His grip tightens on the back of my neck as if I’ll try to escape. I open my mouth to him, and he groans, stealing inside. I gasp at the feel of his fork-tipped tongue, and a rush of heat fills my core as I think of all the things it could do to me.
I slide my hands from his cheeks to his shoulders and use the leverage to try to get my legs on either side of his broad chest. He pulls my thighs astride him and settles me on the thick outline on his lap. We both grunt as the pleasure hits me. Just a tiny bite of it instead of the banquet I want.
He sits up, then flips us, pushing my back into the soft, pillowed pallet. The weight of him is comforting and sure. I want to melt beneath him. He moans my name as he pulls back a measure. He stares down at me, panting heavily with hunger in his eyes.
“What are we doing?”
I thread my fingers into his dark hair. “Making out?”
His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and I can’t help but stare. When my gaze meets his again, that hunger turns to starvation. I don’t know why he’s hesitating, but I won’t.
I push up on one elbow and kiss him, wrapping my arm across his back. My fingers brush his wing joint and he shivers.
“I want more,” he murmurs against my lips.
“How much more?”
“I want to touch you like I did the other night,” he says, kissing me again.
He moves aside, leaning against one of my legs to pin me open.
“I want you to ride my hand and moan like you did.”
His fingers slide up my bare thigh to the edge of my loose shorts. I push into the contact, craving more.
“I want to feel you pass the pinnacle your body was coiling to.”
He circles my inner thigh, moving under my shorts just a hair before pulling back.
He’s asking.
Pleading.
I know I shouldn’t be fucking around with an ifrit. Iknowthis isn’t anything more than a temporary tryst. But I can’t find the will to care.
I grab his hand and push it higher. He groans and melds his mouth to mine, attacking my lips with fevered kisses. He massages my core with broad gestures that smear my arousal through my panties.
“Under them,” I urge. “Touch me.”
He mumbles a curse and shifts my underwear aside. His finger glides through my center and he moans as I do.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, his bicep bulging from restraint.
“You’re not hurting me.”
I grab his wrist and guide his movements, showing him where to touch. The heat of his fingers has blood surging through my clit, engorging it to near painful levels. I need to come like I need to breathe.
He stills his hand just when I need the friction most, and I whimper in protest.
“Ride it,” he commands with a heady edge of dominance.
I move my leg between his and grab the back of his neck for the proper leverage. His erection strains against my hip, and I make sure to give him pressure as I move. A low rumble slips up his throat and I steal it with a kiss.
The rhythm comes easily. He flexes into my side and I grind down on his hand. With every thrust we both get closer, tighter,faster, harder. I’m crying out with every push of his hand. The muscles in my core tense with anticipation.
“Yes,” he groans. “More. I want to feel you.”
“Inside,” I gasp. “Inside me.”
