God of Wrath (Legacy of Gods #3) by Rina Kent

Then he glides his attention to my face. “Go on. Show me how you touch yourself. Show me what you do when your little cunt is horny and you’re unable to take it any longer.”

Heat creeps up my cheeks at his crass words. No one has ever spoken to me like this and the novelty of it makes me tremble.

“Play with yourself,” he orders again. “Unless you want me to do it for you?”

I shake my head, more out of habit than anything else, and slowly circle my fingers along my soaking folds. Ever since he barged into my dream, they’ve become wetter, dripping, making a mess out of my fingers.

Slow pleasure starts to hum beneath the surface and I turn my head, hiding my face in the pillow.

“Eyes on me.” His voice jerks me back into position and I hate how my eyes instantly fly to his. How I get lost in them in a matter of seconds.

“Thrust a finger inside you,” he tells me. “Let me watch you fuck yourself.”

“I…I don’t do that.”

The only way I get orgasms is through clit play.

“I wasn’t asking.” He snatches my hand and lifts it to his face.

I think I’m going to explode.

Jeremy slides my fingers into his mouth. The same fingers that were playing with my pussy and are all soaked with my arousal are between his lips.

His tongue swirls between them, licking, sucking, making them wetter. Then, without notice, he thrusts my middle and ring fingers into my pussy.

A soundless shriek is all I can release as his bigger hand engulfs mine and he drives my fingers in and out of my core.

This is the first time I’ve ever fingered myself, and it feels foreign and rhythmic, yet sensually pleasurable.

I start to hide my face in the pillow again, but a single stern look from him makes me abandon the idea.

“You’re soaking wet for someone who doesn’t finger themselves.” Thrust. “Your cunt is drenching my hand.” Thrust. “So messy, Lisichka.”

My whole body trembles, his words adding to the intensity of his touch. Because, no, it’s not my fingers that are eliciting this sharp pleasure. It’s all him.

And his filthy mouth, controlling touch, and spellbinding presence.

“I think your soaking cunt is inviting me to have a taste.”

I’m still waiting for my delayed apprehension to kick in when he kneels by the bed and pries my legs open.

I gasp, but I don’t fight him.

I can’t.

I don’t want to.

Jeremy places a finger to his mouth. “Shh. Unless you want your friends to see you eaten for dinner.”

He pulls my hand from my pussy and grabs each of my thighs in a strong palm as he dives in.

My back arches off the bed when he licks all the way from my opening to my clit.

The intensity of the act beats and ripples inside me, and I attempt to escape, even temporarily.

I’m not ready for what he does next.

Jeremy physically jerks me upward so that my back is bent and I’m half hanging in the air as he eats me out.

The position is awkward at best, and I slam my palms on the headboard and the wall to get some semblance of balance.

But I think that’s his purpose behind all of this. He doesn’t want me to move, doesn’t want me to stop or try to intervene.

This way, I’m completely his to do with whatever he pleases.

Not that I can fight and push him away when I’m drunk out of my mind.

Hell, I can’t even do that when I’m sober.

What I can do, however, is feel every zip of pleasure, every lick, bite, and controlled display of command.

Jeremy thrusts his tongue inside my opening, tongue-fucking me with brutal strokes. He alternates between that and biting and nibbling on my clit and teasing my folds.

The change of pace and action turns me delirious. It’s impossible to keep up, impossible to remain in this mindset.

Where pleasure is so intense that I’m unable to see anything past it. My hips jerk involuntarily, chasing the release that I’m sure will detonate me from the inside out.

Jeremy goes harder, faster, stronger.

And I’m done.

My heart nearly stops as I moan, then slap a hand over my mouth. I’d die of shame if anyone walked in on this scene and saw me being eaten out as if I’m being possessed.

The orgasm rocks through me with a power that leaves me panting, the sounds echoing around me as I’m forced to breathe the smell of my arousal.

And him.

The man who’s bringing me this pleasure—or more like yanking it out of me kicking and screaming.

He lets my body fall on the bed and I’m a shaking mess from the aftereffects of the orgasm.

How come it feels this overwhelming? How come I can’t sense my body, yet I sense it too much at the same time?

“I knew you’d taste like my new favorite meal.” He darts his tongue out and licks the glistening wetness on his lips.

I think I’ll come from the sight alone.

“Do you have any idea how sensitive and responsive you are? Your tiny moans and muffled groans made my cock want to take my tongue’s place.” His fingers latch onto his jeans’ buttons, undoing them one at a time, slowly, unhurriedly, as if he knows the exact effect he has on me and is deepening it.

Toying with me to his heart’s content.

When he frees his shaft, I jerk backward slightly, shaking my head. It’s big in both length and girth and is so hard that I physically recoil.