He took her wrist in a gentle grip and removed her hand, flicking his tongue in lazy circles around her nipple. “Minx. If you do not stop touching me like that, I will not be able to make this last.”
“I do not want it to last.” She was already breathless. Her pearl throbbed with the need to be touched.
So she stroked herself instead, moaning when she grazed over the swollen bud. She was so slick for him. Her own need heightened her desire. She was at his mercy and she liked it. She was a quivering, desperate creature. A slave to her own lust.
But he caught her wrist once more, removing her hand before she could take herself to the edge.
“Not yet, darling,” he said.
“I can touch myself if you will not,” she groused. “I am desperately ready for you, Jack. So wet.”
His nostrils flared, and against her, his cock twitched, evidence he was not as in control as he pretended. “You cannot touch yourself unless I give you permission. Your cunny is mine. You have not already forgotten, have you?”
Dear heavens.
His wicked words sent another pulse of liquid desire to her core.
“I lied,” she told him, enjoying their games, the battle for power and control between them. “I lied when I told you my cunny was yours, just because I wanted your mouth on me.”
“Is that so?”
She licked her suddenly dry lips. “Yes. It is mine, Jack. Not yours. Never yours.”
He raised her fingers to his mouth, his gaze never wavering from hers. Her fingers were wet with her juices. He wrapped his lips around them and sucked, lashing her with his tongue, sucking every last drop of her up.
“Your cunny tastes like it is mine, Nellie,” he said, his voice low.
What could she say to that? Her wits were too scattered to form a response. He was undoing her. Slowly and with sweet, seductive promise.
He sucked her fingers again, humming his approval. “I want more.”
She wanted him to have more, too. She wanted his tongue on her, in her. Anything he wanted to do to her, she wanted it all. And then she wanted it again.
That was how mad her need for him made her.
He settled between her legs, caressing her inner thighs and spreading her wide. She wondered if he would tease her again as he had the last time, tormenting her until she had surrendered.
“Your cunny looks like mine too, Nellie,” he murmured, his heated gaze devouring her most intimate flesh.
She whimpered as he trailed his forefinger up her seam in the ghost of a touch. It was not enough pressure. Not enough. She arched into him, seeking more. But he avoided her pearl.
Instead, he cupped her mound. It was such a carnal way of claiming her, and she knew she should be shocked, but the action only made her want him more. She thrust against his palm on a moan.
“Your cunny feels like mine,” he said. “Are you sure it is not mine?”
“Sure,” she bit out, clinging to the last remaining shred of her pride.
“I am going to have to have another taste. Just one,” he said, removing his hand and trailing his finger back down her seam. At her entrance, he paused, caressing her with light, circular motions that stoked her frenzy. “One long, slow lick up your center. Mayhap a taste of your pearl. That should give me the answer I need. What do you think, darling?”
She thought she was going to explode if he did not pleasure her soon.
“Do it,” she gritted.
“Hmm.” He continued his gentle circles around her channel, slowly, deliciously taunting. “I think you should ask me nicely, Nellie.”
“Please.” The lone word hissed from her.
Apparently, it was enough, because at long last, he lowered his head and did as he had promised. His tongue replaced his finger, swirling around her entrance without dipping inside, before sliding to her pearl. He fluttered his tongue against her lightly.
