“I can feel it, Emma. Let go, baby. You’re right there,” he hummed again, his buzzing lips sending another zing of need through my body.
I fished my hand into the top of my tank top and started tweaking a needy nipple, pulling and pinching, until that sweet bite of pain threw me over the edge of the cliff and I came hard into his unyielding and devoted mouth. Bowing my back against the chair, I pulled hard on his hair, burying his face in my pussy as the pleasure speared through me.
“Oh God, James!” I whimpered, definitely a fan of exhibitionism but still with a modicum of self-restraint and bashfulness. We were still docked and I was a tad worried people might hear us, so I kept my voice low, even though inside all I wanted to do was shriek my climax up into the cloudless sky. “Oh God, oh God, oh God!”
I pulled even harder on his hair and pushed up even more into his face, not caring if he couldn’t breathe, not caring about anything but how good it all felt, how good he made me feel. The scissoring stopped, and his fingers pushed up hard and ruthless right on my G-spot, and that familiar sensation of having to pee hit me hard, like a sucker punch.
“Holy fuck!” I cried, unable to contain myself or control my volume any longer.
And then the orgasm that had been destroying me in an endless wave of euphoria took on a life of its own and came at me again in full force, pleasure upon pleasure upon pleasure as I closed my eyes and saw nothing but spots and flashes of light while the man between my legs just continued to feast.
It was never-ending. I was sobbing and begging him to release me, but he ignored my pleas, instead pumping harder and faster into my pussy, while blowing cool air on my swollen clit.
“No … no more, James,” I said with a mewl. “I … I can’t do anymore.”
“One more, baby,” he muffled, the tip of his tongue grazing my clit in just a whisper of a touch. My leg jerked, and I pulled on his hair until I could see his face, his hungry lips and strong sexy chin glistening with my release.
“No! No more, please.”
He made a sexy little pouty face. “You’re sure you can’t go one more time?”
I swallowed and nodded, squinting against the blinding sun. “No more. I can’t. I think my clit is going to fall off.”
His chuckle stirred the butterflies in my belly, low and deep and whisky-thick, a manly laugh, a sinister laugh. He enjoyed tormenting me within an inch of my sanity, until tears streamed down my cheeks and my body trembled as if I’d just stuck my finger on an electric fence. The man was a sadist, and I was a masochist; he loved the torture, and I loved the pain. We were the perfect pair.
Standing up from his spot on the chair, he offered me his hand. “All right, fine, but I’m still hungry, so I’m not finished with you, Mrs. Shaw.”
I went to stand up, but my legs were jelly, and I collapsed back onto the lounger, pulling him down along with me.
“Jesus Christ, you literally tongue-fucked me until I can no longer walk!”
Another laugh rumbled through him, followed by a swift and precise boob squeeze.
“That’s the plan, wife. You’ll be in a wheelchair by the time this holiday is over. Come on.” He stood back up and then scooped me into his arms. “I still need to carry you over the threshold.”