The subsequent rush of heat almost made him spill, and he jerked free of her. Saliva slid down her chin, and he reached down to wipe it away. Touching her had become an obsession, and he had to have his hand on her. If only his other still worked—he flexed his fingers in the sling, gritting his teeth at the sudden throb from his arm. No, that would not be an option. But one hand alone was not enough.
She looked up at him, chin tilted to expose the long, elegant line of her throat. Emotion threatened to overwhelm him.
“Sit there.” She pointed at the edge of the bed, and with a groan of relief, he sat. His erection throbbed hungrily, still perilously close to the edge.
“Now what?”
“Now,” she said with deliberate slowness, “you watch.”
“Watch what?”
She positioned herself before the fire, lying on the carpet with her knees bent and legs wide, showing him very clearly what lay between. His jaw clenched.
“Emily,” he rasped.
“I like the way you watch me.” A smile flashed across her face, and he had to sit on his hand to prevent himself from reaching for her. Or worse, stroking himself to completion when it was obvious she wanted more from him than his instant gratification. If this was what she demanded, then he would offer it.
If he could.
“Is this an exercise in education or restraint?” he asked, unable to stop himself from staring hungrily at her as she touched herself, fingers sliding through the slickness that awaited them.
“It is an exercise in my pleasure,” she said. “Next time, perhaps you can do this to me.”
“Why not this time?” Even he heard the desperate whine in his voice.
“Because I want to learn my pleasure so I can better guide you. And how else ought I do it?” She drew a small circle across herself, and her entire body tensed. He watched the way her muscles rippled and breath caught, and if this was supposed to be letting him down further from the edge, then she was very mistaken in her intentions. “Would you prefer me to do it in a private room on my own, or would you rather watch?”
“I would much rather watch.”
“Well, then.” She sent a single finger inside herself, and her hips canted slightly. Now it was his turn for his breath to catch. “I see we are in agreement.”
Oliver watched as, with painful slowness, she brought herself closer to the brink, teasing herself with small, delicate movements. He read the flush in her cheeks, the quiver in her legs, the tensing of her stomach muscles, and knew she wasclose, even if she never quite let herself fall over the edge. It was torture of the most delicious kind, and he paid attention to every detail. He ached for her, so desperate that he would have handed over everything he might ever own just for a taste of her. Logic held no court here; all he knew was desire.
All he knew was Emily.
When she finally allowed pleasure to take her, she cried out, back arching as she shuddered and her fingers jerked across herself, lost in the intensity of the sensation. Oliver throbbed, overwhelmingly tempted to touch himself to ease the pressure—it bordered on pain. But with some effort, he restrained himself, and when Emily finally looked up again, it was to see him exactly where she had left him.
At her smile, he knew he had done right with this, at least. She trusted him, and he would never do anything to make her question that trust.
“I have never been so enthralled in all my life,” he told her as she came to straddle his thighs, both hands going around his neck. “But I warn you, that has done nothing to dim my enthusiasm for you. Rather the opposite, in fact.” At the brush of her thigh against him, he jerked, and she chuckled.
“I see.”
“Go slowly if you want me to last, darling.”
“I’ll be the judge of how quickly I go.” She slid closer, positioning herself above his erection, and guided herself down on him.
Hot. Wet. So slick, he felt her arousal coating him; he slipped inside with barely any resistance. At the feel of her inner muscles contracting, he grunted, bringing his arm around her hips and dragging them more firmly against his, careful to avoid his sling. With him seated fully inside her, she dominated his senses; with every breath, he took more of her in.
“Oliver.” She brushed at his hair, which had grown just long enough to flop across his forehead. Her eyes were big and starry, and he felt like he could see entire galaxies in them.
“Emily.” She shifted against him, and he groaned, trying to focus on anything but the idea of spilling. “In the future, I will do a better job of lasting.”
“Mm.” She bent her head and lightly bit the curve of his shoulder, just hard enough for the flash of pain to transform into pleasure. He throbbed inside her. “I rather like that you are incapable of holding back.”
“Oh no. I have held back, believe me.”
She trailed her lips across him, still remaining remarkably still—which was a good thing, because for all his talk of restraint, he knew it would take very little for him to tip over that edge.
