The light of day revealed yet more about him. She had noticed the scars on his body before, but now she better understood them, that they were healed only on the surface of his skin. This man carried hurt with him every moment of every day.
When she touched him again, it was to feather fingertips gently across his marked skin. Without thinking, she pressed her mouth to one particularly nasty scar, puckered and red, less than a year old, she would wager.
Oh, the velvety growl that tore from him.
As she bussed kisses from one scar to another, his hands wove through her hair, tugging it loose from the chignon at the nape of her neck. Lower, she trailed until she reached the waistband of his trousers. His manhood but a few wicked inches from her mouth, she dropped to her knees.
Her fingers had just slipped one button free of its loop when his hand closed over hers. “Isabel, I’m not sure you know what you’re doing.”
She sat back on her heels, piqued at the interruption, at thenerve. “Did you know what you were about when you took me with your mouth?”
A shocked beat of time ticked past. Then his lips curled into a smile that could only be characterized as wicked. “You know the answer to that question.”
The memory shot a pulse of lust through her. “I want to feel you in my mouth. I want to taste you.” Oh, the wanton words that flowed from her lips.
His hand released hers. “Far be it from me to deny a lady what she wants.”
Isabel made quick work of the buttons. The cloth flapped open, revealing his hot, hard manhood, thick and ready. Her eyes lifted. His gaze burned into her as trembly fingers trailed across the long length. Instinctually, they wrapped around him, and his breath went shallow.
She squeezed. He moaned. If she kissed him now, she would find that his mouth had gone dry, she knew it.
She leaned forward and touched her tongue to him. So very hard. So velvety soft. He groaned and wove the fingers of one hand through her hair. Slowly, she stroked him with her tongue, from base to tip, her gaze never wavering from his.
What she saw in his eyes was a rawly sexual, naked intimacy, stripped bare. Here was only him and her and this desire.
Deliberately, she opened her mouth and took him in. His eyes drifted shut, and an exhale poured from him in long release, his fingers clutching her hair.
The scent of him.Male.The taste of him.Salt.The feel of him.Man.
In unison, her hand and mouth moved on his thick, hard length, as she took him in and out, too big for her, but so too perfect. Her thighs pressed together as her sex ached and throbbed with desire. Unexpected how this giving of pleasure only increased hers.
His hand began guiding her head, and she doubted he was aware of the motion. Deeper he pushed inside, and she groaned. His slitted eyes blazed into her. “Can you take it?”
In response, she sucked him in deeper. What a strange role. How shocking that she enjoyed it, this playing servant to his cock. She held none of the power, and all of it.
More fully, she took him in, but not all of him. He was too big. Her fingers closed around him, following the rhythm he was setting. Her other hand reached around and grabbed his tight arse, muscles bunched beneath her grasp. Still harder went his manhood, and an agonized, “Oh,” burst from him.
His fingers released her hair and trailed lower to caress her cheek. “Isabel.”
Her eyes met his, and her tongue swirled around the thick head of his shaft.
Conflict shone in his eyes. “Not like this.”
She pulled back, and the slick length of him slipped from her mouth. She licked her lips, the taste of him lingering.
Dark yearning glittered in his eyes. “Rise.”
She obeyed, the shifting sands of power intriguing her, increasing the stakes and her desire.
They each held all the power.
They each held none of it.
Both masters and slaves to this implacable lust.
“Turn around.”
Again, she obeyed, her body trembling and liquid, her breath shaking through her, as back to him, she waited for—skin alive to it—his touch.
