Tigerlily Page 4

  “Take it in your mouth, oh, please,” he said, and somehow it was very hard to resist. She’d never had anyone ask her to take him in her mouth, and even when men had gotten close in the past with words like “I’m gonna fuck your mouth, baby!”, they hadn’t been running a hand around and around her slippery inner thighs, as they did it.

  They definitely hadn’t been rubbing her clit in agonising circles, while they did it.

  “Oh, oh,” he said. There were a lot of ohs in him apparently. “You like that.”

  It wasn’t a question. He could feel her liking it. And if the pleasure he was sending to her was anything to go by, he was liking it, too.

  Her clit felt three times its usual size, and so tender. The barest of touches shot darts of sensation through her pussy and her belly, until sounds just had to break out of her. Her hips jerked under the pressure, and she simply had to do as he’d suggested.

  She swallowed him greedily, all the way down to the base. Or as near to the base as she could get, considering his size. Really, she could do little more than grasp him tight and kiss her own fist, to great applause from him.

  He didn’t thrust, however, or fuck her face. He didn’t move an inch, aside from the glorious shiver that ran the length of his entire body. She thought it might have come about as a side effect of the long, vibrating moan that came out of him—the one that intensified, when she sucked, hard. When she ran her tongue back and forth, back and forth, over that sensitive spot just below the head.

  She almost laughed around the salt-sweet firmness in her mouth, when it occurred to her what this was like.

  A blow-job tutorial, direct from the source. It wasn’t just his moans, but his feelings that leaked steadily into her. The way his desire spiked, when she used the edge of her teeth—just a little. When she squeezed rather than rubbed at the base, in a rhythmic pattern.

  And the moan of pleasure she made, around his swelling shaft—he liked that, in particular. She felt the humming vibrations through herself, and knew he was close. She would have known it even he hadn’t cried out in a hoarse, choked voice—I’m almost there.

  Though it seemed that he didn’t want to finish—not just yet.

  He pushed her away, sudden enough to be a little hurtful. Though any such crazy feeling soon passed, when his fingers found her clit again, and pressed, and pressed. What sort of person could think of anything, with a hand between their legs that knew just how to touch? He knew when to rub and when to slide away, and the exact right amount of pressure to apply just as her orgasm swelled, sweet and strong.

  At which point that push away became clear. Even when stuttering beneath the weight of a lush climax, it was easy enough to figure out—when her body shuddered with pleasure, so did his. When she cried out, so did he.

  And when she came, he did too. He did it without a hand on him, too. She saw his cock leap—despite the blurred mess of lust she seemed to be swimming in—ribbons of cum lacing his belly in strong spurts.

  He even sounded the way she did, once he’d eased down from it. Breathless and quavery, unable to form real words. She stretched herself out, trembling, on top of him, and felt him go lax at the same time she did.

  Though she’d thought him crazy at the time, he had definitely been right. If anything, he’d undersold it. Their connection was positively unearthly.

  Chapter Four

  When she awoke, he was sat by the window, looking out onto the rising heat of summer. He had pulled the curtain back, and in the golden light he looked as unearthly as she’d thought their connection was. Their bond.

  Their need to hurl sex at each other like pornographic volleyball players.

  “Are you coming back to bed?” she asked, then regretted the words. They sounded too much like he might not. Like at any second, he might go away again.

  It made her cluck her tongue at herself. All that time dithering over his potential unreality, all that worrying about this and that and the other. And now here she was, clutching at herself because he might leave.

  “It’s beautiful, here,” he said, after a moment.

  She shook her head. Laughed—though the sound seemed alien, to her ears. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually made anything like it come out of her. A year ago? Two? How long had they been dead?

  “You never answer the question I actually ask.”

  He turned to her, at that.

  “I can’t leave, not yet.”

  Yet. God.

  “When I have my name back—then I can go.”

  She sprawled back onto the bed. He looked too good, in the rising light.

  “How do you even know that? I thought you didn’t remember.”

  “There are certain things I know. That are clear to me. Like my desires, and what I want.”

  “Really? Because it seems to me that—”

  When she turned her gaze back to him, he was stood over her. As quick as that! She hadn’t even heard him move.

  Then he stroked the hair back from her forehead, and she forgot about anything to do with moving or too quickly or anything like leaving.

  “What does it seem to you, Mae?”

  “I cannot possibly be horny again,” she said. She came close to rolling her eyes at herself, but stopped, when she noticed his inexplicable horniness, pointing directly at her.

  Or not so inexplicable, really, when she thought of it. He was obviously some sort of sex sprite or demon or maybe like Pan, with the reed-flute, and all of the rampant orgiastic lust running through him.

  “You’ll feel aroused when I am. And I, in turn—”

  “I get the picture. The really, really crazy dirty picture.”

  “Do you really think sex is dirty?” he asked. He had his hand at her collarbone, and it wasn’t trailing upwards. Soon it would be at her breasts, where the nipples had already peaked. The low hum between her legs was making her hips roll, heedless of her good sense.

  “No. No. And even if I did, you make it seem so…I don’t even know the words. Of the earth? One with nature? Some other pagan voodoo that I don’t understand.”

  “Beautiful?” he offered, and she thought that fit very nicely indeed.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever thought of sex as beautiful, before. Great, yes. Really hot, sure. Not…like this—oh!”

  She couldn’t recall when he’d managed to reach between her legs. But she remembered that maddening, circling fingertip, all right.

  He leant down and kissed her, then, and something about that was startling. Though it only occurred to her midway in, that it was the first time they’d done so. The first time she was feeling the gentle pressure of that gorgeous mouth on hers, not pushing for wet or passionate or anything, really.

  Just a sweet kiss, chaste and electric, as he rubbed and rubbed at her aching clit.

  It was Mae, who deepened the contact. She pushed her hand into the fur at the nape of his neck, to pull him close. Parted her lips to taste him, and taste him, and finally—oh, bliss—slid her tongue along the firm line of his.

  He didn’t kiss like other men. The pull of his mouth over hers seemed soft and measured, each one leaving like it wasn’t about to come back. And just when it became unbearable, he flicked his own wicked tongue over her parted lips.

  Her bones melted. Her muscles went with them. She could feel his energy seeping out all over her, and it felt different, this time, so different—perhaps because she wanted to welcome it in. It seemed familiar, now, like an old friend returning.

  Which wasn’t all that far off the mark.

  She tangled her fingers deep into his lush black hair, and thought of nothing but this. His almost-hoarse voice and the suddenness of his body over hers, the heavy heat of his prick rubbing over and over her belly.

  When he asked her to spread her legs, she couldn’t think of any reason to refuse. After all, if she spread them for him he might take to rubbing that delicious cock over other places—places slick and swollen and ready. He m
ight—

  “Shit—condom. Wait, wait!”

  Dear God, it took an effort to say it. To stop. Though she was glad to find that even in the middle of this sex mist, her mind was still able to get a hold on reason and sanity. For all she knew, he had Elvish herpes. Which she knew wasn’t in any way true or sane, but even so!

  He could definitely give her a child. There was no way of getting around that at all. In fact, she suspected he could get her pregnant just by looking at her.

  That sex mojo came out of his eyes, as well as his fingers.

  He moved when she urged him to, but didn’t go further than straddling her thighs. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to go further than her thighs. Not even when it became a struggle to rummage in her bedside drawer, for that three hundred-year-old condom she had stashed, behind the socks.

  “Got it!”

  Victory was short lived, however.

  “You need that square thing to make love?”

  It didn’t escape her notice that he used the words make and love. Or that the word love rang in her head like a gong. Or that he clearly did not know what a condom was.

  “I—yes. Sort of. It’s the thing inside the square, you see—it goes on your—” Pointing seemed best. “And stops you from, you know. Making goblin babies in me.”

  “I don’t think our child would be a goblin. In fact, I’m certain—”

  “No—I was just being…you know what? Never mind. Let’s just put this on you, and then we can get to the love…making.”

  “I don’t have to put a child in you, if it isn’t what you want. I can make love to you without bringing such a thing about.”

  “You’re not serious. You mean, like, the withdrawal method, right?”

  “No. I can be fertile or not. My body is mine to control.”

  “You’re serious. You can just turn it on and off, like a tap.”

  “Yes. Well…” He raised an eyebrow, and rolled his eyes to the left. “Maybe not exactly like one of your taps. I’ll still make a mess.”

  She giggled. There seemed to be a lot of it going around.

  “Okay, chief. Well, you’re still going to wear this bad boy. Though I’ll maybe worry less about it turning to dust, in the middle of sex.”

  She tore open the foil packet. He looked as mystified as he had when she first tried to hand it to him.

  “Where do I put it?”

  “I’ll just…do the honours.”

  The closer it got to the base of his cock, the further his eyebrows travelled over his forehead. Possibly because it was an extremely snug fit. And she could tell it was, because she felt it pass over body parts she didn’t have, too. She felt it clasp—then the slick cool feel of it, and her own hand, stroking him as it went.

  His head went back, on the stroke up, again. When he finally looked back at her hands still on him, and his cock all neatly wrapped, his words came out gravelly, and wondering.

  “What a strange notion.”

  “You won’t miss too much of the sensation. It’s really not that bad.”

  His mouth quirked up at the corner.

  “Why would I miss any sensation? The whole of our bodies are going to be touching. Are you going to encase the rest of me in a stocking?”

  Laughter, again. It felt good, so good.

  “I guess not—now get down here and fuck me.”

  * * * *

  He started out slow. Languid, almost—like his kisses. Then that wicked tongue flickering again, and his hands, gliding all over her body. First her breasts, stroking and twisting and teasing, followed by a neat pinch of each nipple. Just enough to really feel, not enough to hurt.

  And when he soothed the slight sting with his tongue, oh. He groaned only a moment after her, and his smooth prick slid over her mound, through her slick slit. Almost kissing her clit, but not quite.

  His hands slithered down, down. Over her belly, the jut of her hips. They made circles on her thighs; they squeezed when they came to the curve of her ass.

  It felt like being gathered together, one piece at a time.

  “Please, just go on,” she said—or at least, she thought she did. Really it just came out meaningless and mindless, a soft whisper into the palm he ran over her face, fingers trailing.

  He seemed to like it, when she sucked one into her mouth. In fact, she knew he liked it. Mainly because she could feel it through her body, too. And also because he said. He was all about the saying, apparently.

  “You look wanton, when you lick, and suck. I can’t forget the sight of you, pleasuring me with your mouth.”

  She squeezed her thighs tight, around his hips.

  “You looked so greedy, so ready.” He placed a warm, wet kiss, just below her jaw. Then lower. And lower. “I want to taste you, in return.”

  “You are tasting me.”

  Again, it came out blurry and not right. But he understood, anyway. Of course he did. He was a magical sex demon from beyond. He had a direct line to her arousal. He could probably work out what she wanted just by judging the size of the moon, or something similarly pagan-y and solstice-like.

  “No. No. I want to taste your sex,” he said.

  Before running the flat of his tongue the entire length of her slit, in one quick, filthy motion. She was pretty sure she felt it to the ends of her toes. She felt it in her hair. Her hair wanted to know when he was going to stop, so she could relax and not feel like she was being knocked sideways with pleasure.

  “Ah—Lord,” he sighed, and the words shook out the way she wanted hers too. Lust threaded and shaky.

  He licked again, but this time focussed on exactly the spot that peaked that incredible pleasure. Why wouldn’t he? It felt almost as good for him, as it did for her. He understood everything before she had to tilt her hips to the left, or beg for faster. When it built inside her, it built inside him, too.

  She shouted it, the moment the full understanding of what that might mean came to her.

  “I want you to fuck me! Please—God, fuck me. Fuck me now.”

  He took some persuading. Clearly the sensation of having your clit licked was as enjoyable to a man as it was a woman.

  Which was the weirdest thought she felt she’d ever had, in her entire life.

  When he finally knelt up, he was panting. His mouthed hung open, sinfully slick and just waiting—oh Lord, waiting for his dirty little tongue to curl up, and taste what she’d left behind.

  “Good?” she asked, aiming for dry and hitting shell-shocked.

  “Like honey fat with summer,” he replied.

  Boy, he sure could walk the sex poetry talk.

  He spread his long, lean body over her then, slowly. Shaking with the need to have her, but careful all the same. Or maybe just teasing—yeah, he knew how to tease, all right. She could feel her body humming with the need for now, faster, more.

  And it only got worse, when he kissed at that same languid pace, his mouth sweet with the taste of her body. His cock back between her legs, again, sliding back and forth in a way that made her arch up at him.

  When he shuddered, and tilted his hips a certain way—to get just that right angle—she knew what he was going to do. And yet it still startled her right down to the core, when he did it—so slick and easy a slide into her waiting pussy, all the way to the hilt.

  Their moans mingled together as she felt his belly kiss hers, damp with perspiration. The rough burr of the hair on his chest, stroking over her nipples. His pleasure feeding into hers, and back again.

  He murmured in her ear, something like, you feel good to me, too. Just before he rocked against her, once, his eyes shuttering closed with bliss as he did so. When he drew back out again it was in a long, torturous slide, the sensation of his body peeling away from hers almost as agonising as the sudden emptiness between her legs.

  Though he didn’t let it last for long. He pressed deep, and pulled a gasp from her. That understanding flickered back into her mind—the knowledge that she could feel wha
t he did. The knowledge that it was making her dig her nails into his soft flesh, in an effort to resist every curling shiver of pleasure that sparked through her.

  It left her wondering how men ever held off, for more than thirty seconds.

  Especially when the pace became tight, and frenetic. His hips churned, barely drawing out on each stroke but hitting her hard, just the same. He had such a limber, flexible body—it didn’t take much for him to twist and curl and get at all the right places—so rough against that little bundle of nerves inside her slick cunt, so rough and good she could hardly stand it.

  Though of course he knew. He blurted out no, not yet, don’t come yet, and it was perhaps the best set of words she’d ever heard a man say. Such a weird flip, and said in such desperate, husky tones.

  “I’m close,” he moaned. “I’m close on my own without you going.”

  And that much seemed true to her. Perspiration glistened on his broad brow. When he wasn’t panting or gasping, his teeth dug into his lower lip. She could see his arms quivering, either side of her head.

  Though he kept the pace up, just the same. The tight, heated clasp of her cunt was too much to ignore, she knew. She could feel it, too—like nothing else in the world. Filling him up and narrowing him down to just his swollen, aching groin, all at the same time.

  “You’re going to come,” she managed to gasp out, and nothing about him denied it. His orgasm pushed through him, jerking his body on a tight string, shoving through her at the same time.

  She registered shouting out his not-name, dimly. It took hold of her with merciless strength, one wave of pleasure only giving way to the next, his orgasm like a short sharp shock, hers rolling and delicious.

  The combination was glorious, blissful. He seemed to think it less so. Or at least, less so when it got to the five-minute mark. She could feel him, trying to get away. Hear him, saying stop, stop—I can’t—no more, as one orgasm bled into another and back again.

  When he finally managed to pull away—much to her reluctance—he sprawled onto the bed, making sure that not one inch of their skin remained touching. Until all the pleasure had washed itself away, leaving her boneless and him ready to run his hand back over her thigh. Her arm.