He needed to be on a calendar. Except that she needed her hands all over him more. Tonight, he was hers.
She said, “Want to come get on my couch?”
Why not the bed? Because she didn’t want a bed. She wanted the lights on, and she didn’t necessarily want to be that comfortable, either. She wanted to know he saw her for who she was, all the dirtiest parts of her, and that he wanted her exactly like that.
She wanted a freakingorgasm.She’d been as sexually stimulated, this past month, as she’d ever been in her life. Or more. So much more. Blame the hormones. Blame Harlan. She was nothing but swollen, aching need by now, and she’d crawl all the way over him to have that need satisfied. He was going to give her those orgasms tonight. As many as she wanted.
He said, “You need a glass of water. Hang on.” And headed out the door and out to the kitchen to get it. Back in control again. Back to let-me-take-care-of-you Harlan. Also, she’d just note, he was the most beautiful man to watch, coming and going. He had some scars. He had some muscle. He had just absolutely everything she wanted.
When he came back, he hadtwoglasses of water. And a gleam in his eye. He said, standing naked in the middle of her living room, while she was still wearing her spun-sugar robe and her not-sweet-at-all black lingerie, “You’re a pretty bad girl, aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah.” She tried to toss it off. It didn’t quite come out that way. “I’ve been trying totellyou. But all you’ve wanted to do is kiss me sweetly and tenderly andleave.”
“No worries,” he said, drinking his own water down. “I’m not going to kiss you sweetly and tenderly tonight.” He took her glass from her hand, since she’d finished it, set both of them down on the coffee table, took her head in his hands, and kissed her. Hot, dirty-sweet, and deep. When he pulled back, he said, “That’s how I taste, huh.”
“Yeah,” she said, and smiled. Slowly. “Aren’t you delicious?”
“Uh-huh.” This time,hesmiled. “And so are you. So we’re on the couch? Not the bed? You want me to play dirty with you, baby?”
That sent a hard rush right through her. She could feel that little ring with every step she took, because that was just how swollen she was by now, and this time, she was the one who couldn’t answer.
“Yeah,” he said, and now, his smile was cocky. “That’s what I thought. Come on. Get over the arm of the couch.”
He didn’t ask. He just pushed her down so she was sitting at the end of the couch.Nextto the arm. She said, “Uh … Harlan …”
“Shh,” he said, then took her legs in his hands and spun her. He dragged her back until her hips were perched right on the edge of that upholstered arm, then asked, “OK? Comfortable enough?”
She didn’t want him to ask. She wanted him todoit. But if he left her here much longer, she was going to get self-conscious. Her legs were dangling over the side, and there was no way you’d ever keep them together. She was resting on the back of her head, her shoulders, and her arms, the blood was rushing to her head, and she was already halfway there. She said, “Hurry up.”
He smiled. Slowly. And said, “Oh, no. I don’t think so. Didn’t I mention this? Maybe I should mention it now. It’s not your turn anymore.” With that, he reached down and unfastened the cups of her bra, and the tingles that had been running through her became jolts.
He brushed his hands over her nipples, and she felt them harden, the sensation so strong, it nearly hurt. “You can touch yourself there,” he said.
“Yeah?” She was still going for it. Still doing her best to be that other woman, the one she wanted to be. “What areyougoing to do, then?”
“Oh, baby,” he said. “You know better than to ask me that. I’m going to play with your ring, that’s what. I’m going to do anything I want.” He had his fingers around the edge of her panties, was pulling them over her thighs, down her calves, and when she felt them fall from her ankles, he stood there, shoved her thighs slowly apart with his palms, and sighed.
Which was when he took that ring between finger and thumb and slowly twisted it. Not hard enough to hurt. Just hard enough to shock her. And to let her know. “Thought I said to touch yourself.”
She was embarrassed. She was. But she did it. Touching your own breasts didn’t do that much for you, she’d always thought. She’d been wrong, because it was doing something for her now. He smiled, slow and wicked, and said, “Yeah. Keep doing that.” He let go of the ring, pinched her labia together with one big hand, and started to squeeze. In a rhythm. He did it until she was moaning. Until she was rocking back and forth, as much as she could in her constrained position. And then he drew both thumbs up her, around her, until they met at the ring again.
“You’re going to come before I even put my mouth on you,” he told her. “And once I do, you’re going to come over and over again. After that? I’m going to spank your ass pink and fuck you hard. You played with me. Now it’s my turn to play with you. By the time I’m done with you tonight, you’re going to remember I’ve been there.”
The first wave of her climax spiked into her before she knew it was coming, and then the rest did. He was swearing, dropping to his knees, and setting his mouth to her, and she came again. And again. She was no sooner falling than she was going up again. And she was wailing.
* * *
She could come justfrom himtalkingto her. And once he started in to please her in earnest, she came so hard, he got worried. He stopped, once, and asked, “Doing OK?”
In answer, she gasped, “Don’t you dare stop. Don’t youdare.”So he didn’t. He went fast and hard, and then he went slow and teasing, and she loved it all. She couldn’t even grab his hair, not all the way down there on the couch. She couldn’t grab him at all. She was helpless, and he was enjoying the hell out of that.
He’d have said, after that episode in the bathroom, that he was a wrecked man. It hadn’t lasted, because when a woman needed it this bad, you pretty much had to give it to her. Which was why he got to his feet, finally, and took a good look at her. Lush, pink-tipped breasts outlined by black triangles. Swell of belly. Strawberry-blonde curls in wild disarray, her eyes closed and her mouth open, panting. That orgasmic flush on her chest that a woman couldn’t fake, especially not one with skin this pale. And hands that had forgotten to do anything at all, because they were over her head, clutching the fabric of the couch cushion.
She made him feel too many things. Aching need. Fierce tenderness. And the primal urge to put his stamp on her in every way there was. He said, “I’m going to do some things here. If any of it doesn’t feel good, if you need a break … tell me.”
He couldn’t even tell if she’d heard. He said, “Baby. Open your eyes.”
She did, and that about sent him to his knees right there. Shining gold, nearly blind with desire. He said, “Still OK?”
