My grip tightens. I tug, tilting his head back, exposing the strong line of his throat.
“Now be a good boy,” I tell him, “and don’t keep me waiting.”
My words inflame him.
His hands are on me at once, sliding up my thighs, bunching the silk higher until it gathers at my waist. His fingers hook into my panties, drawing them down my legs and tucking them into his pocket. Then, his lips are soft against my bare skin.
He flicks his tongue against my clit. “Sweet.”
He slides lower, tracing down the lips of my pussy. “So fucking sweet.”
He parts them to expose my wet, pink center before leaning in to swirl his tongue around the deepest part of me. My hips buck involuntarily, grinding my pussy against his mouth.
Then, he’s guiding my leg over his shoulder to open me wider to him. This position makes it easier for him to push a long finger inside me, then another. All the while, as he’s pumping his fingers in and out, his mouth is latched onto my clit, alternating between licking and sucking, plunging me into a state of delirium.
I’m pulling everywhere at him, his hair and shoulders and neck, grinding my pussy against his face. He moans every now and then—especially when I fist his hair harder, rock againsthim faster—clearly just as eager to please me as I am to be pleased by him.
He looks so devastatingly handsome all rumpled and wet-mouthed on his knees. My mind is empty of all thoughts except of how much I love him…and how badly I need to come.
I writhe against his fingers and mouth, my orgasm just within reach.
“Make me come, Nathaniel,” I demand breathlessly, holding his face to my cunt. “I want it. Ineedit.”
So he does, his tongue licking in all the right places as his fingers massage that bundle of nerves deep inside of me. And in no time at all, I detonate. It’s a full-body experience, and I don’t know how I manage to stay upright.
I don’t have the presence of mind to even attempt to stifle my moans. Not with the way Nathaniel works me through it, coaxing a second, shorter orgasm out of me, his blue eyes pinned to my face the whole time.
When it finally ebbs, I manage a breath. “You did so well for me, my love.”
He looks wrecked. “Say it again,” he pleads. “Please—say I was good for you.”
A small, indulgent smile tugs at my lips. “You were perfect,” I tell him. “My good boy.”
The words seem to knock the wind out of him. His breath stutters and his eyes fall shut with an exhale, forehead coming to rest on my thigh.
“Only me, right?” His voice breaks on the question. “Tell me it’s only me.”
I cup his face, coaxing him to lift his head. My thumb traces the corner of his mouth, his lips still slick from my arousal. “Look at me,” I say. “You know it’s only you.”
He nods, but the motion is almost frantic. “Yes, I’ve been good,” he concurs. “I’ve beensogood for you. I made you feelgood. Please—pleaselet me have you. Let me fuck you. I need it. I needyou.”
He rises slightly, still on his knees, his breath breaking against the fabric of my dress as he reaches for me, hands trembling now not with want but with need.
I rest a hand on his cheek, caressing the hollow beneath his eye.
“Shh,” I soothe. “Of course you can have it, my sweet boy. You’ve earned it.”
The effect is immediate. His breath stutters; the words seem to unravel him from the inside out.
He rises quickly. His hands fumble at his belt as he leans in, mouth finding mine in an urgent kiss.
Then—footsteps.
He tears himself away with a curse, his body tensing just as a cautious voice calls out, “Mr. Caldwell? Mrs. Caldwell asked me to find you. They’re lighting the candles in five.”
I blink past the haze to see a poised woman in black cocktail attire standing a few paces away, headset glinting under the low light, clipboard tucked against her chest. I recognize her—the same PR assistant who had choreographed the red carpet.
She hesitates, eyes darting between us, and says, with forced neutrality, “Shall I…give you a minute?” Her tone is brisk but not unkind—the voice of someone who has interrupted worse.
