My lungs hitch and it’s not because I’m worried about the sundae, nor because I’m worried about the ice cream and hot fudge and cherries and whipped cream wasteland between us. But rather, it’s the glorious things he’s doing with that tongue and mouth and those lips. It’s the reverent way his hands are moving on me, undoing my bra, pushing it and my shirt to the floor.
Down.
Down.
Down.
My throat. My breasts. My belly. My hips.
Down to the waistband of my pants, flicking open the button, tugging down the zipper…and they join my shirt on the floor.
His slips his fingers into my underwear, sends them sailing too.
And then I’m naked.
“Look atmydessert,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers through the sticky mess, circling the hard bud of one nipple and then the other. “All pink”—he dips those fingers between my legs then lifts them, glistening with the evidence of my desire, to his lips and sucks deeply—“and sweet?—”
I gasp.
Then he’s scooping me up, tossing me on the bed.
I bounce once and then he’s grabbing my ankles, yanking my hips to the edge of the bed, spreading my legs. “Mine.” Then his mouth is on me, doing wonderful things, doing fuckingincrediblethings.
Fingers and teeth, lips and tongue.
It’s like he’s memorized every moment of the night before, everything I liked, everything that made me gasp and moan, everything that drove me closer to orgasm.
And he’s not going slow tonight.
This is a man determined, a man exploiting that knowledge…to my very pleasurable benefit.
“Wait,” I murmur as I feel my orgasm closing in, the tremors beginning, my nerves firing, my hips bucking, grinding against him. “Wait, sweetheart,” I say, trying to slow myself, trying to find control. “I want to come with you.”
He doesn’t wait.
He also doesn’t stop.
But he lifts his head, wicked grin in place. “You’ll come with me”—he strokes a finger through my slick pussy—“but you’re also going to come now.”
Then he drops his head.
And he’s right.
I come mere moments later, and I’m still feeling that pleasure ripple through me as he strips off his clothes and climbs over the top of me.
“Inside,” I beg.
He doesn’t delay, spreading my legs, stroking deep.
I wrap my legs around him, clenching tight as he starts fucking me hard and fast. No delay. No quarter. Just taking the edge of my orgasm and driving me up to an even higher peak.
And he’s right.
I came before.
AndI’m coming now. With him.
His strokes go jerky and uneven, my name tumbles off his lips, and then he collapses on top of me, both of us breathing heavy.
