Page 52 of Bloodstained Wings
As long as that side of him is held in check, then I think I’ll be just fine in this odd position. He walks away without a word, leaving the kitchen for the spare bathroom in the foyer. I get a bit antsy, worried someone will barge in and see me strewn naked over the kitchen countertop.
The family would haveplentyto talk about then.
But Carter returns and puts those fears aside, holding a plastic bottle. He kneels on the edge of the countertop by my ankles, climbing onto the kitchen counter with more grace than I had. His mouth is full, his cheeks puffed out from their usual chiseled state. I glance up slightly, watching him settle between my legs like he’s got his tongue out, but he doesn’t.
He leans sideways and spits a mouthful of something into the sink. I watch with intense curiosity as he slides the bottle off to the side. There is just enough light in here for me to read the label.
Minty mouthwash.
I nearly jump out of my skin as he leans forward, his breath trailing across my parted, wet pussy. He exhales on purpose, the tingly sensation of the minty mouthwash brushing my aching clit and needy folds. I bite back a scream, ready to throw myself onto the floor, but it’s too late.
He brings his dripping wet lips down against my silky sex, his mouth moving in rhythm to every shiver, shake, and writhe of my body against the marble. He makes no effort to slow down while I moan and groan, sometimes in intense pleasure but also in frightening cold surprise. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and it doesn’t stop.
The more I ebb with delight, the more wet I become, and the more the warm aftermath of my pleasure is met with a freezing cold sensation that stings in more ways than one. It’s not just shockingly delightful, but it’s also incredibly hot.
My head hangs off the edge of the countertop in shock, and I fight the urge to scream to the ceiling while he threads his tongue in and out of my pussy. The temperature seems impossibly real the whole time, and just when I think he’s found his own time to declare mercy for me, it intensifies.
He takes another swig, freshening the sting against my clit before working me through yet another orgasm.
“Ah!”
He chuckles against my pussy as I call out in desperation—in tentative astonishment. “Go on, dove. Scream.”
My breath hitches, and my body does the same physically, flinching under his weight as his hands pin my hips down firmly. It’s just the leverage I need to lift my back off the cold countertop, the aching spike of pleasure and pain in my core just about pushing me to my max.
“You’re not screaming, dove.”
I don’t have to look up to know he’s sucking on his fingers. The mouthwash is transferred on purpose, his knuckles slipping into my core deeper and deeper until I feel the base of his hand. He can’t go any deeper, and I’m happy about that a little bit, but the icy shock of the solution now lining the inside of my pussy isn’t cold anymore.
It’s burning hot, and it’s delicious.
“Carter!” I scream, his name a hearty moan in many ways. He snickers more at my delightful coo of orgasm than he had at my shocking realization of what he was up to down there. It’s like ice against my sex—ice that turns into warmth at the flick of his fingers.
And he flicks his fingers very well.
He works me through another orgasm, then one more, the back-to-back stimulation rocking my body to the very center. I break and rebuild myself again and again. I have to stay focused, seeing stars while my head hangs limply off the edge of the countertop.
When he finally pulls his fingers free, he sucks them into his mouth and climbs down. I pray for some leniency now, needing a moment to adjust back to Earth while my head was just in Pluto and my body thrust even further into the weightless space beyond that!
I watch him come around the countertop, still sucking his fingers like a popsicle in the summer. He stands over me, his cock jerking naturally while he keeps his focus on my eyes. Removing his fingers from his soft lips, he slides them into my mouth. I can see him positioning himself just right to enter my lips with something else after his knuckles.
It’s a genius plan, really, and the height of the countertop is perfect for his cock to slip in through my mouth and align down my throat, all while I’m left vulnerable on the countertop for his pleasure.
“Relax, dove. This is going to be good for us both.”
I’ve never believed anything more than that phrase coming from Carter’s lips right now.
Chapter Twenty
Isabella
Carter doesn’t waste any more time. I’m lined up perfectly, and he’s been saving up for seven long, treacherous nights. The anger between us has fizzled, but I can’t help but think he’s not over that spat yet. His movements are brash and slightly brutal, his hips rapidly moving against my face.
His cock fills my throat in a heartbeat, and he grabs the side of the kitchen countertop to thrust into my mouth. He is fluid in his movements, his threatening patience almost a record for him, but his speed doesn’t stay moderate for long. It gets brutal again, his intentions clear as he fucks my face without relenting.
I keep the back of my head pinned against the side of the island to keep it from banging too hard and knocking me unconscious. At this point, I don’t think he would notice, his hands kneading at my breasts and flicking my erect nipples before he leans in to choke me with his dick as his hands find my parted legs.
He massages my clit while he humps my mouth, fucking me like it’s the first time we’re meeting, and we’re just trying to get a good come out of it. It’s so dirty—no, it’sfilthy.