And she looked at him, her eyes hungry as he removed every last article of clothing.
“Yes,” she said, rising up onto her knees and moving toward the end of the bed. “You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I’ve never wanted another one. In spite of my best efforts.”
“You don’t need another one,” he said.
“Maybe not.”
She smiled, just slightly, and he wanted to taste it. So he did.
He got onto the bed, and she moved around him, lightly pushing on his chest and laying him on his back. She hovered over him, her red hair shrouding them both as she leaned in and pressed kisses to his chest.
Down farther. And farther still.
She wrapped her hand around his arousal, and squeezed hard, then licked him from base to tip with the flat of her tongue. He let his head fall back, his breath hissing through his teeth.
“Do you like that?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you want more?”
“Yes,” he said.
She teased him. Brushed his skin with her hair, nipped at the head of his cock, sucked him in deep and didn’t hold him long enough.
She pushed him all the way to the edge, again and again.
He was shaking, sweating. It would’ve been easy to believe that he was the virgin, and not so recently her.
She bit his hipbone, and he groaned, overcome by his desire for her.
By his need for more.
She moved over him, straddling him, her slick heat glorious against his hardness, and she moved her hips, taking him in an inch, before letting him slip out, denying them both what they so desperately wanted. She did it over and over again, the sensation maddening. Driving him to his limit.
Pushing him to the edge.
“Beg,” she said.
“Please,” he said.
“My name,” she said. “I know you’ve been with other women. How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“How many times did you think of me?”
He laughed, dark and humorless. There was nothing funny about any of this.
“Every time,” he said.
“Then it is a privilege for you to be able to have me. Isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he ground out, his hands on her hips.
“Beg me,” she said.
“Please, Heather,” he said.
