Tear You Apart Read online

  This small touch, this tender stroke of his flesh on mine, should not be enough to make me shake, but oh, it feels so good, so good I tremble from it. The shush-shush of his breathing presses pinpricks of light into my vision. Like sparklers, the lights arch and fade. My eyelids flutter.

  Will leans closer. His lips brush my earlobe. His breath pushes at a few stray tendrils of my hair.

  “I want to rub the head of my cock back and forth over your clit until you’re dripping wet for me.” He breathes these words against my ear. I can’t move. “Back and forth, so slow it makes you crazy. I want to tease you until you beg me to fuck you.”

  The shudder of my breath echoes the rattle-tap of the projector noises. I turn my head the tiniest bit toward him. My lips barely move when I say, “I. Don’t. Beg.”

  He takes my hand and puts it on the front of his jeans. On his cock, thick and hard beneath the denim. As slowly as he’s done everything else, Will rubs my palm back and forth over his erection, down low enough to curl my fingers around the bulge of his balls. Then up along the ridge.

  Up. Down. Just...a little...faster...

  His breath catches. In the faint glow from the movie in front of us, his eyes are wide, pupils dilated and dark. His lips are slightly parted, the lower one moist from the swipe of his tongue. The urge to kiss him is like some hungry, furious thing, and it’s eating me alive.

  A clatter of schoolchildren tumbles into the room, all of them loud and laughing. Pushing and shoving. Will straightens and lets go of my hand. We move deliberately apart, still standing so close I can still feel the heat of his shoulder on mine.

  Saying nothing, we leave the room. We leave the museum. We get in a cab and sit without speaking as the tension between us rises and twists, coiling tighter. We ride the elevator to his apartment with hardly a glance between us. Barely a word. And when we get in the door, I push him in front of me, against the wall, hard enough to rattle the pictures in their frames. I kick the front door closed.

  Then I get on my knees while my hands, sure-fingered and without fumbling, yank open his belt. The button and zipper. His straining cock pushes at the front of his briefs and he’s in my fist before he even has a chance to make a sound.

  I use one knee to nudge his legs farther apart as I pull his jeans down to his thighs. His briefs, too. He’s mostly naked for me in half a minute. That beautiful cock pulses against my palm as I skim my hand upward, barely brushing the head. Will’s hips push forward, and I grip his shaft, keeping him in place. He looks down at me, his gaze dark.

  I don’t say a word, but he puts his palms flat against the wall on either side of him. Looking up at him, our eyes locked, I open my mouth, let my hot breath seep out over his hotter flesh. He shivers. I brush his prick against my cheek, soft, so soft, the tip of it not quite close enough to press inside my lips. Down a little lower, I breathe against him as my hand works his cock.

  I mouth his inner thigh, tasting salt. His skin is pale here, dusted with fine hairs lighter than the coarser hair between his legs. I nuzzle him. I press my teeth to his flesh, nipping hard enough to make him cry out. And still his hands don’t move from their place on the wall.

  When I run my tongue along the underside of his cock, stopping just before I reach the tiny divot at that head, Will lets out a long, tortured groan. His eyes are closed, his head bent so that his hair falls over his forehead. He shakes again when I let him feel my teeth against him, and when I move my hand up and down, then up a little higher to graze his cockhead. But when his hips pump again, I go still.

  Small, quick and flicking flutters of my tongue tease him. My hand moves. Again, I slide my tongue up his cock from the base to just below the head, then up a little higher to let the wet, hot cavern of my mouth hover over the tip. Slick fluid gathers there, leaking. Again, I go still.

  Will shudders. His eyes open, looking down at me looking up. He licks his lips and blinks. I do nothing.

  “Please,” he says at last. “Please...”

  At last I engulf him, take him down the back of my throat. I taste him, slippery and a little sweeter than I expected. Greedy, I suck him hard, concentrating on the head while my hand, slick with my saliva, strokes his shaft. My other hand slips between my legs, rubbing and rubbing at my clit through my lace panties. I am wet. I am dripping for him. In fact, my cunt is already clenching when he at last slides his fingers into the back of my hair and anchors them there, pulling just hard enough to make me gasp.

  I fuck him with my mouth and tongue, my teeth. My clit is so swollen I don’t need to dip inside my panties. Even this indirect pressure is almost too much. I’m coming in long, rippling waves.

  And...there are colors.

  I taste and smell voices; certain words have color. My brain is wired to connect my senses in a way that most people can’t begin to understand, but until now I’ve never had it happen during orgasm. The pleasure washes over me in shimmering bands of rainbow light and golden stars, and I’m filled not only with the ecstasy of climax but with the wonder of this new sensation.

  Will’s groan brings me back to my delicious task. I let my jaw go slack to take him deeper. I let him fuck my mouth however he wants. Sweat drips from his face onto mine, one drop, and I smile around his cock. Then I’m coming again, unable to think of anything but this desire. His taste.

  He whispers my name. His fingers twist and tangle in my hair. “Shit,” he says, “oh, shit this feels so good...I’m gonna come.”

  I appreciate the warning, but when he makes like he’s going to pull out, I don’t let him. He cries out again, wordless. Desperate. His taste floods me, and I take everything he gives me, sucking hard until he’s spent and softening in my mouth. I swallow. I stand. I wipe the corners of my mouth.

  Will slumps against the wall, his hair damp with sweat. His mouth lax. Eyes half-lidded. I lean in to kiss him at the corner of his mouth, first one side, then the other. Then, sweetly, fully on his mouth. His tongue probes me, and the thought of him tasting himself in me sends another slow ripple of pleasure through me.

  “I told you,” I murmur directly into his ear, “I don’t beg.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I was five or six years old when I discovered the world was different for me than for most everyone else. My mom’s younger brother, Archie, had married a woman I was supposed to call Aunt Dot. That part was fine. Aunt Dot was young and pretty and eager to let everyone know her opinion about everything, from how to make Thanksgiving Day stuffing to whether or not little girls like me should be allowed to sit with everyone else for the meal. Aunt Dot seemed to think kids should sit alone, but since I was the only grandchild at the time, nobody else was in favor of that. Dot, I overheard my mom saying, sure liked to talk.

  And that was the problem.

  I was too young to understand that what Aunt Dot was saying might rub the other grown-ups the wrong way. For me, it wasn’t her words that mattered, but her voice. Fortunately for me, most people’s voices, including my own, taste like clear, cold water. Like nothing. My grandma’s voice tasted and smelled like apple pie. My mom’s is flavored faintly of cinnamon, but without odor. Aunt Dot’s voice tasted like sour lemon candy and smelled of mold.

  It tasted so bad I recoiled the first time she greeted me, which might’ve had a lot to do with why she didn’t like me. I put my hand over my mouth and nose. When she leaned in close, talking, her breath smelled of minty gum, totally pleasant, but I coughed on the stench of her voice.

  “She stinks,” I complained to my mom without any tact. “Tastes bad, too!”

  Embarrassed, my mother scolded me thoroughly, though later I heard her telling my other aunt that Dot might not smell bad at all, but yes. She sure did stink. It was my grandma who took the time to come find me in the backyard, where I’d been banished until dinnertime. Bundled in my heavy winter coat, I w