“Fuck, sweetheart,” he grinds out. “Fuck.”
I glance up his torso, and the sight of him—his head tipped back, the tendons in his throat standing out in stark relief against his skin, his broad shoulders tight, and the muscles in his arms and chest straining—the sight of arousal in living, breathing color has me lowering a hand from his rock-hard thigh to the aching flesh between my legs.
I whimper at the first touch of my fingertips to my pussy, and maybe he caught it, or felt it over his flesh, because he tips his head down, and his hooded stare is like a wash of heated air over my face.
“That’s it,” he encourages in a rough murmur that rubs over my skin in a sensory caress. “Get it good and wet for me.” He reaches down, pulls my arm up, and grasping my wrist, pushes my wet fingers into his mouth. He sucks them clean, leaving not one inch of my skin unattended to. When he lowers my arm, his emerald gaze pierces me, stoking the blaze in me higher. “More,” he whispers.
Closing my eyes, I moan, lust a molten river that has me moments from erupting. Obeying his request, I slide my fingers back into my panties, nearly crying out at the arc of electricity that pulses inside me. I could probably light up a damn street.
Pulling my mouth off his dick, I tease the tip with light strokes, before dipping my head and not stopping until he again nudges my throat. But this time, I relax my muscles, breathe through my nose, and let him penetrate the narrow entrance.
“Goddamn,” he mutters, his grip tightening in my hair. “Your mouth—” He bites the thought off with another dark rumble of sound, then tears the control away from me.
And I don’t mind. Not. At. All.
Curling both hands around the hair-roughened backs of his thighs, I hold on as he pistons in and out of my mouth, each thrust ending with more of him in my throat. My nails bite into his skin as I focus on taking him, sucking him, swallowing so my muscles massage him. And each grunt, each snarled curse, each groan is a reward, a lewdly wrapped gift.
“I’m gonna fill this mouth, sweetheart,” he warns me in a serrated growl. “If you don’t want that, you better pull back now.”
His grasp eases up a bit, enough that I can withdraw if that’s my choice. A first for me. Usually, it’s me who pulls free, preferring to finish jacking a man off rather than have him come in my mouth. I’ve never swallowed.Never. It’s too personal. Too…intimate. That level of trust is something I’ve never given a man, as I haven’t wanted that kind of committed relationship—and given my most recent past with my job, I don’t think I have it to offer.
But for the first time, I hesitate. And that second of uncertainty—of considering how it would feel to have him pour down my throat—has me jerking off of him in the very next moment. Gusts of air heave out of me as my heart pounds against my chest, and I release him to rip my shirt over my head. Refusing to glance up his huge torso and peek at his face, I, again, fist both hands around his dick, stacking them, as I stroke his flesh, squeezing. That instant of insane curiosity and hunger is quickly swamped by the need to see him shake in release, to bring him to the brink and drag him over it.
And he obliges me. His thighs tighten, his big body stiffens, and then on a harsh moan, a shudder quakes through his frame, thick, milky ropes of cum streak my chest and throat. His hips continue to flex into my hands, his grip on my head not loosening until moments after the last of his semen splashes my skin.
The room is silent except for the coarse, mini explosions of our breath punctuating the air like exclamation points. I’m frozen, still unsettled by that moment of reluctance. Even now, I’m fighting the impulse to touch a fingertip to one of those slick, pearly lines and taste. That sly whisper creeps back into my head, taunting me with,I told you this is a mistake.
Lust rips through the ripple of unease like a flimsy sheet of paper when he swipes his T-shirt off the floor and quickly, but thoroughly, cleans my skin. Then he shoves his boxer briefs down his legs and snaps, “Get those clothes off.”
My body obeys before my brain has time to receive the order. Standing, I strip, my attention claimed by him toeing off his boots and socks, then kicking his jeans and boxers free. By the time I reach behind me to undo the clasp of my bra, he’s lifting me and setting me on the edge of his bed. With quick, sinfully skilled hands, he removes my boots, pants, and panties, tossing the clothing behind him. Then it’s his turn to kneel, splaying my legs wide and resting the backs of my thighs on his shoulders. Those long, elegant fingers spread my folds, and my lungs seize, ceasing to function as he bows his head over my glistening, swollen flesh and swipes his tongue up my slit.
Holy…My eyes almost roll to the back of my skull, and my stomach clenches so hard it teeters on painful. His starving groan mates with mine, and nothing could keep me from twisting, arching into his mouth. Begging for more. Demanding he do it again.
Maybe he’s a mind reader, or maybe he’s just as desperate as I am, because he licks another path up the cleft, ending the journey with a slow, luxurious lap of my clit. I can’t contain the keening cry that breaks free from my throat. Pleasure burns through my veins, smoldering in the place where he’s eating me like he can’t get enough. Like he can’t get his fill. Like I’m the sweetest, most decadent meal he’s ever had, and pushing away from the table isn’t even an option.
He’s seducing my pussy, wooing it with teasing flicks, worshipping it with lush strokes, teasing it with playful nips. Making it swoon with greedy hums that vibrate through my flesh. And my sex is falling for him, damn near sighing.
I can’t tear my gaze away from him, from the mask of pleasure that stamps his beautiful features. From the gleam of lust glittering in his eyes when he meets my stare. Not breaking our visual fucking, he removes a hand from my thigh, trails it through my folds, and slides two fingers inside me. No,thruststhem inside me.
“Oh.God,” I whimper, my head tipping back between my shoulders. Just like in the alley, the width and length of those fingers open me up, and I buck against the invasion, wanting him to go deeper, give it to me harder.
He pulls free, those blunt fingertips resting just inside my entrance. I don’t bother to protest. He’s not finished with me; the erotic, insistent tug of those lips on my clit relays how much he’s enjoying this. The shadows swirling in that intense, green stare assures me he’s going to give me everything I want, everything I need.
And when those clever, knowledgeable fingers shove back inside me, I’m proven right.
Electricity pulses up and down my spine, congregating at the base of my back before racing down my trembling legs. I cry out, and he sets a hard but so-goddamn-good rhythm that has me charging toward an orgasm that just might eclipse the one from the alley.
I buck into each stroke, riding his hand, his mouth. Sparks tingle over my skin, behind my clit, and my hips work harder, chasing it. And when he slides his fingers free, robbing me of it, I almost sob with disappointment. But before I can voice it—or demand he puts those magical fingers back right-damn-now—he glides them down the smooth path that connects my sex and ass.
The air hitches in my chest. I fist the covers beneath me and wait. And wait.God,don’t make mewait.
Those dampened tips press against my back entrance, not pushing, not circling, just resting. Seeking permission.
I meet his scrutiny and nod. My lashes flutter, then lower at the first bright, red flare of pain that flashes as he penetrates that tight, muscular ring of muscle. I embrace it, groan with it…love it. My ass clenches around his finger, craving that invasion. He fills me in a way that isn’t the same as a cock in my sex because this is dirtier, foreign but familiar. And it should unnerve me again that he reads me so easily where I had to ask this from other men, assure them that I did want it. But with Jay, he knows.
Yeah, I should be alarmed.
Instead, I’m grateful. And hot. So goddamn hot.
