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Oral Fixation

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King's breath is warm against Abby's skin but she still shivers as his tongue traces slow and teasing patterns along the lace edging of her bra, inch by tortuous inch, leaving goose bumps in his wake. He's taking his sweet time about it and she's impatient, hungry for more as she slides her fingers into his hair, tugging at the strands to guide that talented tongue down to where she needs it.

His laughter huffs against her skin, his body shaking with mirth where it's pressed against hers, and she bites back on a moan as his fingers finally follow where his mouth has led, sliding under the fabric and pushing it down, freeing her breasts to his gaze.

She's always known that he had an oral fixation - he chewed on his pen when he was thinking, or the side of his thumb, and he never shut up unless someone made him - but this, this is something else. Something that curls, liquid, in her belly, leaving her hot and cold all at once, aching for something she can't name and wouldn't ask for - beg for - even if she could.

It doesn't matter that she's thought about all the ways she could make him shut up more than once, pinning him to the wall and pressing her hand firmly over his mouth until he finally caught a clue. Or pressing her lips against his, licking off whatever flavour of candy he'd been eating. She's thought of other things, too; things she'd never admit to in the cold light of day but that left her warm and flushed in the privacy of her room, heated little thoughts about pulling his mouth down to her skin and letting him lick and suck to his heart's content.

She'd always figured those were the kind of thoughts that it was best stayed there, behind locked doors with her fingers slick between her thighs and her body still shivering as she came down from that high. She's never been so glad to be proved so wrong.

His mouth... it's a fucking revelation, and she reaches down, sliding her thumb along his bottom lip, not surprised at all when he sucks it in, his tongue curling around it as he meets her eyes, the look in his both hot and soft at the same time.

Her mouth is suddenly dry, but not the rest of her. He's been teasing her all day, the bastard, stealing one of Zoë's lollipops just to torment her, not missing any of the heated looks she's been sending his way as his tongue curls around his candy. He's been making his mouth work, too, subtle little sly jibes and hints that only she catches and pasting an innocent look on his face whenever she's raised her eyebrows in his direction as though he hasn't just implied he'd go down on her when he says that he likes licking things that are sweet, and then calling her 'sweetheart' to seal the deal. Emphasis on the first syllable, of course, because King can be subtle but he sure as hell isn't with her.

She's not sweet, not that King seems to care. Only King would call her that, just like King is the only one who doesn't care about invading her personal space and doesn't piss her off when he does, or the only one who flirts with her, layers of meaning behind every word and innuendo falling from his tongue, sweet as candy and just as bad for her.

He catches hold of her hand, easing her thumb out of his mouth and pressing a brief kiss against her palm, the soft scratching of his beard curling her fingers helplessly. And then he lowers his head again, mouth moving against her skin, his tongue circling closer and closer to its goal, his saliva on her skin leaving cool trails in the evening air.

She shivers again, her nipples already hard and tight before he even gets there, his tongue slowly exploring every crinkle and pucker, swirling over the darker skin of one aureole before he finally takes pity on her and sucks the nipple into his mouth.

Fuck, yes. It sends a slow pulse of pleasure through her, one that sharpens when his fingers find her other breast, pinching the nipple there just roughly enough for her to feel it. Her breath catches in her throat, and he doesn't miss it, his fingers coming back to twist a little harder, hard enough to have her biting back on a keen, her hips bucking up into his.

He's hard against her and maybe it's time for a little payback. This time she doesn't buck up into him; instead she rolls her hips, slowly and deliberately, and his fingers stutter against her skin, curling when she does it again. But it doesn't slow him down for long - it's only a moment before he's repaying her in full, lavishing attention on her breasts, his lips and tongue driving her slowly out of her mind as he nips and sucks, his beard scratching against her skin again as he moves from one breast to the other.

She's drowning in sensation, left breathless with anticipation when he finally moves lower, humming a little in appreciation as he raises his head to stare down at her - at her tits, at least.

"You know, I think you might actually have perfect breasts," he says, sliding his palm down over the curve of one of them.

"You know, I think you might actually be full of shit," she mimics, shooting him an exasperated look, and he grins, wide and sudden, leaning down to kiss her again.

He takes his time with that, too, his tongue slowly exploring her mouth, soft and sweet, at least until she wraps one hand around the back of his neck and deepens it aggressively. He goes with it, just like he goes with every other suggestion she has, and when he finally pulls back, he's breathing heavily, his eyes dark and heavy with lust. She gets it, she does; the same lust is slowly curling in her belly, in the wetness between her thighs.

"You want to put that mouth to better use than empty flattery?" she asks him, her voice low and husky, the sound of it sending heat flaring through his eyes. "Or do you want to talk me to death?"

"They are perfect," he says. "But I see your point. Less talking and more... sucking."

She's pretty sure he's not going to suck, not given his performance so far, and he doesn't disappoint, lowering his mouth back down to her skin, his tongue flickering just under the underwire of her bra this time.

She takes the hint, pushing herself up just to enough to reach behind and undo the fastening, shrugging her bra off as he glances up at her again, his gaze lingering on her breasts for a moment. She half expects him to return to exploring them, but maybe he's more interested in the parts of her body he hasn't seen yet, because he drops his gaze to her flat stomach, his mouth following as he shifts down the bed.

His fingers shadow his lips again, stroking lightly down her sides, across the tense muscles in her abdomen, which tighten further at his touch. And then he finally reaches for the button to her jeans, playtime apparently over.

Or just beginning. He pushes the button open, his tongue still tracking over the planes of her stomach as his fingers drag her zipper down then ease into the opening, brushing lightly over the fabric of her panties.


She closes her eyes, letting her head fall back onto the pillow, half lost in the sensation of his teasing fingers and half-wishing that she'd known this was coming so she could have worn something more exciting than plain white cotton under her jeans. King doesn't seem to mind, though, not disappointed by the lack of lace and wispy fabric, at least not if the soft sound of satisfaction he lets out when his fingers come back, more firmly this time, is any indication.

His mouth leaves her skin briefly, his hands now sliding under her jeans, cupping her ass, and she takes the hint, digging her heels into the bed to raise her hips, letting him pull her jeans down and off.

She expects her panties to follow, but maybe King has a thing about white cotton - it wouldn't surprise her to learn he has a whole set of kinks she knows nothing about. Instead he leaves them on her for now, his mouth now trailing kisses up her legs, too-brief touches that aren't as frustrating as they should be, or would be if he was anyone else. They hold a promise to them, and if she's learned one thing about King over the time she's known him, it's that in spite of the bullshit, he keeps his promises.

The ones he makes to her anyway.

He pushes her thighs apart, settling into the gap between them as his mouth keeps moving over her skin, never still, not for long, teasing little touches that just ramp up the tension in her, higher and higher. He maps the tender skin of her inner thighs with his lips until she's nothing but a mass of nerve endings, her legs trembling, her hips making abortive little rocking motions, needy little movements of which she's barely aware.

But King's aware of them; he's reading her fucking perfectly, stretching it out as far as he can without driving her completely out of her mind.

She lets out a gasp when his mouth finally settles on the fabric of her panties, his breath hot against her through them. His tongue pushes more firmly against the gusset, pushing against where she's already wet and aching, and he's got to know that, got to be able to see how much she wants him, smell it even. But he still draws it out, painting patterns with his tongue, more firmly when she bucks into him, but it's not enough, the barrier between them just enough to deaden it. Just enough so she can't come from this alone.

This time she manages to gasp out his name, reaching down to slide her fingers through his thick hair, her palm settling against the curve of his skull as she holds him in place. "Please," she says, and she can hear the need in her voice. "Jesus. Just... please."

The tip of his finger - just the tip - slips underneath the edge of her panties, teasing as always as he traces the edge of her pussy. She lets out a soft groan, her hips rising seemingly of their own accord when he eases it out again. She's too far gone to beg again, but his fingers come back again, pushing her panties aside as he finally slides his tongue between her slick folds, driving another gasp out of her.

Jesus, he's good at this, as good as she thought he'd be, soft, teasing flicks against her clit, firmer pressure when he moves lower, pushing his tongue into her. Her hips are moving again, her fingers curling into claws against his scalp but if he minds that he doesn't let it show. Instead he lets her ride his face, tongue and lips working her like a pro.

She's never had a guy with facial hair go down on her before, and she's loving it, the scratch of his beard and moustache against her sensitive skin adding a whole new dimension to him going down on her, but it's his tongue she loves the most, the way he uses it, nimble when she needs it, agile and firm against her as he drives her slowly out of her mind.

He pulls back, and she sighs, releasing the death grip she has on his hair reluctantly, but he only moves far enough away to catch hold of her panties. She takes the hint again, lifting her hips so that he can remove them, and then his mouth settles against her again, nothing in its way.

He sucks on her clit and she lets out a soft cry, her fingers finding his hair again, rougher this time as he toys with her, lips firm and tongue wet and slippery. His big hands wrap around her thighs, his fingers digging into her flesh as he pushes her legs more widely apart. And then he slides his hands to her ass, pulling her more firmly against his tongue as his mouth works her over.

She's close, she's so fucking close when he lifts his head again, waiting until she meets his eyes. His lips are wet with her, red and slightly swollen, and his gaze is hungry as he asks, "Do you want my fingers, too?"

It takes a second for his words to sink in, for her to think 'fuck, yeah' and he sees it, knowing her that well. Or maybe she's just that transparent - whatever it is, he slides two of his fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them before pulling them out with an obscenely wet pop. And then, still looking straight at her, he pushes them slowly into her.

She can't hold his gaze, not when his fingers are stretching her like this, pushing her even closer to the edge - he has big hands and long fingers and when he curls them inside her, she bites back on another groan, her hips rising from the bed and her thighs trembling.


His thumb finds her clit, pressing just hard enough against it to make her see stars. And then he lowers his hand again, his tongue finding it, too, flicking over the ridge of nerve endings as his fingers pump slowly in and out of her and his thumb continues to rub back and forth, sending shards of pleasure spiralling through her.

She's reduced to nothing but animal noises, her hips jerking and her fingers tugging at his hair mindlessly, her focus narrowed to his mouth, his tongue, his fingers in her cunt. The tension builds in her belly, tightens in her thighs and her breasts, her breath catching once again in her throat as his beard scratches against her skin, as his tongue works skilfully over her clit. She's coming apart, coming apart at the seams, the pleasure rushing through her, fierce and heady, turning her limbs to liquid as she cries out his name.

He steadies her down as she comes down from that high, her body still shivering with aftershocks as he presses soft, scratchy kisses against her belly, his mouth and beard wet against her skin from her come. His thumb is still rubbing gently over her clit, and he waits until the tension has finally ebbed from her body before he pulls his fingers slowly out of her. And then he pops them into his mouth, licking the taste of her from his skin with any sign of self-consciousness about it, simply grinning at her a little smugly when he catches her eye.

When he leans down and kisses her this time, she can taste herself on his lips.

"Okay?" he asks and she hums happily, her fingers carding through his hair.

"Yeah," she says, breathy and content, sliding her hands down his back until she can slide them up underneath his shirt. "Your turn now."

He sits up eagerly, tugging his shirt off over his head and exposing his broad shoulders and chest to her gaze. She's seen him shirtless before, but now she takes the time to appreciate the view, humming happily to herself again as her eyes track over his body, from the dark, curling hair on his chest to the way his body tapers to his narrow waist. But looking isn't enough - she has to touch, too, tracing the curve of his pecs with one finger, letting her thumb glide over the ridges of his abdominal muscles when she slides her hand down his side. There's a trail of dark hair that starts just below his navel and disappears beneath the waistband of his pants, mapping a path that just begs to be followed by her fingers and her tongue, and she's always been one to see where things go.

As her mouth presses against his skin and her fingers move to the buckle of his belt, she thinks she might be starting to develop an oral fixation of her own.

The end