His smile is all darkness as he shakes his head slowly. “One more try. You know what I want to hear.”
I do. I know exactly what he wants to hear. “Sir,” I whisper, unwilling to broadcast my own submission any louder.
There’s a second where I’m not sure if I’m imagining his mouth on mine or if it’s actually happening. Then I feel the vibration of his moan. His lips are hard, like the rest of him, demanding that I give in, demanding that I open for him. When I do, his tongue sweeps inside, and I can taste so many things at once—the salty sourness of his saliva, the faintly minty taste of his tongue. His stubble rasps against the sensitive skin around my mouth.
I drown in the sensation and taste and smell, burning with the need to be closer. His hand sweeps down the lengthened side of my body, stopping at the lace cups of my bra to slide his fingers underneath.
When he breaks the kiss, I whine at the loss. I don’t care why he’s stopping; I just know that I want him to keep going. I jerk my hips, tilting my pelvis towards him, and make a needy noise.
His smile is knowing, triumphant, and oh, so dark. He pulls up the center of the bralette until both my breasts tumble out, the air cool on the overheated, delicate skin of my nipples. He pauses a moment to stare in a way that makes me squirm, then his eyes flick back up at me.
Hooking his finger into the middle of the bralette, he tugs it all the way up to my lips. “Open.” My jaw automatically drops for him, and he pushes the material past my teeth. “Hold this. If you let go, I’ll stop.”
I bite down when I feel the fabric against my tongue. Now, I’m holding my bra out of his way so he can grab one of my breasts—big as his hands are, it’s far frombig enough to circle all the way around the thickest part of my tit—and muffling myself when he squeezes and I cry out.
He dips his head and takes a swollen, hard nipple into his mouth, and my eyes roll back. A fresh wave of arousal crashes over me, and I moan, feeling strangely freed by the gag I’m voluntarily holding in my teeth.
His tongue swirls around the tip, and his teeth scrape against it. I feel like I’m spinning. “Harder,” I plead, but it’s not the sound that comes out through the lace and satin in my mouth.
If he understands what I want, he ignores it, and sucks gently. Then, he moves to the other breast, leaving one nipple taut and pebbling in the cold air. His fingertips roll the sensitive bud as his mouth takes the other, repeating the pattern of smooth tongue, scraping teeth, cold air.
I’m wet at this point; I have to be. My body doesn’t normally make much lubrication on its own—thanks, anxiety meds—but I’ve quite literally never been this turned on. My hands dance around in their prison, wanting to touch and feel and grab onto something so I don’t float away.
He straightens. “Eyes on me, love. You’ll watch me as I touch you.”
In response, my whole body clenches at once. As his fingers dip lower and lower, leaving a wake of goosebumps, my pulse races, and I widen my stance for him so he can get between my thighs. I almost drop the bra from my mouth as his fingers skim over the lace covering my pussy and every muscle in my stomach quivers in anticipation.
His eyes widen as he feels the wetness that has seeped straight through. “Fuck,” he whispers, reverent and desperate.
He hooks the crotch of my panties with his index finger and moves it aside. We both make choked noises when he slides between my lips. His blunt fingertips strum against the hard little nub of my clitoris, and my body jerks against his hand. A breathy noise escapes me, and the bra slips from my mouth.
He instantly retreats, pulling back. “You want me to stop?”
“No!” I gasp, scrambling through the brain fog and distracting way my body is burning and aching. “No, I just dropped it. Please don’t stop.”
His lips twitch, and he cocks his head, the confusion melting back into heated interest. “So she can be a good girl and ask nicely for what she wants.”
Irritation tightens like a whipcord, and I start to argue, but I’m cut off.
As though from out of space and time, a shrill alarm suddenly sounds, piercing right through the cloud of arousal. We both stiffen, and he pulls back, letting me go. He gives his fingers an almost perfunctory suck—like he needs to clean them, and how else would he?—before he reaches for his back pocket to grab his phone. Apparently he has two.
Reeling as if I just woke in the middle of a dream, I fix my bra as he reads something that makes him curse. “It’s one of my alarms at the safe house.”
I know that look. He’s going to leave. Right in the middle of what we were doing. “Something… urgent? Life or death?” It must be if it’s more important than this. Than me.
He glances up from his screen, and his scowl melts off his features when he sees the look on my face. He reaches out to cup my jaw, stroking the edge of my mouth with the side of his thumb. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Stay here—inside. You’ll be safe for now, just… Stay away from the windows and don’t answer the door for anyone but me.”
I can’t stop my eyes from rolling as I jerk away from his misplaced pity and concern. I’m notafraid;I’m wound so tight I might snap. I’m fuckingtremblingwith need, and he’s going to leave me high and dry. He’s not going to finish what he started. Again.
“Bold of you to assume I’ll answer the door for you.”
He eyes me, but doesn’t try to argue. He must be in a hurry. “At least load your gun, all right?”
I make a noncommittal noise. I mean, obviously I’m going to—I’m not stupid—but I don’t want him to think it’s because he told me to. And I still want to know how he knew it wasn’t loaded.
I shuffle out of the way of the door as he shoves his feet into his boots and collects his jacket. As he grabs the knob, he throws me a look over his shoulder. “And Madison?”
I brace myself for the sheer devastation I know is going to follow whatever he says next.
