Free Learning to Soar by Bebe Balocca

fist, chafed against her juice-slicked asshole and cunt, while he swirled his soft, wet tongue over the stiff nub of her clitoris.
    This was way better than chocolate and champagne.
    Chloe spread her legs as widely she could, writhing against the sweet torment of her lacy binding. She lifted her hands to play with her stiffened nipples. Damien’s tight grip on her underwear loosened at last—he looked at her with unabashed lust and tore the crotch of her panties wide open. The release from the tight pressure combined with the open air felt like a splash of cool water.
    Damien pulled her hips to the edge of her desk chair and kissed her offended folds tenderly. He yanked her knees far apart, stretching her legs until her muscles ached, then held them spread wide. “Please let me…” he whispered, and lowered his face over her belly and between her legs. Chloe groaned when he pushed the tip of his tongue inside her. She felt her skin tingle, from her scalp to her puckered nipples to her peppermint-scented toes. He tongue-fucked her faster, deeper, more urgently.
    The pressure on her knees eased. Chloe felt Damien’s fingers in her cunt and his lips on her clit once more. She had the sensation of being in a fast river, rushing towards a steep drop-off until there was simply no chance of swimming to shore. “You’re doing it,” she told him. “You’re taking me there, Damien.”
    She gasped, yanked his head tightly to her cunt, and plummeted over the edge of the waterfall into welcoming, swirling darkness.
    As she came to, she thought, dazedly, of a phrase she’d learnt in a college French lit class, ‘la petite mort’. She smiled to herself, thinking, There it is, then. I’ve felt the little death. And yes, it was to die for.
    Damien kissed the side of her knee tenderly and sat back on the floor in front of her. Chloe ran her fingers through his hair and gave his earlobe a soft tug. “Okay, then. It’s your turn.”
    “Huh?” he looked up, looking vaguely startled. “No, Chloe. Remember, this was all about you.”
    “Fair is fair,” Chloe answered, tracing her hand down the lightly stubbled side of his jaw. “You got to push me over the edge, and now I get to do the same to you.” She lowered her eyelids in what she hoped was a sultry expression. “Why don’t you just have a seat, Mr Walters?” She stood and gestured to her office chair with a meaningful tilt of her head while tugging her slim skirt down over her hips.
    Damien looked down for a moment and stood. He seemed oddly distant. “Come on,” Chloe asked. “What’s wrong?” She pulled his face to hers for another kiss, but this time it was chaste and light. Damien withdrew with a guarded expression and walked to the door.
    “I’ve got some work to do, Chloe,” he said. “I need to meet with the decorator about plans for Razzo.” He cleared his throat. Chloe suddenly felt cold and exposed in her sheer lace bra. She slipped her arms back through her blouse. The bucket of emotional cold ice he’d thrown over her head gave her the chills, as well.
    “I was hoping, if you were up for it, that you’d assist me with some clients on Saturday evening,” Damien said. “Glen and Danielle are married, and Danielle sought me out because Glen is disinterested in intimacy with her. I thought that you might be able to help with your female perspective.”
    Chloe took a step towards him. “Well, sure, I can do that. I can try, anyway. But, Damien, why are you pulling away from me? I hope I didn’t…” She shrugged. “It seems like you’re—”
    Damien covered the distance between them in half a heartbeat. “No, Chloe, you’re perfect. It’s me. I just…can’t go there. I can’t let you touch me like that. It’s a big enough step for me to touch you at all. But you are nothing but wonderful, okay?” He kissed her, tracing his tongue between her lips. Chloe’s unpleasant chill melted in his arms, but all too soon, he was out of the