His words are straight-up filthy, so drugging that I’m heady and weightless. The entire scene is obliterating. The two of us untethered, illuminated in the champagne rope lighting, aglow with humid yearnings. Me—bare and splayed out between his legs, desperately pumping the juddering vibrator and moaning in delirium to the sensations rippling through me. Him—suit-clad and wolfish and so wrecked from simply touching me.
He presses my lower back more firmly against his hard cock, growling from the friction as his fingers whirl in a frenzy of cravings, producing the most sumptuous cadence. “Christ, you’re a work of art. Only thing better than this view would be my cock slamming inside you, filling you with my cum, the sight of that pretty pussy dripping with me for days.”
Sheesh. He’s got a mouth on him.
That vision he painted, the thought of him inside me, his touch and rasp and desire for me—I’m catapulted to the edge,ready to soar. And just as I’m tipping, for some insane reason, he stops. Ceases the swirl on my clit. Prevents my wrist from pumping. And flashes a smug grin at me in the mirror.
“What the hell, Ryker?” The horror in my returned glare is akin to one you’d see in a slasher movie, provoking a stilted chuckle from him.
“You’re doing so good, baby.” His teeth graze my earlobe. “The more your body begs for it, chases it, the more explosive the detonation will be. You want to explode, don’t you?”
My hips buck, intent on guiding the toy to its rightful place with or without his consent. But it’s to no avail. I need him. “God, yes.”
“No need to be formal. I’ll be your god, but you can still call me Ryker.” His devilish grin bleeds into his dimple as his free hand roams, stroking, squeezing, and caressing, but still withholding. Taunting. “Tell me what you need. Say it, Merce.”
My brain isn’t working to form coherent sentences. All I can focus on is grasping the euphoria he just yanked from me. “To come … I need to come. Make me come.”
“That’s it, Viper.” He loosens his hold on my wrist, pumping the dildo with me as he resumes the massage on my clit with his other hand and bites the flesh where my neck meets my shoulder.
Everything zooms back to that rapturous precipice at the speed of light. The room fades. My muscles tighten with an ardent potency. And the sloshing sound of my arousal blends with the hum of the vibrations, my whimpered rhapsody, and our panting breaths to form one harmonic tune.
It’s as though he knows the secret code for unlocking my flight to ecstasy.
My body is damn near levitating.
Until it all tumbles away from me when he halts again.
“Ryker.” The hiss of his name falling from my lips resembles a demonic curse.
His dimple glints with triumph. “Okay.” He releases my wrist, but keeps his hands to himself, a challenge written in his features. “You can continue without me. I won’t interfere this time.”
The thought is so deflating that my protest is automatic. “No. No, I need you.”
He nods, pulls me snugger against him, and relays his command with a ragged breath against my cheek. “Beg me, beautiful. It’ll be even more explosive if you beg.”
A shiver trickles over me. His gruff tenor, strained with desire, is electrifying.
My whole world narrows to the smoldering gaze in the mirror. “Please. I don’t want to come without you. Please touch me. I need you to touch me.”
His only response is the rumble in his lungs. And his skilled hand, spinning magic on my clit, his fingers rolling my pebbled nipple, his teeth raking over my skin.
He’s everywhere. In my veins and bones, my pores and blood.
In the tightness in my chest.
The throb in my core.
The speckled stars freckling my vision and the soupy air, thick with lust.
He licks and laps, pinches and nips, whispers dirty words in my ear and bridges the past and present.
Lost and found. Chained and freed.
And I. Am. Undone.
“Oh God, Ryker … I’m gonna …”
“That’s it, baby. I’m your god. You come with my name on those pretty lips.”
