Page 74 of Twisted Little Game

His hand slides a little lower on my mouth and for a moment, I steal the opportunity to speak.

“You think you’re so much better than me at everything,” I utter, “even touching my own cock?”

“Yes,” he growls, leaning over to bite down on the top of my ear.

“Fuck,” I say too loudly, my cock pulsing in his hand.

He shoves his fingertips past my lips this time to shut me up, and suddenly my mouth is stuffed with four of his fingers, sliding over my tongue.

I’m absolutely surrounded by him.

His body, around me like a broad, warm blanket, his fist stroking me, and now part of him is inside me, too.

Fucking fuck.

God, it’s too fucking good⁠—

I moan deeply around his fingers as my body tenses up and I know I can’t stop it now.

I start to come suddenly, all at once, before I could even see it coming. It crashes over me like a goddamn tidal wave and he holds me firmly through it, pumping my cock as I come over and over, streaking up onto the tile wall and spilling out over his fingers.

My whole body goes slack in his arms.

I came so hard I can’t even remember how to pretend to fight this.

I can’t fight it.

How good he makes me feel… how good his body feels touching mine like this.

A stray hot tear finally breaks off from my eye, and I’ve never been more glad to have the spray of the shower take it away. I’m not sad. Not even close. I just feel so much, and the rush of pleasure after I came was the most relief I’ve felt in days.

He pulls his fingers out of my mouth and I feel something close to drunk in my haze.

I turn quickly, before he can shove me away, and I face him directly, looking up at his goddamn beautiful fucking eyes.

And I lean over and kiss the skin at the center of his chest.

I suck slow, wet kisses over all of him, getting anything I can before he inevitably pulls away.

I lean my body up against his as I kiss his breastbone, and lower on his stomach, and move up to slide my tongue over one nipple, and then the other, biting down and making him groan.

I can’t stop.

And vaguely, somewhere in my mind, I register that he isn’t stopping me, either. It’s a green light. I have to keep going, because I’m suddenly filled with raw need that I have to meet.

I stand up again and wrap my arms up around his shoulders, pulling him down, and it seems like a miracle when he actually bends over and goes along with where I want him to go. When I kiss the side of his neck I go slower. My kisses become more chaste. Like with each kiss I’m asking him a question, and I’m standing here needing the answer so fucking badly.

I drag my lips along his jaw, droplets of water falling against my skin.

“Tate,” he murmurs, and hearing his low voice just makes me crave more.

“You feel so good,” I whisper. “Why do you have to feel so, so fucking good⁠—”

He breaks off my words by pressing his lips to mine.

And I’m fucking gone.

The kiss is slow at first, like he can’t believe he did it, either. But then he presses further, opening his mouth on mine, and I’m flooded with warmth.