Chapter 57
She kissed him.
He could weep. It was in his programming. He kept himself hydrated for those occasions. Sweat, tears, sex-fluids. All those things were possible. He did not recall turning on that mechanism, but his cheeks were wet when she pulled away.
“No, it’s not. It’s human.”Tradeoffs by Elizabeth L. Brooks
…kissing her and she tastes good, so good, like strawberries and chocolate and a hint of bitter coffee. Her mouth is pliant under mine, and then not; her tongue teases at my lips, begging for more. I pretend to ignore it for now, stretching the moment, the anticip—
She loves kissing; she’s told me that before. I’m happy to give her that; I like kissing, too. But if I have to be honest, a big chunk of my attention is already on parts lower—the roundness of her breasts against my chest, the way her legs are sliding against mine, the way my cock feels as it struggles against the clothing confining it. But I don’t give in to them, not yet.
—pation is growing tight and electric, and I relax my jaw and open my mouth to her increasingly insistent demands, tangling our tongues for a moment before I twist away, trailing kisses down her throat. Her head tips back in joyful surrender. Every time, she does this, but it still makes me want to howl in victory and close my teeth over that smooth, pale skin. I find that spot, just where her throat begins to curve out and down into shoulder and collarbone, the precise spot that makes her shudder with only the lightest touch, and suck on the skin, pulling it between my teeth until it is red and swollen and swiftly darkening, marking her. Claiming her. Mine
I kiss her mouth again, then lower, skating past the collarbone and onto the swell of her breasts. Her back arches, lifting her to meet me, and that is all the invitation I need. My hands slide under her shirt, against the skin, finding the clasp for her bra. She laughs as I release it, then helps me divest her of both shirt and bra. Freed, her breasts hang lower, heavy as ripe fruit. I can’t resist their call; I lower my head again to suck on one nipple, then the other. I flick them with my tongue to make her arch her back again, graze with my teeth to make her gasp and moan. Is there a taste, a scent, a sight, a sound more arousing? I don’t think so.
Oh. Oh, maybe there is, after all: her hands are at my belt, tugging at the catch, and she’s giving me that smile…When did she get my shirt off? I don’t even remember. My cock springs free, finally, and before I can even sigh with relief at the lack of confinement, her hand is closed around it, warm and soft and firm and I could almost cream right now from wanting but oh God oh God oh God her mouthand that warm heat is swallowing me sucking pulling so good so good so God oh God more more more please more…
I’m fucking her mouth now, my hands wrapped in her hair, pushing deeper—slow slow slow, agonizing when I want to go hard and fast, but I want it to last, so I go slow. She doesn’t much like it when my prick blocks her air—can’t say as I blame her, but it feels so damned good, so good, so good oh God what is she doing with her tongue? and I shudder and push just a little deeper, just until her hands on my hips squeeze in warning, and I pull out. “You okay?”
She smiles at me, smug and mischievous despite the tears on her face, triggered when I hit her gag reflex. “Tradeoffs,” she quips and pulls me in for another kiss. In other words, “You owe me, buster.” I chuckle into the kiss and begin stroking my hands over her skin, running my fingers through her hair, rekindling her arousal.
She’s so soft—skin like silk, hair like satin. My hands are rough and calloused; putting them on her seems like it should be some sort of violation. But she says she likes the feel of my hands, and I have no reason to doubt her. She rises into my touch, purring like a cat. It’s heady, knowing I can make her react like this. Intoxicating. I lean into it, let myself get drunk on her desire. I work one hand between her thighs, slipping my fingers into her wetness.
If her skin is silk and satin, then this is lush, warm velvet, rich folds that demand my attention and appreciation. She makes a sound, and I’m not sure if it’s a moan or a whine. Her body writhes, and I half-lie on her to still it, covering her breast with my mouth again. She gasps, thrashing, and suddenly goes still, every muscle taut. With my free hand, I capture her wrist, pinning it to the pillows as I work her frantically. She whimpers, lets out a few gasping breaths, then jerks violently. She tries to reach for me, to stop me, but I hold her too tightly. She groans and yanks on her arm, but I pin it down again, still suckling, still stroking the swollen and hot flesh of her pussy. She pulls once more with a slightly hysterical giggle, but the fight has gone out of it. The giggle spirals up into a wail and explodes into a scream.