The Bare Bones (The Bare Bones MC) by Layla Wolfe Page A

dysfunction.
    So few men tried that I hadn’t even noticed I was incapable of it until several years ago, maybe when I was twenty-four. I had a boyfriend who tried and tried, bless his heart, and nothing happened. I could still accomplish the feat alone, in the shower, or with my BOB—battery-operated boyfriend.
    I was simply incapable of letting loose and allowing another man to get me off.
    I didn’t want to tire Ford out, piss him off by allowing him to go on and on. But he was so damned talented, his tongue a fat, rapid blur against my stiff clit. Jjust watching him, his exquisite face planted between my thighs, knowing he was tasting me, breathing in the scent of me, that that stunning aquiline nose was buried against my pubic mound, well, I got higher than I ever had before.
    I even felt myself squirt, that little gush of female juice that usually warns of a full-on orgasm. Ford didn’t seem repelled by any of it. His moans continued jacking me higher as he enthusiastically lapped away, his broad shoulders hiking up my thighs until it seemed my mound wanted to kiss the ceiling.
    Then something happened. It was like Ford’s greedy tongue just hit the exact right spot.
    I went off like a rocket.
    It was so unexpected that I practically shrieked. The shockwave of intense ecstasy that tore through my pussy and innards had me bucking back in the chair, banging my head against the wall, practically ripping locks from Ford’s skull.
    But he persevered. He knew he’d hit the sweet spot, and he lapped away doggedly, snorting hot breaths against my slit. He thrust a couple of fingers in and out of my slit, unafraid of the snuffling, groaning animal sounds he made. He was a pig for my pussy and he made no bones about it.
    The orgasm washed over me. My entire body from the roots of my hair to my curling toes was one orgasmic roller coaster. My uterus clenched so violently I was afraid something would break.
    I had studied the anatomy of an orgasm in my efforts to figure out what was wrong with me. There was no such thing as a vaginal versus clitoral orgasm. They were all one and the same. There was a whole mass of internal clitoral erectile tissue, “crura” that became aroused, and wrapped its sexy little arms around the vaginal canal.
    So an orgasm didn’t just involve the clitoral button. There were powerful unseen forces at work, and they were all in full swing now, sending wave after wave of sheer bliss rocketing through my pelvis. My chest flushed hot red, and I squirted again against poor Ford’s mouth.
    I found myself jerking my pelvis rhythmically against his face, like some kind of roaring twenties dancer. Now that he’d set me off, I absolutely could not stop. One contraction after the other, it seemed to go on for five minutes, breaking even my solo shower record. I held my breath and tossed my head back and prayed silently to the sky that this hellish ecstasy either stop or end my life.
    Eventually Ford slowed his lapping. He was probably wondering, too, when he was going to injure me.
    “ Ahhhh ,” he groaned, giving my twitching clit one last long swipe with his tongue.
    I still gasped and jumped as he kneeled tall between my thighs. He wiped his beautiful face off with his forearm and I almost laughed at the absurd sight.
    I was still twitching and jerking like a beached fish. A flood of tingling shivers raced up and down my body, made me want to slap my own face and chest to get it to stop. It wasn’t unpleasant but I wasn’t used to it, and my clit was so sensitive that when that sly bastard blew lightly on it, I nearly reacted by smacking him .
    It was his turn to laugh. I’d never seen Ford so relaxed and fully masculine, as though he were the one who’d just had an orgasm to blow away all other orgasms. “Wow,” he said, wiping his face again. “I’ve never seen a gal come that long.”
    I struggled to pull up my scrubs. “I’ve never come that long, Ford. I’ve actually…” I didn’t