Oh, I definitely want to.
I pick up the pace.
His hands clamp around my head, guiding me, setting a frantic, animal rhythm.
I don’t resist. I let him.
I suck harder, circle the crown with my tongue, tighten my hand around the base.
My body is on fire. My pussy throbs painfully inside the lace bodysuit, the pleasure of giving him pleasure almost unbearable.
I want everything. I want him to empty himself completely inside me. I want to steal his soul.
“I’m coming… fuck, I’m coming… take it all, Angel… drink me…”
His body goes rigid in a violent spasm. His abs tense hard beneath my hands.
I feel his hot release explode in my mouth, wave after wave, as he shouts my name—his voice breaking, his body shaking uncontrollably.
I swallow everything, greedily, still sucking until I’ve drained him completely, until he collapses back against the cushions, wrecked, panting, defeated in the sweetest possible way.
I pull away slowly, a thin string of saliva still connecting us for a single, lingering second.
I drag my tongue across my lips, tasting the last trace of him.
Then I rise to my feet—breathless, flushed, the black lace clinging to my overheated skin like it was painted on.
Cohen looks up at me from where he sits.
His hair is falling into his eyes, his chest gleaming with sweat, and his expression… God. He looks like he was hit by a freight train—and enjoyed every second.
He reaches for me, fingertips brushing the lace on my thigh with something that borders on reverence.
“You’re… you’re a damn devil,” he breathes, a worn-out, amazed smile tugging at his mouth.
I look at him—really look at him.
There’s no Joe. No humiliation. No noise from the outside world.
There’s only Cohen.
Only this man staring at me like I’m the one woman on earth capable of bringing him to his knees.
And in that moment, I feel like a goddess.
“I know,” I reply, giving him a crooked, deeply satisfied smile. “Now, Becker… I believe we have a gala dinner to attend.”
54
Ostrich Feathers, Small-Town Divas, and Aftershocks of Ecstasy
Cohen
Walking into a ballroom thirty minutes late with every pair of eyes swiveling toward you is usually my personal nightmare.
But tonight?
Tonight I feel like I’m walking three feet off the damn floor.
