I expect him to push forward, enter me, but he surprises me by shifting his weight, pulling back. His lips continue their wandering path over my skin, moving over my throat with open-mouthed kisses.
My pulse is a frantic, fluttering thing against his tongue.
His hands continue their slow exploration. He traces the curve of my breasts, the sensitive skin of my stomach, the hollow of my hips. His touch is possessive, a silent claim.
"Look at you," he murmurs against my skin. "All flushed and ready for me."
My cheeks burn hotter. I want to cover my face, to hide from his knowing gaze, but I keep my hands on the headboard, my knuckles white.
His lips continue their exploration of me, moving lower still.
"How much of a virgin are you?" he asks against my skin.
"I—" I gasp. "I don't—"
"Have you ever had a man's mouth here?" he asks, his tongue tracing a path to my navel.
My hips lift off the bed. A choked sound escapes my throat.
"Answer me."
"No, sir," I whisper, the word a strangled confession.
His lips curve into a smile against my skin. "Good," he murmurs.
Then he's moving lower still, his lips and tongue tracing a path over my stomach, then over my most sensitive skin.
"How about here?" he asks, his breath warm against my aching pussy.
My entire body goes rigid. A strangled gasp escapes my throat.
"No, sir," I whisper, the words are an embarrassing confession of my inexperience.
"Good," he purrs. "I'll be your first for that, too."
And then his tongue is on me.
I cry out, my body arching off the bed, a bowstring pulled taut with pleasure. The sensation is overwhelming, a hot, wet heat that threatens to consume me.
His tongue is clever, skilled. He explores me, tasting me, learning me. He circles my clit, then flicks against it, sending jolts of pleasure through me. He laps at my folds, then delves inside, fucking me with his tongue.
My hips buck, my body moving instinctively, seeking more of the pleasure he's giving me.
My hands fly from the headboard, tangling in his hair, holding him to me.
He chuckles, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through me. "Eager, aren't we?"
My cheeks burn. I try to pull my hands back, but he stops me, covering my hands with his own, pressing them into the mattress at my sides.
"No," he commands. "Keep them here, at your sides."
Suddenly, his weight is off my legs. The cool air rushes in over my skin, over the wetness of my exposed pussy. The sudden change has me too confused to be self-conscious.
He's reaching for the floor and picks up... his trousers? No. His belt.
The black leather dangles from his fist, a dark, menacing promise of his earlier words. The buckle gleams in the soft light of the room.
My breath catches in my throat. Fear, cold and sharp, cuts through the haze of pleasure.
