Chapter 3: Dripping and Desperate
We've both been so sure it would never work. That we're too different. That we'd destroy each other.
But right now, with her spread out beneath me, bare and trembling and so fucking wet, none of that seems to matter.
I don't say any of that. I don't tell her about the years of wondering, the nights I've thought about her mouth, her thighs, those goddamn nails. I don't tell her that I've imagined this exact scenario so many times I've lost count.
Instead, I lower my head. Press my mouth to the inside of her knee. And wait.
She shivers. Her thighs twitch, muscles jumping under my lips, and I feel her resolve crumbling. That stubborn, bratty resistance that she wears like armor—it's cracking. I can feel it.
"Fine," she whispers. "Fine."
Her thighs part.
Slowly. Reluctantly. Like she's admitting defeat. But they part.
And I see her. All of her. Pink and glistening, her cunt slick with arousal, her inner thighs coated in her own wetness. It's obscene. It's beautiful. It's everything I've been imagining and more.
"Fuck," I breathe.
"Shut up."
"Can't help it."
"I said shut up."
I don't shut up. I hook my hands under her knees, lift her legs, and drape them over my shoulders. She gasps—surprise, maybe, or anticipation—and her heels dig into my back.
Her thighs are warm against my ears. Soft. I can feel her pulse hammering through the skin, a rapid flutter that matches my own heartbeat. Her cunt is right there, inches from my mouth, and I can smell her—musky, sweet, utterly intoxicating.
I look up at her from between her thighs.
She's looking back at me. Her curls are a wild mess around her head. Her lips are parted, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. With her legs draped over my shoulders, spread wide, I can see her chest, still heaving for air. There's a flush creeping up her chest, pink and pretty.
"What?" she demands. Her voice is unsteady. "Why are you just staring?"
"Just enjoying the view."
"I will kick you in the face."
"Promises, promises."
But I don't make her wait any longer. I dip my head and drag my tongue up the length of her cunt.
The taste
Is extraordinary.
She gasps, her whole body jolting like she's touching a live wire. Her hands fly to my hair, fingers twisting in the strands, and her heels press into my back.
"Fuck," she breathes. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Her cunt is soft and hot against my mouth. I lick her slowly, exploring every fold, every curve, and she makes these sounds—these desperate, broken sounds. Her head thrashes on the pillow, her hips rolling against my face.
"Hardik. Hardik, wait, I'm—"
I don't stop. I find her clit with my tongue, flick it, circle it. Her thighs clamp around my ears, squeezing tight, and she grinds her cunt against my mouth like she's trying to ride my face.
She's loud.
Not that I expected her to be quiet. She's never been quiet a day in her life. But this—this is different. She's moaning and cursing and begging. If she's being loud, screw it. Let her be loud.
"Don't stop," she chokes out. Her nails are scraping my scalp. "Don't you dare—"
I press two fingers against her entrance. Tease. Just the tips, circling, spreading her wetness around. She tries to push down, tries to take them deeper, but I pull back, keeping just the slightest pressure.
"Hardik."
Her voice is ragged.
"I swear to God—"
I slide my fingers inside her. Two at once. She's so wet they go in easily, her cunt stretching around them, and she screams. A raw, guttural sound torn from somewhere deep in her chest.
"Yes," she hisses. "Yes, fuck, yes."
Her hips set a frantic rhythm, grinding down on my fingers while I lick her clit. My cock is aching, leaking like crazy, neglected completely. But there's no way in hell I'm touching myself right now. Not when I have her like this.
Not when I have her like this.
Not when her cunt is clenching around my fingers like a fist, not when her thighs are shaking against my ears, not when she's making those sounds—those raw, wrecked sounds that I've never heard from her before. Not when I finally have Sonalika underneath me, falling apart on my tongue.
I curl my fingers inside her. Slow. Deliberate. Searching.
She jolts like I've electrocuted her.
"Fuck!" Her voice cracks on the word. "Right there—don't you dare stop—"
I don't stop. I press against that spot again, the one that makes her entire body seize up, and I lick her clit in slow, wet circles while I do it. Her taste floods my mouth—musky and sweet and so goddamn good. I could drown in this. I want to drown in this.
Her nails are going to draw blood. They're digging into my scalp with a desperation that borders on violence, and I feel every single point of contact—four on each side, or maybe five, I can't keep track. She's holding me in place like she's afraid I'll disappear. Like if she lets go, I'll vanish and leave her here alone, spread out and aching and empty.
"Hardik." My name comes out strangled. "Hardik, I'm—"
I pull my fingers out.
She snarls.
Actually snarls—a low, furious sound that vibrates through her chest and into mine. Her hips chase my hand, trying to keep me inside her, but I'm already pulling back. Just enough.
Just out of reach.
My fingers hover a breath away from her cunt, wet and glistening in the dim light, and I watch her face contort with fury and need. Her hips jerk upward, chasing my hand, but I pull back an inch. Just an inch. Enough to make her crazy.
"Hardik." My name comes out through gritted teeth. "I swear on everything—"
"You swear what?"
"I'll fucking end you."
"That's not very nice."
"I don't feel very nice right now."
She's panting. Her chest heaves with every breath, those perfect tits rising and falling, nipples still hard and wet from my mouth. There's a flush spreading down her neck, blotchy and pink, and her curls are plastered to her forehead with sweat.
I lower my head. Drag my tongue through her folds. Slow. So fucking slow. Just the flat of my tongue, tracing from her entrance to her clit in one long, unhurried stroke. She shudders. Her thighs clamp around my ears, squeezing, and her nails dig crescents into my scalp.
"That's it," she breathes. "That's—keep doing that—"
I do it again. Same pace. Same pressure. She's dripping, her wetness coating my chin, and I lap at her like she's something precious. Like I have all the time in the world.
Her hips start moving. Small circles. Grinding against my face.
"More," she demands. "Hardik, I need—"
I pull back.
"No!" The word rips out of her, sharp and desperate. "No, no, don't you fucking dare—"
I blow on her clit.
Just a soft stream of air, cool against her heated flesh. Her entire body convulses, hips bucking off the mattress, and a string of curses falls from her lips. Filthy words. Creative words. Words that would make a sailor blush.
"You absolute fucking bastard."
I laugh against her thigh. Press a kiss to the soft skin there. Bite down just hard enough to leave a mark.
"I hate you," she gasps. "I hate you so much."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
I drag my nose along her slit. Inhale. She smells like sex and sweat and that jasmine soap she uses. My cock is throbbing, neglected, leaking into my boxers. I don't care. This isn't about me.
"Please."
The word is small. Quiet. Almost swallowed by the rain pounding against the window.
I look up. Her eyes are wet—not crying, but glistening—and she's staring at me with something that looks almost like desperation. Like she's been waiting for this longer than she'll ever admit.
"Please what?"
"Please just..." She swallows. "Please."
My chest aches. I'm used to Sonalika being sharp and thorny and impossible. I'm not used to this. This softer version. This girl who says please and looks at me like I'm the only thing in the world.
I kiss her inner thigh. Soft. Tender. Then I put my mouth back on her cunt.
This time I don't tease. I lick her with purpose, tongue flat and firm, dragging up to her clit and circling it slow and tight. She moans—that deep, guttural sound I've been chasing—and her fingers twist in my hair.
"Yes," she hisses. "Yes, fuck, yes."
I slide two fingers inside her.
She's tight. Hot. Soaking wet. My fingers glide in easily, buried to the knuckle, and she clenches around them immediately. Her walls ripple, pulling me deeper, and I curl my fingers up—searching for that spot that made her scream before.
There.
Her whole body jolts. A cry tears from her throat, raw and unmistakably shocked, like she wasn't expecting it to happen again. I press against that spot, rubbing in slow circles, and she loses her goddamn mind.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck—"
Her hips are moving now. Riding my fingers, grinding against my face, completely abandoned. I've never seen her like this. Wild and desperate and completely without armor. She's not sniping or snarling or pushing me away. She's just taking. Taking what she needs. Taking what I'm giving her.
I pull my fingers out.
She wails.
Actually wails like I've mortally wounded her, and her hand shoots down to grab my wrist. Her nails dig in—those pointed little claws leaving marks—and I feel the sting all the way up my arm.
"You fucking—"
I slide my fingers back in.
Her mouth snaps shut. Her eyes roll back. A strangled sound escapes her throat, something between a moan and a sob, and her hips start moving again.
I do it again. Pull out almost all the way, leave just the tips inside. Wait until she starts to protest, until her cunt clenches around nothing, trying to drag me back in.
Then I thrust deep.
Her back arches. Her tits bounce. A moan rips through her, loud enough that if Arusha's still awake in her room, she definitely heard it. I should care about that. I should.
I don't.
I set a rhythm. Slow pull, fast push. Curl my fingers on the way in, press against that spot, retreat before she can chase it. Lick her clit in counterpoint, soft and wet and relentless.
She's shaking. Her thighs are trembling against my ears, and the sounds she's making have stopped being words. Just noise. Pure, animal noise.
"God, Sonalika."
The words slip out. I didn't mean to say them, didn't mean to break the silence, but I can't help it. She's so fucking beautiful like this. Unraveling for me. Falling apart on my tongue and fingers.
"I'm close," she gasps. "I'm—Hardik, I'm so close—"
I pull my fingers out.
Her orgasm slips away. I can feel it—the way her body tightens, the way her cunt clenches around emptiness, chasing something I've taken from her. She makes a sound that's half sob, half scream.
"You—" she pants. "You fucking—"
"Do you want to come?"
"YES."
"Good."
Her voice cracks on the word, desperate and raw, and something inside me snaps.
I stop teasing.
No more pulling back. No more leaving her chasing friction that isn't there. No more games.
My hands slide down her stomach, over the curve of her hips, until they find her thighs. They're warm. Soft. Still trembling from everything I've been doing to her.
I grip them. Hard.
She gasps—startled, maybe—as I lift her off the mattress. Just a few inches. Enough to change the angle. Enough to put her cunt directly in front of my mouth, her weight supported entirely by my hands on her thighs.
Her heels dig into my back. Her fingers twist tighter in my hair.
And I dive in.
Tongue first. No hesitation. No preamble. Just my mouth on her cunt, licking deep and wet and filthy. I drag my tongue through her folds, over her entrance, up to her clit. She screams. A raw, broken sound that fills the room.
Her hands rake down my back.
I feel every single nail. Ten points of sharp, dragging pressure, carving lines from my shoulders to my spine. She's not gentle. She's never been gentle. She's clawing at me like I'm something she needs to hold onto or she'll drown.
"Fuck," she gasps. "Fuck, Hardik—"
Her legs clamp around my head.
Those soft, sweet thighs—the ones I've been staring at for years, the ones I've imagined wrapped around me in a hundred different positions—squeeze tight against my ears. Her heels dig into my back, pressing hard, pushing me closer. Deeper.
I can barely breathe. I don't care.
She pulls my hair.
Not a gentle tug. A fistful, twisted tight, yanking me into her cunt with a roughness that makes my eyes roll back. She's using me. Using my mouth. Grinding against my face with abandon, taking what she needs.
And I let her. God, I let her.
My hips buck into the mattress.
It's involuntary. Just a desperate thrust against the bed, searching for friction, anything to relieve the ache in my cock. I'm so hard it hurts. Leaking through my boxers. Dripping onto the sheets. But I don't touch myself. Can't. My hands are full of her thighs, holding her up, keeping her exactly where I need her.
She sees.
Her eyes—those wild, hazel-gold eyes—flick down, catching the way my hips grind into the bed. The way I'm humping the mattress like a desperate teenager while I eat her out, moaning into her cunt like I'm the one getting off.
Because I am. Fuck, I am.
"You're doing such a good job, Hardik."
The words slip out of her, breathy and broken, and they hit me like a punch to the chest. Praise. Genuine praise. No sarcasm. No venom. Just her voice, wrecked and honest, telling me I'm doing good.
I moan straight into her cunt.
The sound vibrates against her clit, and her whole body jerks. Her thighs clamp tighter, squeezing my head until my ears ring. Her nails dig deeper, drawing blood, probably, and I don't care. I don't fucking care.
She's telling me I'm good. She's telling me I'm doing well. That's all I've ever wanted from her. All I've ever needed.
My hips buck into the mattress again. Harder. Faster. I can feel the wet spot spreading beneath me, my cock throbbing, begging for attention. But I don't reach for it. I can't. I'm so focused on her. So desperate to hear her say it again.
"Keep going," she pants. "Just like that, don't stop—"
I don't stop.
I lick her faster. Fucking her with my tongue, curling it inside her, pressing deep. Her taste floods my mouth—musky and sweet and so goddamn good. I want more. I want all of it. I want to drown in her.
She calls me good, and I lose my mind.
"Fuck, Hardik, you're so—" She breaks off, gasping. Her hips jerk, grinding against my face. "You're so good at this. Where did you—how are you so—"
I don't answer. Can't. My mouth is full of her.
But I moan again. Loud. Needy. Letting her hear exactly what her praise does to me. Letting her feel the way my hips keep thrusting against the mattress, humping the bed like I'm a dog in heat.
She feels it. She has to feel it.
And she likes it.
I can tell. The way her cunt clenches around my tongue. The way her nails scratch harder, deeper. The way her breath catches in her throat, hitching on every exhale.
"You like that?" she breathes. "You like when I tell you you're good?"
I nod. As much as I can with my face buried between her legs. The motion grinds my nose against her clit, and she shudders, a broken moan spilling from her lips.
"God, you're pathetic." But she doesn't sound mean. She sounds wrecked. Desperate. Like she's the one falling apart, not me. "So desperate for me to tell you what a good boy you are."
I whimper.
Actually whimper. The sound escapes my throat before I can stop it, high and needy and completely undignified. She hears it. Of course she hears it. Her thighs tighten around my head, and she makes this sound—half laugh, half moan—that's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.
"You are," she gasps. "You're such a good boy. Such a good—fuck—"
Her hips buck hard. She's close. I can feel it. The way her cunt is fluttering around my tongue. The way her nails are digging in so deep I know I'll have marks for days.
I drag my tongue through her folds one more time. Slow. Deliberate. Tasting every inch of her slick, swollen flesh before I pull back.
She whines at the loss. It's a pitiful, desperate sound that makes my cock twitch. Her hips chase my mouth, grinding into empty air, but my hands keep her pinned against the mattress.
"I need—" She can't finish the sentence. Her voice breaks in the middle, fracturing into something raw and breathless. "Hardik, I need—"
I know what she needs. I've known since the moment she straddled me.
I shift my grip on her thighs. Slide my hands higher, fingers digging into the soft flesh just below the curve of her ass. She's so fucking warm. So wet. I can feel her arousal dripping down her thighs, coating my palms, making everything slick.
"Tell me," I say against her skin. "Tell me what you need."
Her nails rake down my back in response. Eight points of fire that make me hiss through my teeth.
"You know."
"I want to hear you say it."
"Fuck you."
"That's not what you want."
She glares down at me. Those impossible eyes—brown with rings of green and gold—are blown wide, pupils swallowing color. Her chest heaves. Her curls are a disaster. She's never looked more beautiful.
"I want to come," she grits out. Each word is dragged from her by force. "I want you to make me come. Happy?"
"Ecstatic."
I don't give her time to retort. I bury my face in her cunt.
This time there's no teasing. No build. Just pure, relentless pressure. My tongue finds her clit and stays there, circling tight and fast. Two fingers slide inside her—curling, pressing, finding that spot that makes her scream.
She does. She screams.
Her thighs clamp around my ears. Crush tight. Her heels dig into my spine, and I feel the sharp points of them jabbing into muscle. Her hands are in my hair, yanking, pulling, holding me in place like she's terrified I'll stop.
I won't. I can't. Not now.
"Don't stop." Her voice is wrecked. Broken. "Don't you fucking stop, Hardik, I'm—"
I curl my fingers harder. Press deeper. My tongue never falters.
The sound she makes doesn't sound human.
It starts low. Somewhere in her chest. A rumble that builds and builds, climbing up her throat until it erupts from her mouth as a full-throated scream. Her back arches off the mattress. Her tits bounce. Her entire body convulses, muscles locking up so tight I can feel every tendon straining.
She's coming.
I don't let up. I keep licking, keep curling my fingers, riding her through it while she shakes and shudders above me. Her cunt clenches around my fingers like a fist. Wetness floods my palm, dripping down my wrist.
And then—
She squirts.
It hits me like a wave. Hot and sudden and absolutely soaking. It splashes across my chin, my mouth, my nose. Fills my nostrils. Pours between my lips. I inhale at the worst possible moment and choke on it, coughing against her cunt while she keeps coming, keeps gushing, keeps flooding my face with everything she has.
I can't breathe.
My lungs burn. My vision blurs. My nose is full of her, my mouth is full of her, and I'm drowning in the best possible way. But I don't stop. I can't. I won't.
I keep lapping.
Licking through the flood, swallowing what I can, letting the rest run down my chin and soak into the sheets. Her hips buck wildly against my face, grinding, riding out every last wave of her orgasm. She's still screaming. Still shaking. Still coming apart in my hands.
My fingers stay curled inside her, pressing that spot, drawing it out. Her thighs are locked around my head so tight I'm seeing stars. Or maybe that's the lack of oxygen. Hard to tell.
I don't care.
She tastes like nothing I've ever experienced. Salt and musk and something electric, something that sparks on my tongue and races down my spine. I want more. I want all of it. I want to drown in her, suffocate in her, die with her taste on my lips.
She's still coming.
Her body won't stop. Wave after wave rolls through her, each one smaller than the last but still powerful enough to make her twitch and gasp. Her fingers have gone slack in my hair. Her thighs are trembling. There's a wet spot spreading beneath her on the mattress, evidence of everything she just gave me.
I swallow. Again. Again.
Until she's done.
Until her body finally goes limp beneath me. Until her legs fall open, releasing my head from their grip. Until the only sounds in the room are her ragged breathing and the rain still drumming against the window.
She's wrecked.
Her eyes are closed. Her chest is heaving. Her skin is flushed from her tits to her forehead, a deep pink that makes her look like she's been sunburned. Her curls are plastered to her face and neck with sweat. There's a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
I wipe my face with the back of my hand. It comes away slick. Wet. I don't bother cleaning up more than that.