes balanced on the floor. Slowly I stopped sucking and gnawing, giving her button one last lap that elicited not a single gasp or twitch from her. What the fuck? I pulled back and saw her face turned to one side on the mattress, eyes closed, palms facing the ceiling, slack.

Was this like the animals who defuse their attackers by playing dead?

Now, I had no notion she was doing this on purpose. My gut instinct was that it was her natural defense against Gary Gregario. Many rape victims, I’d heard, went limp, sent their consciousness elsewhere, into a fly on the ceiling, or to a happier memory entirely. Torture victims have told a disgusting similarity. They pass out, or faint while remaining conscious, because the psyche simply cannot take such extremes of abuse.

But . . . I wasn’t abusing her . . .

“Unity.” I jiggled her by the arms. “Unity.”

Nothing.

I smoothed my hand over her forehead. Although the heat had been on in the room when I’d entered it an hour ago, her forehead was cool, clammy. “Unity, are you all right?”

A giant gasp, and she sat bolt upright, a shocked expression on her face. Like a drowning victim who suddenly breathes, she looked around as though she’d never seen the room. Seen me. She held her palm to her neck.

“Oh, what the fuck! Tanner?”

“It’s me, darlin’. You fainted or . . . something.” I sat next to her on the bed, so I didn’t look like such a crouching predator.

Now she held her palm to her chest, panting, looking off into the middle distance. “Oh, God. Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I don’t want you to think I didn’t like that.” She looked at me now. “That used to happen sometimes. You know. With Gary. I’d just zone out into a different reality.”

I petted her hair. She nudged her voluptuous body closer to me. “I understand. Some fish are favored by natural selection because they play dead. Refuse to become dinner. It’s actually a major advantage to have a system that slows down if you can’t fight or flee.”

She smiled weakly. “That makes sense. But I’m so, so sorry, Tanner. You were really getting me riled there.” Now she looked at me with desperation. “I was so close! You have to believe me!”

I chuckled. “Oh, I believe you, darlin’. It’s difficult to think of ourselves as prey.”

She sat up straighter. “Well, I was prey. But no longer!” She pointed at the floor. “Get back down there, slave! Serve me!”

In my prior BDSM scenes, of course I’d been the Dom, the one who wielded the whip and paddle. “Okay, we don’t need to go that far—“

She took me by the shoulders and shoved. “Down! On your knees!” In a more congenial tone, she added, “I’m already there, physically. Not much work for you to do.”

I eagerly complied. Unity flung her torso back flat against the mattress, arms splayed with palms facing the ceiling. But now she stayed aware. She later told me she remained on point by imagining my face, some other choice parts of my anatomy. She needed that vision to blot out any involuntary images of Gregario.

Well, it must have worked, her tactic. Now I used my fingertips against her labia to massage the lips against her clit as I stroked it with my tongue. Unity’s gasps and caterwauls told me I was on the right track. She hitched her ankles up onto my shoulders. It was as though I held her entire body above me, like she was a pitcher I guzzled from. Her toes curled and uncurled, gouging big sections of trapezius muscle in their grip. But I bravely soldiered on.

She was right—it didn’t take long. We picked up where we’d left off. I stroked her higher and higher, her little gasps becoming higher in register and pitch. The buildup of tension was palpable. She began to shimmy her hips like a roaring twenties dancer. That’s when I knew I had her. The flow of juice doubled, dripping down my chin. I worked like a demon to bring this woman to fruition, and I was rewarded with a massive burst of contractions. Her legs tightened like a vise around my neck and she held her breath, digging her fingernails into the bedspread. I couldn’t resist sliding a finger inside her to feel the mighty spasms rolling up and down her canal.

I kept up the lapping, bringing her to the peak and down a bit before I slowed my pace. I knew she was inundated with the rewards of neurochemicals, the changes in brain waves. Her pelvis hiccupped now with slowing contractions, and she wheezed a giant breath. Her little fists tugged my hair.