Chapter 88: Chapter 88 - His Tongue
Their mouths met again, and this time there was no carefulness, no hesitation between lips and tongue, only heat and pull, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask or wait but took.
She felt herself melting into it, into him, into the weight of his body and the pressure of his hand as it moved lower, down past her waist, slow and steady, until it slipped beneath the waistband of her pants.
She shifted against him, lifting her hips in silent surrender, and he tugged the fabric down her thighs, dragging it over her skin with a patience that made her shiver.
The cool air followed the path of his hands, chasing the heat he left behind, and when his mouth pulled from hers, she made a sound of protest, breathless and wanting.
He didn’t answer.
He looked at her, dark eyes steady, quiet, unreadable, and said only one word.
"Easy."
Then he stood.
She blinked up at him, dazed, her legs bare, body still pulsing with the ghost of his hands, and watched as he removed the rest of his clothes. He didn’t rush. Every movement was purposeful, every button, every shift of cloth peeled away like he didn’t care how long it took, because he knew she’d be watching.
And she was.
She couldn’t look away.
Her face flushed deeper as his body was revealed, muscle and skin and sharp lines beneath the low light of the room, and when he freed himself completely, her breath caught.
He is big.
And she’s seen too much to count as a doctor.
Yet his size, amaze her and scares her as well.
Even without touching, she felt the memory of him. The weight. The stretch. The ache of him still lingering deep in her body from the last time.
He was already hard. Proud. Long and thick in a way that made her thighs press together instinctively. She looked away, heart thudding, embarrassed by her own reaction.
He climbed back into bed without a sound, the blankets shifting, the mattress dipping under his weight.
His hand reached for her chin and turned her face back toward his.
Then he kissed her again.
It was slower now, deeper, his mouth claiming hers with a kind of focus that made everything else disappear. She whimpered into the kiss as his hands found her again, one anchoring at her waist, the other curving under her thighs to lift and pull her closer. She went willingly, straddling him with her body already trembling, her skin flushed, her breath shallow.
His hand slid beneath her again, this time lower, his palm cupping the curve of her ass, holding her in place while his fingers explored further. She tensed the moment she felt the path of his touch.
His finger found her sphincter.
She stiffened, hips twitching, confused by the strange tingling that followed.
It was barely a touch, just a slow, soft circle, but her body clenched on reflex. He didn’t push. He didn’t even press. He simply lingered there, teasing her with the shape and the impossible calm in his silence.
She tried to shift away from it, tried to move, but his other hand on her hip kept her steady. Her cheeks burned.
The touch was strange. Too sensitive. Too much. But it made her wetter, and she hated that she felt it.
His fingers slid again, tracing lower now, slipping into the space between the soft lines of her body, his knuckles dragging past the pulsing heat at the center of her, and when they found her slick and swollen, her whole body jolted. Her clit throbbed as his fingertips barely grazed it, and she gasped, head falling forward against his shoulder.
She gripped his arms hard. Everything felt sharp, alive, focused only on that touch. Then, as if he wanted to unmake her slowly, he caressed past it again, down, then back up, circling her folds without truly touching the place she needed him most.
"Cold?" he asked suddenly.
His voice cut through the haze, rough and quiet. She wasn’t. Not even close. But her mind scrambled, her voice caught, and she just nodded, unable to think properly, unsure why he asked but willing to follow wherever he was leading her.
Without another word, he slid from beneath the blanket and moved away.
She blinked, heart still pounding, confused.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t explain.
Instead, he took the thick comforter and pulled it up over her head, tucking her upper body beneath the covers while leaving her legs bare, parted, exposed. Her breath caught when she realized she couldn’t see him anymore. The blanket blocked her view. Her arms were pinned under its weight, the soft warmth enclosing her while her lower body remained vulnerable and open.
"What—" she started, but her words fell apart.
She felt him again.
His hands on her knees, firm, guiding them further apart. His breath warm against the inside of her thigh. Her skin prickled. Her whole body stilled. When she managed to lift her head, she could just barely see — her legs spread wide, the blanket covering everything above her hips, and between them, the shape of his shoulders, the shadow of his head.
"Wait," she said, but it was too late.
His mouth was already there.
The first touch of his tongue was soft. Familiar. A memory her body knew before her mind could catch up. Her thighs tensed, breath caught, not in confusion this time but anticipation.
The wet drag of him across her heat sent a tremor through her, sharp and fast, not because it was strange but because it wasn’t.
Because she remembered.
She remembered the last time. The way his tongue had wrecked her, slow at first, then deeper, relentless, until she came so hard she forgot where she was. Just the thought of it now made her pulse quicken, her hips jerk. Her nipples hardened beneath the blanket, aching from nothing but the memory.
And then he looked up at her.
Just for a second. Just enough to make her breath stutter. Just enough to pin her still with that gaze before he lowered his head again.
The intensity in his eyes stopped her. The focus. The stillness. The command in that gaze even without a single word spoken.
She stopped moving.
And then his tongue moved again.
He found her clit with terrifying precision, the flat of his tongue dragging slowly across it, again and again, back and forth, relentless. Her thighs shook. Her back arched. Her hands clutched at the blanket over her chest like it could anchor her.
His hands pushed her thighs wider, his thumbs parting her folds as he pressed his mouth deeper, licking, kissing, dragging heat across every inch of her. She moaned without meaning to, her voice raw, her body no longer under her control.
She had touched herself before. Secretly. But it had never felt like this.
This was consuming.
This was maddening.
This was too much.
And then, when she thought she had reached the edge of what she could take, she felt his tongue press deeper, slow and firm, sliding in just enough to make her cry out. Her hands flew to her face, her body breaking apart from the inside out. Her muscles locked and shook, her vision going white at the edges.
She came hard, her voice muffled, her breath scattered. Her whole body trembling under the weight of the blanket, every part of her undone.
And still, he didn’t say a word.
He just stayed there, steady and silent, until she was nothing but pulse and breath and the ache of being opened.
