Brows crouched low, he stalks over, not looking happy about it. He can’t lie to me, though. I can see the tent in his jeans and the dark glint in his eyes.
Still, Story takes a little warming up.
She has her knees pressed together, and even though she’s leaning against my chest, she still feels a little too rigid. I run my palms over her tits, trying to get her to relax, or barring that, horny enough to stop caring. She releases a slow breath and tips her head back on my shoulder, apparently committed to not watching his approach.
“Come on,” I whisper, walking my fingers down her flat belly. “Spread your legs for Killer, sweetheart.”
“If he bites me,” she says, clenching up.
I shush her, parting her thighs. “He wouldn’t dare,” I assure, giving her earlobe a friendly nip. “I’d cut his balls off, and he knows it.”
The look Killer gives me says he’d like to see me try, but he drops to his knees, anyway. I pull her legs apart, undaunted by the stiffening of her tendons and muscles, and hook her calves around my own. I don’t need to wonder what she looks like. I see it reflected in Killian’s reaction, his eyes dropping to her pussy, mouth parting at the sight of her, all spread and ready.
His fingers press divots into the soft skin of her thigh when he ducks in, licking a hard path up her pussy with the flat of his tongue. Story jolts at the contact but instantly melts, closing her eyes.
“Oh,” is shuddered out on her exhale.
“No, no, no,” I say, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. “I want you to look. You’ve got him on his knees, between your legs. Watch him eat your pussy.” I’ve always wondered if it’s the same for girls, the surge of power a guy feels when he’s getting his cock sucked. So I observe the knit in her brow when she opens her eyes, watching Killian’s mouth work between her legs. It’s probably not the same—she can’t exactly choke him on it—but it still makes her lips fall apart, hips bucking up.
Killer doesn’t give a lot of head.
He’s never said as much. It’s just that I can tell by what he’s doing—the lack of technique—that I’m working with a novice. No shocker or anything. The word ‘generous’ does not come to mind when I think of Killian and sex, and it doesn’t apply now. He’s tonguing her with no rhyme or reason, dipping low to prod at her entrance. If anything, he seems like he’s just impatient to get to the good stuff.
To be fair, Story doesn’t exactly look put out about it. Her chest rises and falls with these short, hitched breaths, and her hands might be clamped around my forearms, but her hips keep wriggling, trying to direct the pressure where she most needs it. She’s clearly used to futilely asking for things he refuses to give. Killian ignores the obvious cues, digging his fingertips deeper into her flesh as he holds her still.
Wincing, I reach down and take him by the hair, directing him higher. “You have to learn to listen, Killer. She’s telling you where to go.”
He gives me an irate glare, which is hilarious given that he doesn’t miss a beat, tongue flicking at her clit. Story’s fingers tighten around my arms, back arching as her lip gets caught between her teeth.
“You like that, sweetheart?” When she nods, I glance my knuckles over her nipple, saying, “Don’t tell me. Tell him.” If Killer needs to learn to listen, then maybe Story needs to learn to talk. Smoke signals have better communication than these two.
Exhaling shakily, she finally opens her eyes, dropping her gaze to him. He’s staring back at her, eyes still sharp with animosity. But then, in this soft, hushed voice, she says, “Oh, god, that feels good,” and just like that, all the sharpness in his stare melts away.
He closes his lips over her at the praise—oh, yeah, he’s really getting into it now—but it isn’t until I watch his fingers ease up on her thighs, skating up to feel her tits, that I relax. Story’s feet hook around my calves, using leverage to lift her hips into the things he’s doing with his mouth. When he pulls away to prod her clit with the pointed tip of his tongue, I reach down with both hands, spreading her lips apart for him, wide and obscene. He makes a gruff noise and cups the backs of her thighs, really getting in there.
See?
Teamwork makes the dream work.
Story whimpers deep in her throat as Killer assaults her clit with his tongue, thighs flexing rhythmically like she just can’t help it. I watch her face, the way her brows furrow as she loses herself, mouth hanging open on deep, gulping breaths.