“That’s what you said the last time too.”
And that was the crux of it. Something about this position, one of inherent power… It left Kit with a contradictory determination. Instead of remaining content to allow me to direct my own pleasure, he saw this position as an opportunity, a need really, to wring every ounce of pleasure from my body until I was nothing but a wonderstruck nerve, brainless and weak. The result was incredible, as was the journey. But I was always a little nervous to begin for reasons I could never articulate.
“Davina? Yes or no?” he pressed, gaze catching mine.
The answer had never once changed. I couldn’t foresee a situation in which it would.
At my wrung-out “Yes,” my husband’s hand fell to my waist and dragged me up his chest. Once I hovered, needy and exposed above his too-smart mouth, the hand moved to my arse with a quick squeeze before pulling me down.
There was no hesitation, no gentle teasing touches—no, my husband feasted. Manners did not exist here. The sights and sounds had no place in polite company. His tongue slipped inside, meeting no resistance, chasing the source of my nectar with a groan.
The hand beneath his head slipped free, reaching for mine. He laced our fingers together for a gentle squeeze before directing them to his already mussed curls. My brilliant husband timed the touch of my hand to his head perfectly, shifting his attention to the source of my pleasure at the same moment.
Without permission, my fist tightened, pulling him closer. I felt his pleased smile against my soaked flesh and tugged once again in punishment. Predictably, he groaned in pleasure at my wordless reprimand. The vibrations echoed through my flesh, converging in my lower abdomen.
The beard covering his upper lip and chin prickled against my skin, a sharpened bite to my already sensitized sex. As always, the sensation ripped breath from my body, my abdomen tensing.
Seven years of marriage had left Kit with a profound and visceral knowledge of this intimate area of my form—perhaps better than my own. He used it to his advantage in this moment, guiding me closer to that inevitable peak.
No sooner had his hand slid from my waist to tease at my entrance while his tongue worked my pearl than a familiar tightening began to bloom in my belly, a matching hope growing in my chest.
Perhaps this time, this time a single climax would be enough to satisfy my husband. One glance at the heat in his gaze shattered that illusion. My husband was going to destroy me, in the best possible way. Once wouldn’t be enough for my Kit, not tonight.
Anticipation tightened in my chest while his tongue swirled with the perfect pressure. Pleasure snapped through me, a blinding white overtaking my vision.
Sense returned quickly. My hand was tangled in Kit’s curls, pulling rather too hard. The other was wrapped around the edge of the chair, keeping me upright. My husband’s mouth was still across my sex, a comforting presence as he allowed me a moment to find breath.
One by one, I loosened the fingers in his hair. He pulled back for a quick breath.
“Chair was a good idea. Well done, you.”
“It was your?—”
Words abandoned me when Kit slid his fingers from my channel. And then back in. Out. In. Somehow finding an expert rhythm and a teasing twist as his lips returned to that bundle of nerves at my apex.
His free hand slid to my waist, rocking me gently against his flat tongue in time with his fingers. Slowly, he urged me onward. A little harder, a little faster with each thrust, dragging me back up that hill. My heart tripped along after my body, struggling to keep up.
It didn’t take long for my fingers and toes to clench and with one quick suck of his lips, my back bowed, stars shooting across my eyelids with a cry of his name.
When my senses came back to me, he was merely breathing against my overwrought sex. From experience, he knew I would be too sensitive for more. Even this, the caress of his warm breath, sparked tiny shocks of pleasure that left me twitching.
“Can you give me another?” he whispered, dark eyes trapping mine beneath my trembling thighs, slick with our efforts “For me?”
My vocal chords refused to cooperate.
“Please, my love?”
I wasn’t certain I could give him another climax. But IknewI wouldn’t survive disappointing him. Not when he asked so sweetly.
Finally, in a tremulous voice, I croaked an affirmative. His groan was barely audible, delivered against my center as his tongue slipped inside. His now free hand pressed bluntly against my jewel, the cool gold of his wedding band, a soothing balm, steady, sure, mine.
Sweaty curls clung to my forehead and neck as he ripped pathetic whimpers from my chest, a sweet harmony with his hungry groans and the obscene sounds of his tongue in my slit.
As he caressed me impossibly softly, I could feel the pleasure rising again, soaring through my veins.
My body ceased to obey me, it was his to command. Even my breaths were not my own. Inhales came in great desperate hiccups, before air rushed from my lungs without permission.
I was a bow drawn tighter and tighter with every measured, musical thrust of his tongue, every press of his palm.
