He massages my clit with his thumb, circling the bundled nerves and drawing me to the edge of the world without a single care for what comes when I fall.
“You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re like this.” He adds a third finger, brutally stretching me wide. A promise of what’s to come. “So fucking beautiful when you’re falling apart.”
“Don’t stop,” I pant, sliding my palms over his chest. Tracing hisnipples with my fingertips. Memorizing his shape with nothing more than touch. “God, Ollie. Don’t you dare stop now.”
“I’m only just starting.”
My first orgasm hits like a punch to the stomach. Hot and raw. Aching and perfect, as shockwaves pulse from my core and out to touch every nerve ending I possess. My fingers tingle. My knees shake. The headache I’ve nursed since that first day in the hospital grows louder, a reminder of who I am and how I got here. But I don’t dare focus on those details. Instead, I ride my wave of pleasure and fill Ollie’s broad hand with my release, his grunt of approval enough to spur on a second wave until the cold, sticky feel of my pants clinging to my legs threatens to send me insane. The sound of my own release dripping to the floor becomes an aphrodisiac I never knew I’d respond to.
I lean into him, whimpering and shakily tugging his shirt up. I want to see him, too. I want us to be skin-to-skin. Heart to heart.
“Ollie—”
“Sweetest sound I ever heard.” He releases me and shrugs his shirt off, tossing the fabric aside and catching me again when my knees would have me topple to the floor. Then he drags my pants and panties down, holding my hip and helping me step out of the fabric. Balling my underwear, he brings them to his face and buries his nose in the moist cotton. He trails his tongue over the soaked crotch and sends me wild with need. Then grinning, he crashes his lips to mine, probing my mouth with his tongue and slamming his fingers into my pussy again, drawing me so easily to the edge of my sanity.
“Gonna fucking devour you, Rosaline.” He crushes me against the wall, one hand at my throat, just heavy enough to restrict my breathing. The other between my legs, wringing me of every last drop I can give. Then he picks me up effortlessly, swallowing my squeal of delight and wrapping my legs around his hips. He walks to my bed, unsnapping my bra with an easy flick of his fingers and tossing the simple cotton aside, then he lays me back, but he holds my legs exactly where they are. Wrapped around him.
He’s a god staring down at his disciples. An Adonis whose gaze makes me beautiful. He trails his fingertips over my belly. My hip. The thatch of hair covering my pussy. Then with a wicked grin, he fists my wet panties and stuffs them between my lips.
My eyes flare wide in stunned surprise. Uncertainty. Hesitation.
But he trails his fingers over my throat. Between my breasts. Over my nipple, squeezing and elongating the tip until I fear I might explode.
“Your hands are still free, Rose. You’re not tied up. Not powerless.” Dangerous, devilish eyes swing up to mine. “You can remove themanytime you like. You can still say no.” He folds over me and pushes my jaw up, closing my mouth with unquestioning demand. “But you’re gonna keep them in there otherwise. I know you like tasting yourself.”
I moan, dizzy and desperate for more.
“Nod, Rose.” He drags his thumb over the hollow of my throat. “You like it, don’t you?”
Breathless, I tilt my head. Nodding.
Pleased, he blinks, blinks, blinks in the soft light, his lashes coming down to kiss his cheeks. Then he slams his pants-covered cock against my core and hums his pleasure. “Fuck. I don’t know that I can be gentle.” He slips his thumb into my pussy without warning, vibrating and happy when I scream and writhe. My stomach tenses and my spine arches. My entire being is primed and dying for fulfillment. But he takes his time, rotating his thumb and curling it back to attack my most sensitive places.
Reaching into his pants, he nudges the loose fabric down and reveals his cock, the purpling head, and the thick veins spreading all along the shaft. “You have no clue how many times I’ve thought of this.” His hips jut forward, impatient for more. “How many times I’ve looked you in the eye and acted like a gentleman. But in my mind, I was fucking you until I had no strength left. When you’d cry in fear, scared and clinging to me for protection, I imagined turning your tears to ecstasy. Which issofucking inappropriate.” He circles his cock with his palm, squeezing until the veins in his neck bulge and throb. Then he slides his hand to the tip, pulling back to the same rhythm as his thumb, and repeats, his lips tugging into a devious grin. “This is almost like the real thing.”
“God,” I pant, grunting past the panties in my mouth. He left my hands free for a reason, but instead of using them to pull the fabric out of my mouth, I reach down and finger my clit, choking on the sharp intake of air my lungs demand.Fuck.
“You like that, huh?” He strokes his cock, quickening his pace, and prying my legs apart, he drops to his knees and buries his tongue inside my pussy.
“Oh God!” I cry out. The words are muffled. He probably can’t even decipher them. But I know what I’m saying. I know what I’m feeling.
He fucks me with a hungry, desperate thrust of his tongue, his hand moving to the same pace so I know he brings himself along for the ride. Then he shoves my leg back toward my chest, shamelessly opening me wide, and staring down the length of my body, his blue-eyed glare hungrier than a wild animal, he dips his tongue into my ass and groans when I tense and scream. When I come on an explosive release, drenching us both and drawing him back to drink every last drop I give.
He’s smug. Smirking. Arrogant, while his arm pumps and his cock grows thicker.
“You still with me?” His eyes sizzle, even as mine glaze. His touch intensifies, even as my legs grow slack and my body turns lazy. “Rosaline?”
I try to speak, only to remember my panties. So I nod instead, whimpering and breathless.
Satisfied, he inches forward and suckles on my clit, forcing my legs impossibly wide to make room for his broad shoulders. He slides his tongue along my slit, nibbling on the uppermost section of my thigh, and drawing himself closer to orgasm, he grunts and takes a moment for himself. Squeezing his eyes closed. “Fuck.”
“Ollie.” I take the panties from my mouth and wait for his eyes to flicker open. Then I shake my head. “I don’t want you to come in your hand.” Hooking my palm around his neck, I pull myself up and balance on the very edge of the bed. My stomach rolls from bad posture, my breasts are exposed, and simplythere. Right in line with his sight. Reaching between my legs, I press my hand over the top of his and stop his movement. “Please don’t come without me feeling you.”
“I’ll get the first one out,” he rasps, surging forward and latching on to my nipple. “First one’s gonna be rough. I won’t be able to control myself. Second will be easier.”
“I want the first one.” I cup his face and force him back, the desperation in his stare enough to make a woman fall helplessly obsessed with securing that same look a second time. With taunting a powerful man and reducing him to nothing but a puddle of want. Of need. “I want you to be rough with me.”
“Rose—”
