He slipped off the bed and stepped out of his unlaced trousers. Her unblinking gaze dropped to his hard shaft, and she felt the slide of her tongue against her lower lip.
“All of me,” he finished.
She observed him from across the length of the bed, and a dark hunger took shape within her. Too much distance separated them. She tipped forward and came to her hands and knees. With a sense of unhurried purpose, she began crawling across the silk expanse, her gaze holding fast onto his. Just at the edge, just shy of him, she stopped, her mouth a fingerbreadth from his ready member, her head and back deeply arched so she could hold his gaze.
“Isthat”—They both knew whatthatwas—“all you are?”
“At the moment.”
Anticipation skittered through her veins.
“And the moment is all we have.”
Her gaze still locked onto his, her tongue reached out to lick the tip of his manhood before circling it once . . . twice . . . thoroughly wetting the crown. Her eyes drifted shut as her body pressed forward, and he slid inside her open mouth one exquisite inch at a time.
Never in her life had she been so brazen, so wanton, so uninhibited. A deep moan of pleasure vibrated through her even as she squeezed her thighs together to relieve the ache between them.
He went utterly still. “Do that again.”
Again, she moaned, longer and louder this time, the vibrations of the moan pulsing through his hard, velvety column. His fingers threaded through her hair, and his hips rocked forward and back. She fell into a rhythm with him as his manhood slipped in and out of her mouth. Again, she moaned.
His fingers clutched tighter, his hips rocking, now thrusting, into her mouth. She sat slightly back as her fingers gripped the base of him, her mouth sucking his crown. She glanced up. He was completely gone, his body tensing, reaching . . . Her hands grabbed his hips and held, effectively bringing the momentum to a screeching halt, his breath coming fast and hard. His fingers released their grip on her hair and began caressing her scalp in tiny circular motions.
She almost felt undone by the unconscious measure of comfort. She’d denied him release, yet it was she who was being soothed.
But she wouldn’t be undone. She rocked her hips backward, allowing the length of his surely painfully erect phallus to slide from her mouth. She sat back on her heels and faced him.
They could stop here. They both knew it.
But she wanted more. She wanted everything.
She reached out and pressed her palm against the muscular flat of his chest as her legs swung around to the edge of the bed. Positioned in the corner behind him, she noticed a small chair. She hadn’t formulated a plan for what would come next, but one suddenly formed as she came to a stand.
Her arm stiffened, one foot moved forward, and she prodded him backward. She repeated the motion until the backs of his legs met the chair. With one final nudge, she pushed him down.
“Even when there’s a bed in the room,” he said, “we can’t manage to use it.”
Another time his words would have elicited a flirtatious response, but not now. Not when the moonlit length of his body offered such exquisite distraction. Defined muscles, at once sinewy and substantial, stretched down him, leading her eye across a man’s body hardened by time and energy. Speaking of hard . . .
Her gaze locked onto his thick manhood. “Hard and true and ever at the ready,” emerged from her mouth. Her eyes startled up to meet his. She hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud.
A knowing smile tipped up the right side of his mouth and sent a shot of lust straight through her. He’d been right: he knew exactly what she wanted and how. There was no use denying herself any longer.
In a pair of efficient motions, she straddled him and the chair. Poised inches above the glistening head of his manhood, her sex throbbed in anticipation of the press of him against her flesh. She leaned forward and braced one hand on the chair back, her loose hair falling around their faces and forming a silky curtain. Her other hand wrapped around the base of him. His pupils dilated, nearly extending to the outer edge of his irises.
Her hips lowered until the crown of his manhood touched the entrance of her sex. A heartbeat later, she began taking him inside her, his length a delicious, hard slide, until, at last, he filled her to completeness.
A breathy, “Oh,” fell from her lips.
Impossibly, he felt better now than he had last night or even this afternoon. He kept getting better and better. She needed him more and more. He was the opiate, and she the addict. She would never get enough.
Her fingertips brushed across the patch of hair at the base of his cock. Lightly, almost reverently, they trailed up the ridged muscles of his stomach and across the wide expanse of his chest. Finally reaching his broad shoulders, she dug in her nails, tilted her hips forward, and ground further down onto him.
Fluttery waves of pleasure and pain shot through her. Nothing beyond the points where their bodies met mattered. This must be how an addict felt the moment the drug filled the lungs.
She wanted to take him in slowly and deliberately, but each thrust of her hips stripped her resolve away until all that was left was an overwhelming urge to feed this desire that refused to be slaked. Still, she would try, her thighs tensing and releasing, sliding her up and down him. Her forehead met his, her hair encircling them, her sweat mingling with his as it dripped between their bodies.
“Fuck me, Mariana,” he whispered into her ear, impossibly notching up her lust for him.
