Read Online The Things That Make Me Give In by Charlotte Stein - Free Book Online Page B

me. I think it’s already getting pretty hard on him. And I’m sure of it, when he presses his mouth right against my pussy suddenly. His thumbs tuckinto that notch where my thighs meet the beginnings of my mound, and his fingers spread wide, holding me firmly and wholly.
    And then his tongue slides and parts and rubs against me, making spirals and twists right where I’m wettest, dipping into my aching-around-nothing hole before making its way up to my clit. My clit that can hardly stand it. He groans again, his mouth vibrating against my aching flesh, and I know why. It’s because my clit is like a bead – it’s stiff and standing up and waiting for his slippery caress.
    He gives up his licking for just a second so that he can feel it with his fingers. He strokes gently, curiously, and hot sparks flash over me. He knows I can hardly take it when he touches the tip, the place where my clit is barest and most exposed. But, oh, it feels so good that I only just bite back a moan.
    And then he laps back and forth, nice and quick, and eases his long fingers into me, and I come for him, just like that. I almost praise him by name when I do, too. My hips buck and my teeth chatter and I cream for him just the way he likes.
    But now comes the best part.
    I’m not a very good actress, but it isn’t hard to squeal and try to shut my legs. And I can’t be that bad because, when he shoves the covers off and I feign fear and demand to know who he is and what he thinks he’s doing, he looks hurt and torn.
    Torn, I think, because he’s hugely aroused. I guess my bare slippery pussy guaranteed that.
    ‘No, don’t,’ I tell him. ‘Don’t.’
    In response, his expression suddenly flashes into irritated. Sulky, even. It works well and, even better, he snaps at me, ‘What’s the matter? Didn’t you like that? I think you did, and now it’s my turn. That’s only fair, right? That I get my turn.’
    It’s exactly what I told him I wanted him to say, but there’s real conviction in his voice. It makes me shiver and shake anew. It makes my legs want to fall open instead of fighting against his big hands as they force them back apart.
    ‘You can’t even help wanting it, can you, huh? Look at how wet you are. How flushed. Has no one ever made you come with their mouth on your pussy?’
    His cock bobs when he gets that one out. I once told him that very thing, after the first time he went down on me. It made him crazy for it. It made him want to do nothing but eat out at the restaurant of Me. It made him say things I’d never heard a man say before: ‘I love licking your clit. I love the taste of your cunt.’
    The word ‘cunt’, used by a man to mean something gorgeous and powerful.
    I shake my head, mute with arousal but pretending I’m mute with confusion and fear. Who is this brute who has stolen into my bedroom and found out my secret heart?
    And so on.
    ‘Turn over,’ he says, and he does it with as much firmness as he can muster. It’s enough to thrill through me. It’s enough for me to stumble over a timid tremulous little ‘but I . . .’
    And then he grabs me, and flips me over.
    Of course I know he’s capable of it. He’s six foot four. His hands are bigger than my head. He can swim a length of a pool in about five seconds. But still it’s overwhelming. I actually gasp. My legs flail.
    ‘You love it,’ he says. ‘You love it.’
    I want to scream in reply: ‘Are you fucking kidding me, beefcake? I love it so hard I want to fuck you all over. I want to have sex with your face. I want to tie myself up and leave myself at the foot of your bed.’
    My great big silly soft-hearted beefcake.
    ‘No-oo-oo,’ I whine, while my juices leak down my bare thighs and I urge my bare ass back at him. My pussy is split and totally open to him, but he pins my wrists to the mattress anyway. He tells me, ‘Yes. Yes, now you’re going to get fucked.’
    Oh, God, I’m dying. I want to beg him to fuck my cunt but I