Just like I’d asked for.
Hot and wet, he stroked the entire length of my exposed sex, teasing my clit with the tip of his tongue at the very end. My cry ended in a strangled groan.
That wasn’t a human tongue, but it wasn’t entirely feline either. He wasn’t trying to hurt me, but hewaspushing my limits. And his tight grip on my legs demanded that I trust him.
That was the name of this filthy game, after all. Half an hour when I wasn’t the boss. When I didn’t have to think. I could just…feel.
He licked me again and again, long and slow, and my groan became a guttural, inarticulate moan of pleasure. The sensation was strange, like nothing I’d ever felt. Not pain, but definitely sharper than any human tongue. I could feel every pronounced bump, and the sensation was overwhelming. All-consuming. It was familiar, yet strange, like he was speaking a new language full of beautifully sharp syllables I didn’t quite understand, and he was goddamnfluent.
His tongue circled my clit, each softly formed little hook teasing, and I tried to arch up toward him, begging for more, but he held me in place. Content to give only at his leisure. Unconcerned by my impatience.
My pleasure built slowly, and I whimpered, frantic for more, but every time I tried to express my frustration, he growled softly. The one time I moved my arm, reaching for his head in a moment of desperation, he stopped licking me entirely, leaving my swollen sex throbbing, abandoned.
I swear, I nearly cried.
“Please,” I begged, returning my hand to its position.
He rewarded me with the return of his tongue, but no faster than before. No harder. I could only wait, grasping desperately at each sensation as he slowly, slowly pushed me toward a blistering crest of pleasure.
Finally, he let go of one of my legs, and I gasped when two of his fingers slid inside me, searching for that slightly rough spot inside. He groaned when he found it, and the soft curses spilling from my own lips echoed the sentiment.
“Please,” I moaned again, and he began to stroke inside me with both fingers, while his tongue worked in beautiful harmony, and somehow, that rough sensation that had shocked me minutes before was suddenly not enough.
“Oh, god,” I moaned as my body tightened around him, pleasure surging toward a peak.
Then it all stopped, and I cursed the very hell that had spawned him.
Bishop chuckled as he lifted me, then laid me down in the center of the bed, my head on my favorite pillow. “Pa—”
“I will gut you where you stand if you tell me to have patience,” I snarled at him.
His laugh deepened until I couldn’t be sure, despite the heated mirth shining down at me in his eyes, that there wasn’t a hint of a growl threaded through the sound. “Does that mean you’re close?”
“A nice breeze would push me over the edge.”
“Well then, that’ll make this fun. For me,” he added with a wicked grin. Bishop leaned over me and lifted my arms until my fingers brushed the wooden slats of my headboard. “Hold on,” he ordered, and I was irritated at how eagerly my hands complied, gripping the wood as if it would save me from this torturous delay in my gratification.
Evidently satisfied with my position, he ran both hands over me, his work-roughened palms skimming my nipples, drawing another obscene groan from me. One hand slid lower, over my stomach then lower still, until his fingers stroked over my still swollen sex, teasing me mercilessly.
I moaned, gripping the headboard hard enough to make it creak as my hips arched up.
“Bishop…” I groaned when his fingers disappeared.
“Don’t worry, Marshal,” he whispered as he settled himself between my legs, lifting his hips out of reach when I arched toward him. “You’re going to get what you want. But you’re going to wait for me.” He finally lowered himself and rubbed the entire length of his erection against me.
“Why the hell would I do that?” I snarled, writhing to demand more contact. I’d tried delaying my release once years ago, as a doe-eyed girlfriend convinced that the best orgasm had to be a simultaneous orgasm. That peaking together would somehow magically bind me to the twenty-two-year-old idiot I thought I loved that month.
The reality was that I cooled down just as he was revving up, and he was much less willing to wait for me than I was for him. Which left me to finish the job on my own an hour after he left.
Lesson learned.
“You’re going to do it because I fucking told you to,” Bishop growled as he slammed fully into me, and I was reminded, as my body throbbed around him, desperately trying to keep him in place, that he wasnothinglike that clueless kid from years ago.
Cooling down with Bishop inside me was not going to be a problem. It wasn’t even going to be a possibility.
I clung to the headboard as he pounded into me, and there was nothing slow or gentle about it. Which was when I remembered that he needed this too.
He scraped against my clit at the crest of every stroke, as he rubbed that spot inside me relentlessly. In seconds, I was panting, writhing beneath him, unable to control the twitch of my hips. The clench of my legs around him. Even as I mentally fought the spiral of pleasure rapidly swelling within me.
