“Good girl,” he cooed, rewarding me by curling his fingers inside of me and thrusting them at the perfect angle.
But I wanted more. Needed more, all of him filling me.
Suddenly, his hands were on my designer dress, which he bunched up to my waist, exposing my sex.
“Lean back,” he demanded, pressing my back against the wall at an angle where my sex was closest to him. “Now hold this.”
I grabbed the fistfuls of fabric, holding them up, eager to find out what he was about to do because the glisten in his eyes told me he had something fun planned.
“Higher.” He pushed the fabric up until it was at my belly button.
Swallowing, I couldn’t help but check one last time that no one was at risk of seeing me, completely exposed to Blake, before watching him take that bottle of champagne and tip it down my lower belly.
I sucked in a breath, the chilled liquid dripping down my skin, to my sex.
Blake’s confident eyes met mine, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m going to drink you, Cupcake.”
And then Blake Morrison, still fashioned in a three-thousand-dollar tux, got down on one knee. Not to propose, though that would come in the future, I’d be certain. But to position himself to my sex, which was dripping with champagne.
His tongue started on my lower abs, lapping up the sweet, sticky residue before trailing a long, aching path toward my thighs. He stopped though, flashing a mischievous grin at me as he made me wait, dripping more bubbly down my stomach.
Blake’s gaze seemed mesmerized by it, watching the liquid drip around my folds, and then he fell to the wooden floor. Finally, gloriously, Blake flattened his tongue and swiped a slow line up my sex. My eyes shut, my mouth falling open in a groan as he lapped up every drop of champagne around my sex and then, propping my right foot up on the bench beside us, dipped his tongue down my folds and penetrated me.
Standing here now, an offering to Blake, I immediately wondered why I’d fought this. His tongue plunged in deeper, then pulled back and began thrusting in and out. When he finally returned to my bud, he gave it all the attention I could have asked for. Swirling, circling, and sucking while I looked down at the man I loved, my heart exploding with joy. And passion. It wasn’t long before I came undone on his mouth.
Shuddering and shaking, I rocked my hips against him, riding every last tremble until, finally, my muscles went weak with exhaustion.
Blake stood, turned me around, and pulled me further away from the wall, guiding my hips out and legs apart as he unzipped his pants.
“You’re so beautiful, Cupcake.”
He lined himself up at my entrance, my thighs throbbing with ache as he pushed himself inside in one forceful thrust.
Filling me. Stretching me. Burying himself in me.
Already, a fresh orgasm began to climb around him, and as he found his rhythm, I bit my lip to suppress a scream of ecstasy.
Blake Morrison—ER doctor, fantasy of every sex dream I’d ever had—was in a tuxedo, taking me from behind, while I was in a designer emerald gown. He buried himself inside of me in a gazebo of flowers, grabbing my breast as he slammed himself into me over and over. I used one hand to keep the fabric out of the way and the other to brace myself.
Especially as he got rougher and rougher with his thrusts.
When he slapped my ass so hard that a bite of pain preceded the pleasure, I had to bite my lip harder to keep from making too much noise.
And then I began quivering.
“Not yet,” Blake demanded.
“Blake …”
“I’ll tell you when you can come on me, Tess. Not yet.”
I moaned, unsure if I could hold it in. He was hitting that perfect bundle of nerves.
“Almost, Cupcake,” he promised. “I want you to come on me when I come inside of you.”
Holy hell.
When Blake started breathing heavier, I could tell he was close.
