I twist my fingers into the bed throw, my hips mirroring the circular motion.
‘Another?’ The lust in his words is a match for my wanton state.
I shake my head, meaning to nod. ‘Yes.’
‘Yes, what?’
‘Yes. Please.’
I smell it before I taste it, the rich and bitter blend piercing my heightened senses. ‘Chocolate.’ The word leaves me on an exhale, breathy, pleading.
‘That won’t do, Miss Heath.’ He pushes himself up, the scent disappearing, his weight lessening between my thighs.
‘No. Wait.’ My need to feel him against me, to have my senses driven crazy, is agonising. ‘Dark. Dark chocolate.’
He lowers himself but not all the way. I could scream. I need to feel him. The smell is back, driving through my nose and clouding my mind. ‘Orange.’ I lick my lips. ‘Dark chocolate with orange.’
He lowers his hips, grinding his erection onto my stomach. I moan under his weight. Then his chocolate-covered finger is in my mouth. The only part of him I can take. And I do. I close my mouth around the base of his finger and draw back slowly, relieving him of chocolate, taking the richness with the subtle taste of salt from his skin and dragging the most erotic sound from him.
I’m gripping the bed throw, my back bowed, heat travelling up from my core. I lift my hips to feel his pressure against me. His chest lowers, rubbing against my breasts. He’s touching every part of me, making me ravenous.
He lifts his torso, cool air taking the edge off my burning urge to have him.
‘Next.’
Oh God! How much more can I take?
I concentrate on calming my raging desire and focus on the intensity of the building Evanescence track playing in the background.
‘Open.’
My head is filled with the power of the female voice, the piano, building strings reflecting the mounting tension in my muscles.
His mouth. Salt. The sea. He’s taking over my mind, my body, my pounding heart, my pulsing thighs. My fists clench, my hips push into him and I bite down on his lip.
‘The sea.’ It’s not an answer. I can’t think of the answer.
His mouth leaves mine. His torso lifts from my chest. Despair kicks my brain back into action.
‘Oyster. Oyster.’
‘Good girl.’
He lifts my leaden head by the nape of my neck. My mouth automatically opens and takes the saltiness, the oyster sliding down my throat, the ice-cold wetness soothing my dry skin. I know what comes next. I push my shoulders into the mattress, my spine arching in anticipation. My panting breaths return, my hips thrust up to meet his shaft. He waits, the seconds torturing my frenzied mind.
Then his tongue makes a delicious sweep of my top lip and drops into my mouth. I dig my fingernails into the skin of my palms as he grinds against me on a low, rumbling growl.
‘Gregory, take me.’ I don’t recognise my voice. Hoarse. Sex-filled. Shameless.
‘Not yet. I’m savouring every move you make, every pant, every thrust. This bursting in your chest.’ He places his hot palm against my heart. I can feel it thudding against him. His touch, his scent, pushing me to euphoria. ‘Last one.’
I wait, drowning in expectation. My body on fire, writhing beneath him, begging for him to quench my yearning.
The frozen cube stings my flesh.
‘Ice.’ My word is barely audible, obscured by short, desperate breaths.
I open my mouth, expecting to taste him but he slides the ice down my chin, in a line down my neck and onto my chest. He draws a circle around my full breast, then lets the ice bite my hard nipple. He trails the cube down my abdomen, my body moving in waves beneath him. I’m contracting between my legs in the knowledge that he’s working his way down. My orgasm is near, my entrance painfully aware of its emptiness.
