Whatever this man did, he made his body a priority, which was the exact opposite of how I treated mine.
When he pulled back from my ear, his scruff dragged across my cheek, and my skin instantly broke out in goose bumps.
“Mmm,” I breathed.
What was it about that tiny bit of pain that made me want more?
“I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already moaning.”
His green eyes locked with mine, and a wave of heat hit my face. Each time that happened, I could feel my cheeks reddening. I was positive this time was no different. The vulnerability was partly what had made me blush, the unknown the other, but for some reason, I didn’t want to hide from it.
I wanted to lean into it.
So, I replied, “But you touched me just enough. Don’t stop. I want more.”
“I can tell.” His hand was on my neck, his grip strong. Powerful. Just how I wanted it to be. “And you’re going to get it, but in time. I don’t want to rush this. I want to savor you.”
“Why?”
“Because if I only get to taste you once, I’m going to make every second count.”
Why did that answer make me wetter?
Why did it make my heart pound and my stomach explode, like there were hundreds of butterflies in there, their wings tickling my insides?
He released my neck, and the palm of his hand pressedagainst my collarbone, moved to the center of my chest and then between my breasts, the top of my stomach, and stopped at the base of my shirt. A path that not only hardened my nipples, but made my back arch.
“No bra?”
I had let go of the wooden table, the surface, the edge, but I was right back to holding it. “I don’t wear one.”
“Interesting.”
“Not really.” I smiled. “I don’t see a need when there’s not much there, and there’s definitely no need to try to make them look bigger when I don’t mind them being small.”
My shirt was made of a stretchy, snug material, and as he bunched up the bottom, it clung against my chest even more. Holding my stare, he stretched one of his arms above my head, and his hand landed on the wall, making our bodies even closer. His mouth slowly dived toward me, and his lips surrounded my nipple, caressing it, tugging it through my shirt.
My moans got louder; my eyes closed when he started to bite.
I didn’t know when my hand had moved. The last I remembered, I was squeezing the lip of the table, and now I was sliding my fingers through the hard, stiff peaks of his hair. My nails dug into his scalp when I felt his tongue. A few quick flicks before his teeth returned, as if he was soothing what he’d just roughed up.
His tongue—his sweet side. His teeth—his dominant. And every time he alternated his teeth with his tongue, I heard myself getting noisier.
“Show them to me.”
My neck was back, my eyes still closed. I straightened my head, and just like every time I looked at him, I was blown away by how hot he was and how the desire in his stare was so focused on me.
“Feed me your nipples.”
I shimmied the shirt up my torso, and as I was lifting it over my head, his mouth was back. The sensation was entirely different when there wasn’t any fabric between us. When I could fully feel the warmth of his mouth, the wetness of his tongue. The unforgiving hardness of his teeth when my nipple was between them.
But when the ache came on—a sharp blast that skyrocketed through my body—the softness quickly followed, and I heard myself begging for more. “Please. I need it.” I drew in some air. “I need you.”
When I glanced down, his lips were parting to take one in. But that wasn’t the sexiest part of this. It was how he looked at me while he was doing it.
“They’re perfect.” He moved to the other side, sucking me into his mouth, urging the sounds out of me with his tongue. “Don’t ever cover them with a bra.” His hand left my other nipple to slither down my body, undoing the button of my jeans and zipper so he could sink his fingers beneath my panties.
I couldn’t remember the last time anything had felt that good.
