“Yes,” I say, and the word leaves me on a rush of need.
He leans down, and his mouth finds my throat, my collarbone, the strap of my dress. He reaches behind me and drags the zipper down with such care that it feels obscene, and I arch into the slide of the fabric being pulled from my body. When my dress is gone and I take my bra off, I lie down and he climbs over me. I expect him to kiss me again, but instead he goes still, eyes taking in every inch of skin.
“You’re beautiful,” he says simply, his eyes focused on his finger sliding between my breasts. The way he says it makes me feel it in my soul. Then he looks up. “Every inch of you, so fucking pretty.”
“Off,” I say, reaching for his belt, breath hitching when he catches my wrists and pins them to the mattress—just long enough to make my lungs forget what they’re for—before letting go.
“Bossy tonight,” he teases, shedding the shirt, the belt, everything in a whirlwind of motion that shouldn’t be this sexy yet somehow is. He’s solid everywhere, all muscle and strength and careful hands. I shimmy further up the mattress and he follows. He begins to kiss his way down my stomach, and when he reaches my pussy, he looks up, eyes gone dark. “What’s the most times you’ve come in a night?” he asks.
“I don’t know…maybe three?”
“So my goal is four. You’re going to give me four, Katie.”
“Okay.” My voice is flat. This man is promising four orgasms? Fucking sign me up.
He lowers his head and the first swipe of his tongue nearly earns him my first. My hand flies to his hair. Every flick of his tongue causes my back to lift from the mattress a little bit more. He learns me in minutes, reading the way I tilt my hips, the breath I lose when he adds his fingers, the needy sound that rips from me when he curls them just right.
“Cam,” I warn, already close, already shaking. He doesn’t stop. He anchors me with his free hand splayed against my belly, mouth locked to me, and pulls me over the edge with a shudder.
His tongue slows and he places soft kisses on my thighs as I come down. Just as I’ve caught my breath, he flicks his tongue over my clit once before he slides a finger in and places a kiss, picking right back up where he left off.
“Oh, fuck, Cam.”
He hums against me, a mixture of moan and agreement. I’m so sensitive that it’s not long before I feel another orgasm creeping in. My grip in his hair tightens and it drives him harder. My legs clamp around his head, but he keeps a steady cadence. His tongue circles my clit one more time before he sucks and I lose my mind.
I feel his breath hard against my skin as he finishes me off. When his head rises, I’m gasping for air.
“Want me to stop? I’ll stay here all night if you want.”
I swallow hard. “Cam, I can barely open my eyes.”
“I hope that’s a good thing.”
I nod, eyes closed. “Ten out of ten.”
He laughs as I hear the sheets rustle. Opening my eyes, he’s sat back on his heels, his hand making slow strokes up and down his cock. I rise up on my elbows and watch for a moment.
I’ve always thought Cam radiated big dick energy, the way he walks, the way his quiet energy can fill a room, but fucking hell, the goods back it up.
“Cam, you’re big.”
He grins. “You’ll take it, Katie.”
“I need to say a prayer.”
“Pretty sure I’ll have you calling out to God soon enough when I’m deep in that pussy.”
He climbs up my body, lips shining, eyes intent. “Condom,” he says against my lips, practical even now, and reaches to the nightstand without looking, like a man who planned to be responsible even while he was trying to be casual. The soft tear of foil fills the room. He glides it down and looks up.
“Come here,” I say, pulling him in.
He leans over me, one hand on the mattress, the other on his cock. He slides the tip against my clit, both of our eyes focusing on the point of contact, watching as he glides up and down until he finally lines himself up. The first push steals both our breaths. He’s thick, a stretch that borders on too much and lands on exactly right. He holds there, forehead to mine, breath hot, giving me time to adjust, to want more.
“Damn it, Kate, you feel so fucking good. Are you okay?” he asks.
“Move,” I say, and he slides out and back in, stroke after stroke hitting deep, hitting home. Every time he thrusts forward, his chain sways above me. I officially declare that gold chains on men are slutty. Sexy slutty. Like a pendulum keeping rhythm with his hips. Every time he thrusts, it swings forward, only to slam back to his collarbone.
Fuck-yes. Fuck-yes. Fuck-yes.
