I lick the cream from her thigh, moving upward, the scent of her arousal overpowering the sweetness of strawberries.
When my tongue finds her clit, she screams.
It’s a guttural, unrestrained sound.
I lick her devoutly, alternating slow movements with quick, precise strokes, while my free hand slips inside her.
She’s tight. Hot. Sticky with desire.
“Fuck… yes… there…”
Her thighs crush my ears. The handcuffs clank frantically as she searches for purchase, her nails digging into the carpet.
“You’re sweet,” I murmur against her, before sucking again—harder. “You’re delicious.”
I feel her reaching the edge. Her body tenses like a drawn bow.
I pull away, moving up her slick, overheated body. My mouth is smeared with her and cream.
I kiss her, sharing her own taste with her, as I position myself at her entrance.
“Watch me take you,” I growl.
I enter her in one hard thrust as she opens for me, sliding into the moist heat that feels made just for me.
We make love there on the carpet, in a dirty, sweet rhythm, sugar still on our lips, the handcuffs a constant reminder that there’s no escape.
And I don’t want one.
Hour 16 – Nighttime Friction
I wake up in the middle of the night.
We’re spooning.
My left arm has slipped under Sloane’s neck, serving as a pillow, anchoring her to me. My right arm is draped over her hip, our shackled hands resting entwined on the mattress in front of her chest.
We’re an inextricable knot.
But what’s driving me crazy is the contact lower down.
Sloane is pressed into me. Her round, warm ass is glued to my groin.
And I’m hard.
Painfully, violently hard.
My cock presses against the curve of her ass, throbbing with every heartbeat, separated from her skin only by the thin fabric of my boxers—and the nothingness she’s wearing. The silk dress she put back on has ridden up above her waist in her sleep.
Sloane moves.
A slow, sinuous shift.
She pushes back, seeking warmth. Seeking contact.
She rubs against the erection straining my boxers.
A low, involuntary growl slips out of me as I bite into her pillow.
