By: Kim Jones

Another bang sounds at the door and my eyes shoot to the flimsy lock that could give at any moment. But when the pad of his thumb touches my clit, I suddenly don’t care if the door is kicked in.

“There she is,” he whispers, his lips moving across my jaw. “For a second there I was worried you had a change of heart.”

“No change of heart,” I pant. “Still here.”

“Good.” His mouth moves to my ear. “I’ve been dying to taste your pussy since you walked in here.” Then, I’m lifted—my back easily sliding up the wall as his big hands grasp my thighs. Burying his face between my legs, his mouth covers me. There’s no teasing. No urgent flicks or cautious strokes of his tongue. Like a starved man, he devours me. Eating me as if I were his last meal.

His caresses are greedy. His tongue moving to thoroughly consume me in long, toe curling massages. He starts at my clit, which he sucks hungrily before dragging his heated, wet mouth through my lips—stopping to thrust inside me, then continuing lower until he’s between the cheeks of my ass. He repeats the movements over and over as I grip his hair in my hands and digs my heels into his back.

He groans from deep in his throat—the vibrations eliciting a whimper from me. I want more. Less. I need his mouth on my clit. No, inside me. There… Everywhere. And he’s not disappointing. He’s feasting on me. Touching, licking, even nibbling in all the right places at the right time with just the right amount of pressure.

My entire body is on fire. I’m shivering. Sweating. Begging. Moaning. Too caught up in the feeling of pleasure to care about how naughty and forbidden what he’s doing to me should be. I’m near the edge—so blissfully close to achieving an orgasm that I know will be like no other I’ve ever experienced.

I open my eyes and meet our reflections in the mirror. His face between my thighs. My hands on his head. The heels of my shoes digging into the threads of the sole patch on his back. PROSPECT. I have no idea what it means, but he wears it well.

The sight of us together. The scent of my arousal. The sound of Jud banging on the door … it’s erotic. Forbidden. Dangerous. Empowering. If I’d have known revenge would feel this good, I’d have done this shit months ago.

Dropping my head, I find him looking up at me. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of his hungry, blue eyes. “Your cunt is fuckin’ delicious,” he growls, and with those words, I do just as he promised I would—I scream.


It’s obnoxious.

And not the least bit forced.

I’m not swimming in a sea of ecstasy—I’m drowning in a tsunami of euphoria. There are no tremors of pleasure—it’s more like an earthquake of rapture. And when he pushes two thick fingers inside me and curls them slightly…


With every beat of my pulse, I feel it again and again until it slowly fades to nothing but a perfect memory. I don’t know how long it lasted. Maybe hours have passed. But when I finally shake the fog and come back to the real world, I find Mr. Delicious looking at me with a very pleased smile on his face.

I’m standing now. His hands are at my waist. The weight of his body keeping mine from sliding down the wall and making it impossible for me to ignore the raging hard on pressed against my belly. My growing excitement at what’s to come quickly fades when I notice that my coat is tied tightly around me—notifying me that whatever this was, is now over. Sadly, I was wanting more.

“The disappointment on your face is messing with my ego, gorgeous,” he says, that ever-present smile on his face. “Considering you just came on my tongue, I figured you enjoyed yourself.”

“What? No!” My eagerness to reassure him has me shaking my head and searching for the right words to say.


“I mean, no I enjoyed it. I was just…” My voice trails off. I was just what? I sound pathetic.

“I’m teasing you, babe.”


A bang sounds at the door, louder than the others, followed by a yell from Jud, demanding I come out. Mr. Delicious is not at all affected by Jud’s outburst. For some reason, it makes me feel better. Like what just happened, happened because he wanted it to—to hell with the consequences or repercussions.

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