I remain mute, arching beneath him, tingling everywhere. I want him all over me. Inside me. I want to feel him come. I want to watch his face when it happens. I want to know what he looks like when he loses control, and I want to know I’m the one who pushes him to his absolute limits.
“Summer.” My eyes fly wide open. He never calls me by my name. It’s always Savage. Or whore.
God, he’s horrible. Terrible.
“Tell me.” He lowers his mouth to mine. “To stop.”
I slowly shake my head, and he kisses me. Softer this time, his mouth moving languidly against mine, our tongues sliding. He grinds against me, his cock heavy, pressed so close to my entrance it would take little effort for him to slip inside. He doesn’t though. It’s as if he’s withholding himself on purpose, and I lift my hips, trying to get him in me. Frustrated whimpers leave me, and I can feel him smile against my lips. Know with complete certainty that he enjoys torturing me.
“You want it, don’t you,” he says after breaking the kiss, moving to my neck. He sucks and licks my sensitive skin, his hips working against mine. I stroke my hands down his smooth back, trace the dimples at the base of his spine before I skim my fingers along one firm ass cheek. “Despite everything I do and say, how I call you a whore. How I have everyone on this campus treat you like shit, how I treat you like shit, you still want my cock inside you.”
I close my eyes, trying to ignore what he’s saying. His words hurt. It’s humiliating, how much I want him when all he ever does is treat me like garbage. I’m all twisted up inside over this boy, and I don’t understand why.
He pulls away from me and I’m immediately cold. Lost. I open my eyes and watch as he crouches before me, his hand gripping the base of his cock, stroking. My gaze lingers on his fingers, watching him masturbate. His cock is huge. Veined. Beautiful. He squeezes just below the head, a little pearl of milky white liquid dribbling from the tip. I’m fascinated by how rough he handles himself and when my gaze lifts to meet his, I find he’s already watching me.
“You’re dying for a taste.” His voice is flat, though his eyes gleam. He rises up, scooting closer, straddling me, his cock right in front of my mouth. “Take it.”
I part my lips and he does just what I described earlier. He feeds me his cock, inch by inch, and I moan around him. His heavy flesh throbs, stretching my lips, settling inside my mouth. I can taste him, the salty pre-cum, my tongue rubbing against his velvety hardness just before I gag when the head bumps against the back of my throat.
He pulls out, strings of saliva sticking to his erection, and he looks so pleased, my pussy clenches. “Fuck, you’re a pro. I knew you would be.”
Whit teases. Thrusts in and out of my mouth and I take it. I suck him deep. I lick him like a popsicle. I grip the base and squeeze and stroke, just like he did only a few minutes earlier. He thrusts his hips, matching my rhythm, his gaze hooded, his lips parted, his gaze never straying from what we’re doing.
I’m not a pro. Far from it. I’ve only given a couple of blow jobs in my life, so I don’t have much experience. But I want to do this for him. Make it good for him. Seeing the pleasure wash over his face, the groans sounding low from his chest sends delicious little shivers racing all over my skin.
He increases his pace, fucking my mouth, and I let him. An unfamiliar feeling rises within me, threatens to overwhelm, and I realize quickly what it is.
Power. I may look submissive, as if I’m being forced to do this, but I’m the one who’s giving him pleasure. I’m the one who’s got his cock in my mouth. I’m going to make him come.
And that makes me feel strong.
His body grows tense, a growl falling from his lips as he practically rips his cock from between my lips, his hand working furiously over the length when a spurt of white shoots from the tip. He comes and comes, shuddering and moaning, semen splashing all over my chest. I lie there and watch him in utter fascination, agony etched all over his beautiful face, his eyes closed, his fingers still gripping the base of his erection.
So beautiful, I think. I did that. I made him come that hard.
His eyes slowly open and he studies the mess he made, his expression indifferent. The Whit I’m used to.
The Whit I don’t particularly like.
He drags his fingers through his own cum and brings them to my lips. I part them readily, cleaning the musky, sour liquid from his fingers, my gaze never straying from his as I lick him.
“Dirty fucking girl,” he whispers, his eyes still at half-mast, his expression pure satisfaction. “You want your turn?”
“Yes,” I answer truthfully when he removes his fingers from my mouth. I’m throbbing between my legs so hard, I’m afraid he could touch me once and I’ll come.
“Maybe I shouldn’t give it to you. Maybe it’s all about me tonight.” He leans down and presses his mouth against mine in a feather soft kiss. “I’m a selfish bastard. I love nothing more but to take and take. It’s the Lancaster way. I could make you give me head again. You’d do it. I know you would.”
Anger rises, and I try to buck him off me with my body. He just laughs, the sound almost evil.
“Or I could fuck you until I come, and make sure you don’t. It would be easy,” he continues.
I don’t know about that. I’m so on edge, I feel like I could shoot off like a rocket at one touch.
“I could eat you out. How about that?” He raises a brow. Like I’d say no. “Lick you everywhere. Finger you. I bet you’re nice and tight, though I know I’m not your first. No way can I be your first. Not with how you act.”
If he’s trying to shame me, it’s working. He’d probably be disgusted if he knew my backstory. Who I’ve been with. I’ve tried to blot it from my mind, especially right now, but he’s not helping matters with what he’s saying.
“Have you ever touched yourself and thought of me?” he asks casually, a smile spreading on his face when he must see something on mine. A flicker in my eyes. A twitch in my jaw. Some sort of tell. “You have. Tell me, is the reality as good as the fantasy?”
“I wouldn’t know, since I’m the only one who’s been delivering so far,” I retort, referring to that epic blow job I just gave him.
My chest is still sticky with his cum, but I refuse to wipe it off.
“Let’s test out the theory then,” he says, shifting so he’s lying on top of me.
He moves so fast, I don’t have time to say or do anything but just lie there and take it. I wonder at his earlier injuries. He could barely move only a few hours ago, and now he’s so quick. Was he faking? Was it some sort of ruse to get into my room?
Maybe.
Probably.
I don’t care. He’s currently kissing my stomach, his hand on my right hip, holding me in place. My breathing accelerates, I’m so anxious to have his mouth on me, and I’m afraid I might come too fast and miss out on all the good stuff.
But I’m also desperate to climax. My entire body is strung tight, my muscles straining. He touches my pubic hair, then shifts lower, settling that elegant, skilled mouth right on my pussy.
A choked sound leaves me and he lifts his head, glaring at me. “Stay quiet,” he demands.