Free On Every Street by Karina Halle Page A

his fingers out and lifted them to my lips.
    “Taste yourself,” he commanded softly, rubbing his wet fingers on me. “Do you taste as sweet as I think?”
    I couldn’t even form words. I couldn’t even be repulsed. I couldn’t even think. All I could do was realize I tasted not sweet, but tangy and soapy, and thanked myself for taking an extra-long bath that morning.
    He was watching me carefully. “You’ve never tasted yourself before?”
    I shook my head, clearing my throat, finding my words. “No. Should I have?”
    A grin slowly spread across his face, and he gave a quick shake of his head. “Ah, dear, sweet Eden. To quote the great Rhett Butler, you need to be fucked and by someone who knows how.”
    “What version of Gone w ith the Wind did you grow up watching?” I squeaked out.
    H e bit his lip and pulled down the edge of my tube top. “There are a lot of liberties taken with Spanish subtitles.”
    Then his lips were on my nipple, his mouth engulfing it , hot and wet, his tongue flicking as it hardened beneath it. Fizzing sparks fluttered down my limbs. Heat built up between my legs again, wanting his fingers to come back. Wanting him. It was too much.
    As he lightly bit around my breast, I threw my head back and blurted out, “I’m a virgin.”
    He stopped dead. He lifted his head and I slowly raised mine to face him. I expected him to look disgusted or disappointed or at least surprised, but he didn’t look like any of those. He looked…happy.
    His mouth twisted into a smirk. “You just get more perfect with every passing second, don’t you?”
    I chewed on my lips, conscious of my breast being exposed, just inches from his face.
    “Don’t worry. You are an angel and I’ll keep you that way. For now, your virtue will remain intact.”
    He suddenly scooped me up into his arms and I let out a small cry of surprise. I gripped him, my hands feeling the hard lines of his back as he carried me a few feet over to a log lying in the sand. This was someone’s beachfront, I could tell, but their house was dark and far back from the water.
    He placed me on the log and then gently pushed against my chest until I was bending over backward. My head was in the sand, my hips and ass on the log .
    “Relax. Let me take care of you now. And tomorrow I’ll take everything.”
    I had a feeling I knew what that meant, but I couldn’t say anything because suddenly he was peeling off my pants, pulling them down. I thought of my scars, praying he wouldn’t notice them, my heart racing at the thought of him seeing them and being turned off.
    But he stopped removing them just below the knees and gently spread my legs. I felt like I was offering my vagina up on a wooden platter. Talk about heading into the unknown.
    “You’re beautiful,” I heard him whisper. “So beautiful.” I felt his fingers run up and down the slash, teasing me. I pressed my head further into the sand and closed my eyes. All thoughts about my leg disappeared.
    Then he lowered his head and his tongue was on me. I gasped from the shock and gasped again from the sensation. His lips coaxed mine, drawing me out, making me fill with blood and pressure. It was better than anything I had ever felt before. Better than a million golden sunsets, better than chocolate and wine and towels warm from the dryer. It made my legs spread further, my hips bucking into his mouth.
    I moaned loudly, then tried to stifle it for fear of the houses nearby.
    He pulled away a few inches and said, “You can scream, angel. I love the sound of my name coming from your lips, especially while I’m occupied with these ones.”
    It didn’t take long before that happened. His lips, his tongue, his own moans and groans—it was too much for me to take, to hold on to. My orgasm ripped through me with startling ferocity. I cried out his name in passion and in fear. I thought, for a second, as the waves grew more violent, that I was permanently damaged, like I was being ripped