38. Tyson
My veins are flowing thickwith a need I’m not sure I’ve ever felt before. I stare at myself in the mirror and rub my face before I release a breath and hop in the shower. I meant what I said about eating when I’m done.
After I’m clean, I grab a towel and barely dry myself before I drop it to the floor and walk out of the bathroom. Should I feel some type of way walking ass naked into the suite to eat my meal? Maybe, but not enough to stop my strides. Cool air licks at the droplets left behind, but I don’t care.
The lights are low and spilling from the balcony.
“Issa.” I smile when I see her visibly shiver. She mentions my accent often, and I love seeing the way she reacts to it. She’s laid out on the bed, still wearing her pajamas.
“Now, Issa… You want me to eat my food, and it’s still in the wrapper. Kindly take this shit off—please.” I add the last part with a smile.
She giggles lowly, and I walk up, leaning over the bench in front of the bed, and run my hands along her legs to her hips. “You moving real slow like I won’t eat through the paper.”
“Oh my gosh, Tyson. What are you doing to me?” Her voice is gooey, and I fucking love hearing it. I sense her breathing increase, and I flex my fingers.
“Hopefully eating my piece in peace, Issa. We’ve established I can be selfish, and I want to lick and suck every part of your body,” I say, gripping her hips and caressing her thighs. Issa’s skin is like actual silk. It’s so smooth.
“Shit,” she whispers, and I’m itching to explore her. She takes my hands and stops my movement. When I stand up straighter, she lifts her butt to shimmy out of her shorts and underwear. I swallow hard and throw my head back. It’s imperative that I tamp my excitement. Embarrassing myself is not a road I want to go down. As my mind whirls with the possibilities, she pulls her shirt over her head.
“Fuck, Issa,” I say while running my hands over her bare hips. I think what overwhelms me most is I’ve dreamt of this moment. Of touching her the way I want to. Of tasting her for the first time.
She spreads her legs open, and I kneel on the bench in front of the bed, pulling her to the edge so I can get the angle I want. I run my nose along her leg down her thigh, inhaling her scent on my way. I stick out my tongue and swipe up her center.
So one thing I take note of is the realization that this—will—be—my—favorite—treat. I’m going to need it morning, noon, and night because I already can’t get enough. She moans, and I trail my fingers inside of her but pause. Efficiency is warranted at times. Tasks are altered and arranged for the best, most effective outcome. In my line of work, efficiency is king. I normally thrive in efficiency, but at the moment, with her clit firmly in my mouth as I work my tongue, I want this to take longer. I want to live here and have my mail forwarded.
Issa’s essence drips along my beard, and fuck, I think this is my new favorite place. So, instead of seeing how fast I can make her come, I work at seeing how many times I can bring her to the brink of orgasm and pull back. Playing with her, I trail my fingers up to twist and caress her nipples. With each stroke, she squirms and twists under me, her moans growing louder before I stop or slow the pace. I do this over and over, keeping her on the edge.
“Fuck, Tyson. Oh my god!”
She’s screaming my name, and I wonder if the neighbors will complain. Fuck it if they do because me stopping is not an option.
“Right there, don’t stop. Please don’t stop!” she screams, but I’m selfish, and her coming is not in the cards anytime soon, so I slow my pace again.
“Tyson, stop teasing me.”
“No.”
My refusal is a muffled noise because my face is squarely planted in my new home. I laugh at the thought of really living here, and she squirms under me with a high-pitched moan. The vibrations of my voice must really hit the spot, so I incorporate it along with my fingers and tongue. I’m like a one-man band, and her body is my instrument.
“Tyson,” she whines, and I laugh again.
There’s a knock at the door, and room service calls from the other side. I forgot all about the food I ordered, but there’s no fucking way I’m moving from this spot, and I say as much, still planted firmly in place. “Noooooope.”
She squirms and lifts from the bed from the vibration of my exaggerated pronunciation.
“Fuck room service, Issa. I’m trying to get full off all this.”
That makes her laugh and moan, and based on her volume, it’s clear why we can’t come to the door. I do nothing to stop it. In fact, I use my position to make her scream louder.
“Ty— Ty-Tys— Tyson, ahhh, ohmygod, shit?—”
She’s all loose limbs and soft moans as I flex and maneuver her to my will. I could fucking die right here and now and I’d have a smile on my face. Issa goes into gibberish, and I decide to stop teasing her and pull out the orgasm she’s been crying for. I swirl my tongue and simultaneously pinch her nipples. She’s so responsive I can choreograph my moves to what she likes most.
Within seconds, a gush of her warm essence is splashing my face, and I dive deeper, licking and sucking up every drop.
She screams my name, and I finally hear room service shuffling off. He stayed for way too fucking long, but Issa is sounding real X-rated about now, so I get the appeal to linger when he should have left.
I kiss her clit slowly a few more times before I pull away. Her chest is heaving erratically, and her arms are splayed across the bed. I didn’t notice it before, but the balcony door is slightly open. The wind blowing sends the curtains dancing in a slow rhythm.
“That was only the first one, Issa,” I say, trailing up her body.
She doesn’t speak, but the lights from the street showcase her smile. It’s loose and lopsided as she shifts her head to the side.
I continue to move up her body, stopping to give her nipples my attention. The hard peaks graze my lips, and I play with the tension, going between languid, long licks to scraping them against my teeth, then ending with suction. I could do this all night.
“Ty-Ty—fuck! Ty?—”
I laugh at her attempts to speak, which only adds to the sensation since my mouth is full. All this teasing is making me stand at attention, and I know she can feel it on her leg. Just as the thought occurs, a firm hand wraps around me, and I stutter in my ministrations.
She laughs and maneuvers me until I’m on my back.
“Same energy,” she says, and I’m ready to ask what, but my words stop.
I’m being submerged in my new home that is fucking warm and wet; all I can do is blink rapidly. “Fuck!” I hiss. She presses her hands to my chest and moves her hips. A dance so dirty that feels just as good is my only focus. I try to slow her pace to give me time to adjust, but she laughs.
“It’s quiet,” she whispers, still swiveling her hips. It’s at this moment I recognize I’ve met my match. Do I regret taunting her first? Fuck no. I resign myself to being on the receiving end of everything she wants to give me. She’s going to tease me and provide a sweet torture that I will happily accept, so I grip her hips and hang on for the ride. We go on like this, and time is of no concern. I make her come two more times before I finally succumb to my fate.
My breathing is labored, but I pull her to me so that my face is on her stomach and my arms are wrapped around her waist. This moment, this feeling spurs my chest to tighten. I freeze it in my mind.
London on March 29,sometime after seven-thirty. The night I finally devoured the sun. My sun.