Page 86 of Sin of Love
She’s a vision. More than art. Though we may try, no man is talented enough to capture what I’m seeing, much less feeling. Completion and sundering all at once.
She glances up, eyes wide and uncertain. “Are you okay?” she whispers.
“Um, yes. Wait—are you serious?”
She rocks forward, testing and teasing. It’s all I can do to keep my eyes from rolling back in my head.
“No, Gideon. I wasn’t serious. And before you ask, I’m okay.”
“Just okay?”
“I’d be better if you stopped talking.”
“Ouch. Can I touch you now?”
“Will you stop talking if I let you touch me?”
“Maybe.” I flex my hips and she gasps. “What about now? Better than okay, yet? Are we moving toward gee wiz or maybe toward wow, Gideon, I’ve missed your thick cock so—”
Her mouth slams into mine. “Shut up and touch me,” she mumbles against my lips.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Dammit—”
I swallow her reprimand with a kiss, my arms relaxing, my hands landing gently on her hips. She murmurs encouragement—I’m sailing through the gates of Heaven as my fingers find familiar slopes and new terrain along her spine, sides, hips, thighs... Contrasts and contours. Soft and slick, hot and wet.
Mine.
She moves and moves. Sinful art in motion, her breath in my mouth, her body serpentine. Defiant. Divine. She takes her pleasure like she deserves it—like she owns it. The sight is beyond bewitching. I’ll never recover from this moment. Before, I was in love. Now, I am eternally enslaved.
I’ve also never worked so hard in my life not to come. When her pleasure at last peaks, and she breaks in a glorious storm above me, I finally let go. It isn’t pretty. I jackknife, convulsing as my climax pounds through me, groaning like I’ve lost a limb, and clutch her like I’m never letting go.
I’m not.
