He groans his appreciation as he sends a tremor through my body, his confident strokes turning me inside out. “You’re delicious.”
He loves my body. He loves sex. He makes me feel so confident. I buck my hips, thrusting into his palm.
“More,” he whispers. He barely needs to say a word. My body has a mind of its own, desperately seeking his touch—the touch that only August can give me. I’m sure of it. It’s that magical, world-shaking touch. And it’s happening again, already, like he trained me for it last time, implanted some seed, something he’s coaxing out of me that I never knew was there.
His tongue lashes against mine, hungry, desperate for me. His hand works me even as I fuck into it. That same vibration runs along my neck, over my shoulders, down to the base of my spine. It’s like every nerve is vibrating with pleasure, boiling up inside me with each thrust.
He bites down on my earlobe, whispering, “I need to taste you.”
I moan in desperate agreement while he kisses his way along my collarbone, but I still protest, “No, let me do it for you. Please.”
He bites me so hard I cry out, then licks the spot where I hope he left his mark. His hand slides out of my jeans, then they both wrap around my hips, and he shoves me back.
There isn’t a thing I’m not prepared for. Literally anything. This man could…
Get up… and walk away from me?
What the actual fuck?
It’s pathetic how needy I am, like he’s got a leash around my neck. I’d heel at his word.
Jesus, why is that suddenly such a hot idea?
But August only flicks the lock on the door, then turns and leans his back against it. His shirt’s open, showing off his smooth stomach, his belt cinched tight, his dick bulging against his nice woollen trousers. “Come here.”
He does not need to ask me twice.
I love the way his eyes drink in every inch of me as I stand, try to walk as seductively as I can, and not at all run to him like the desperate whore I am.
I press an arm to the door above his shoulder, waiting to see what he’ll do.
He takes his time, running an index finger around my right nipple, then down the centre of my chest, watching as it goes, making me shiver all the way down to the button on my jeans.
“Undo it,” he commands me.
I use both hands, undoing the button, unzipping, then I drop my jeans to the floor with my boxers, stepping out, perfectly naked for him.
“You’re magnificent, do you know that?”
“Then you must be too.”
He gives me a smile, a soft kiss, then drops to his knees. My cock is in his mouth before I even find time to brace myself against the door.
He’s not starting slow. He’s got me halfway down his throat, sinking his fingers into the flesh of my ass, wrenching me into him. My hand slides over the oak grain, then I smash it back into the wood, trying to get a grip, to not crumble into him.
The sound of him taking me is pure filth, erotic and delicious, fast and depraved. Sexy as all hell. I wanted him like this. I’ve dreamed about him like this. I’ve come at the thought of him like this. And now it’s happening, and I’m not remotely prepared.
But I know what he wants. He told me on the phone, and there’s no way in this world he’s walking out of this room without getting exactly that.
Fixing one sweaty hand against the door, I lower the other to his hair—his beautiful, thick and dark hair, that until just recently I thought was so much nicer than mine—and I sink my fist in. The rumble of enjoyment runs from the base of his throat, through my hard cock, pooling in my core. “You like that, don’t you?”
I pull his head back, desperate for a view of him taking me. His eyes slide up to meet mine, and I arch into him, rolling my hips forward. Every minute spent on this body was worth it for the way he watches me. The pure lust in his eyes.
I force my cock a little deeper into his throat. His hand slips down to cup my balls, and I try to smite the pleasure by fucking a little deeper into his mouth.
This actually does nothing to lessen the pleasure.
But I’m hoping if I can just concentrate…
