Page 21 of Wicked Destiny

Elodie lifts her hips off the case as I peel the denim and panties down her legs, dragging them off one foot, then the other before tossing the bundle on the floor.

She sits open on the edge of my case, the gentle softness of her belly giving way to thick thighs spread wide for me. Between them is the lush pussy I’ve spent weeks imagining. Nearly bare. Plump, pink lips already slick and parted enough to reveal her swollen clit.

Her scent reaches me a second later, warm and clean with the unmistakable musk of how badly she wants this.

Every indecent thought I’ve had about her feels tame now. My mouth waters.

“Christ, Elodie.”

“Is this okay?” She leans back on her hands, spreading a little wider, no shame anywhere in her. “I waxed for you.”

I don't trust my voice, so I kiss her instead, deep and messy. I shove my hands under her and lift her off the case. She slides the length of me the whole way to the floor.

Turning her by the hips, I place a palm flat between her shoulder blades and ease her down until her forearms settle on the top of the case. Hook a foot between hers to widen her stance.

“Beau.” She twists to find me over her shoulder.

“I've got you.”

I settle behind Elodie with one hand spanning the soft curve of her hip and let myself look.

Her round ass is tipped up for me, thighs spread wide. Every intimate inch exposed, from the tight little hole between her cheeks to her swollen pussy below. Her outer lips are soft and full, parting around slick inner folds flushed a deep, swollen pink framing her soaked opening.

All because she wants me.

My mouth goes dry. She confessed she can't always get there like it was a defect. A few nights ago, I accepted the challenge. Put my fingers in her and took her over like a pro. She stared at me after like I'd performed a magic trick.

Tonight I’m gonna erase every man who left Elodie thinking she was the problem.

Lowering down behind her, I begin my feast.

I drag my tongue through her slowly, mapping the swollen folds and memorizing any spot that makes her twitch. A firm swipe over her clit jerks her hips. Circling it makes her thighs tremble against my cheeks. When I pull the hard little bud between my lips and suck, her cry tears through the room and she rocks back against my face, smearing her sweet cream across my mouth and chin.

A sound rips out of her, high and startled, like her own pleasure ambushed her. It lights me up head to foot.

I reach around her hips, hold her open with one hand, and push two fingers into the slick heat of her with the other. Her walls close around them. I curl forward, making her entire body seize, and stroke while my tongue returns to her clit.

Elodie’s dripping over my knuckles and soaking the case beneath her, completely shattered, emitting disbelieving little cries and my name oh God, oh God, Beau, like her body's gone rogue.

Every moan drives me. I chase for her reaction. Read her body. Give her more of whatever earns the next gasp of pleasure until her thighs quake, her hips chase me on their own and words stop coming altogether.

When her orgasm takes her, she wails low and keening. There’s no better sound in the world.

I ride her through it, licking her folds, gripping her hip, feeling her clench around my fingers over and over until she's spent and shaking and collapsed from exhaustion.

Gathering her up off the case, I cuddle her into my chest, both arms locked around her. “This is exactly what I’ve dreamt about. You. Falling apart completely.” I kiss the damp of her temple. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Elodie. Your body was made for pleasure.”

She laughs, weak and undone, turns in my arms, and buries her face in my neck. I hold my whole beautiful mess of a girl up until her legs remember what they're for.

This. I want this. Every. Fucking Day.

The question is, do I toss my entire life into a dumpster fire for her?

The only other option is never touching her again.

There’s no easy answer.

I’m damned either way.