His mouth consumes my pussy, deeply, deliberately, as if he’s still kissing my mouth. As if my clit is my tongue and his tongue is dancing with it to steal my soul from my body.
“God, you are so delicious,” he says against me, his breath tantalizing. I need more of that, the heat of his words vibrating over my skin.
“I’m so wet for you, Dom. I need you,” I say.
“What do you need from me?” he asks, and it sends more waves of warmth through my skin.
“Your cock. Inside me. I need to feel full with you. Taken by you. Claimed by you,” I tell him.
“Mmm…” he murmurs, and the hum radiates through me.
I moan and tilt my hips toward his mouth. “Dom. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” I beg him, and he takes hold of my butt, bringing me closer to his lips, deeper in his mouth. His tongue flicks against my clit with propeller-like speed until my toes curl and my hands grip onto his shoulders until the release finally takes me.
Dom finishes me the same way he started, with a shower of kisses. Starting from my inner thighs up my belly, over my breasts, past the curve of my neck until he claims my lips again. He pulls back, his eyes searching mine.
“I want to be inside you,” he says.
It’s sultry, sensual, and sexy as fuck. It sends a burst of urgent desire through me. I reach down and take his hard, smooth cock in my hand. With a firm grip, I stroke him until he grits his teeth and groans.
With Dom hovering over me, caging me against the bed, I run the tip of his dick against me, teasing my skin with his, waking the nerves again. I don’t want to rush it. I don’t want any part of this evening to be over now that we are alone. I shut out the rest of the world. I want the ache. To edge myself. To make it last forever.
“Fuck, Mila,” he groans into my neck. “You keep doing that and I’m not going to last long,” he chuckles.
“Can’t handle me?” I ask with breathy snark as I continue rubbing the smooth, soft head of his dick against my clit.
“Oh sweetheart, I can handle you. The question is, can you handle me?” he asks.
“I can handle you.” I answer, my voice a velvety contrast to his growl.
“Every inch of me?” he asks with a lilt of challenge in his voice.
I blink slowly, my gaze filtering through my eyelashes, and then I press his tip to my opening and raise my hips upward, driving the length of him into me. Both of us groan at the depth of the penetration, and he buries his face into my neck and hair.
“Goddamn, baby girl,” he grits, and I let out a small, desperate whimper.
Then our hips glide in rhythm. I press my hands against his chest, pushing him away, because I want to see his face. I want to watch him as my pussy tightens around his girth. I want to see the beads of sweat on his silver-flecked temples, dripping down his nose to drop on me. I want to smell him, taste him, to be the only one with him.
“Fuck,” he says, rolling his hips against mine, thrusting himself deeper with every push. There is no end of me or beginning of him. It’s as if I am so full of him, so consumed by him, there is nothing left of me.
“Faster,” I tell him before daring to say, “Harder.”
Dominic bears down, grunting with wild eyes of determination, and his hips pick up the pace to a fierce speed, crashing against mine until I am writhing on the bed. His arms flex next to me ashe holds himself in a push-up, his abs defined and hard, rolling with every drive.
Finally, when I am certain I can’t handle him anymore, when I think he just might split me in two, ecstasy rolls through us in hot electric currents, consuming us with every surge. Dominic collapses on top of me, his lips pressing into the soft spot of my neck below my ear.
After a moment of trying to catch our breaths, he rolls onto his side and wipes the sweat from his brow.
“Damn,” he says when he’s finally capable.
“Yeah,” I whisper, drawing small circles on his bare chest. “Damn.”
Chapter 34
Dominic
“How about this?A vineyard wedding in Sonoma. Rolling hills, a beautiful Airbnb. On-site catering and, of course, all the vino you could want,” Andrew says as he turns his laptop towards me. We are sitting in the coffee shop below the office, looking for wedding venues.
“It’s nice,” I say. “But she doesn’t drink much. She didn’t even have a glass of champagne the night of the proposal.”
