Only this time, it wasn’t a kneejerk response.
It was as considered about anything as she had ever been.
“The last one, oh yeah, the last one, that one,” she said, and the second she did, it was like something justwent. As if a wire had been pulled too taut between their locked gazes, and her words took it past the point it could stand. She spoke them, and it snapped. He stood, so fast his chair clattered back into the wall.
Hard.
She actually saw the legs punch into the plasterboard. The whole thing hung there, at an angle, like something that had been nailed in place. Then, just as she was busy goggling over that, he swept the table. He sent the plates and food and glasses flying, all in one go, and before they’d even finished smashing and spattering on the linoleum, he had his arm around her waist.
Honestly, she didn’t even know how he did it.
The table seemed enormous—until he reached over it, and simply scooped her right up. Right out of her chair, all in one move, and every part of it so fast she had to whip her legs up as he hauled her across. She wasn’t sure how he avoided her heels dragging over the wood.
But he did.
She felt nothing but air, motion, his big arm around her. Andthen she was sprawled on the table in front of him, her legs spread around his body before he’d even tried to make that happen, one hand bunched in his robe in a way she didn’t even recall doing. She didn’t recall at all.
But she was sure glad of it now.
It meant she had something to hang on to when he shoved her skirt up. All the way up, exposing absolutely everything as he went. Like he wanted to see it all under the bright kitchen lights—the tops of her stockings, that bare strip of thigh, the clear shape of her swollen sex through that material.
Only for some reason, he didn’t look down as he curled the elastic of her panties around one finger. He looked into her eyes. He held her gaze, all the way through the slow but firmly done slide of that silk over her thighs. Almost like a challenge, she thought. Like he was waiting for her to admit she hadn’t meant it.
Even though he had to know she had.
She could feel the bloom of heat in her cheeks, so thick and rich it had to be visible. It wasn’t even just confined to her face. It had started to spread the moment she realized what he intended to do, and now it was pretty much covering her throat, her chest. And she knew that chest was exposed enough to see.
She was breathing so hard, and arching her back in such a lewd sort of way, that the top button of her blouse had popped open. That was the curve of her cleavage trying to burst out of the gapingVthere. Truly, she could not have looked more like an eager slut if she’d tried.
But still, he waited.
He went slow, slow, slow.
Hours seemed to pass, and her panties were barely halfway down her thighs. It was honestly all she could do to not put her hand over his and urge him on. Or put her own hand between her legs, to ease the ache she could already hardly stand.
Though it was good she didn’t in the end.
Because it meant she got to hear him break the tense silence.
“Say the word and I will be yourservant,” he said. So she did.
She told himplease, please.
Then watched as he dropped to his knees. Half of her already delirious at the idea of what she had thought he would do. Now forced to reckon with the idea that it was more. He was going to do more. He was going to put his mouth between her legs, she knew he was.
Yet she still wasn’t prepared when he did it.
Because the thing was, he didn’t just lick, the way she had always imagined this would go. He didn’t just go directly to theonswitch, and flick at it until things worked. He leaned down like someone sinking into a smooch. And then he actually did just that. He pressed his lips to the seam of her sex, in this slowly rolling sort of way, until that seam parted under the gently urging pressure.
And then somehow he was kissing her clit.
Really kissing it, as if this wasn’t just something he was happy to do. It was something heliked. Something he luxuriated in, and to the point where her pleasure almost seemed incidental. It was just him reveling in her cunt, moaning low and deep as he did so, one hand on her lower belly, the curve just above her sex, to keep her close, close, close.
Truly it took her a while to realize what else that hand was doing.
Because it all felt so good, it felt so intense. She felt pretty sure she was going to get there—and that was really more than enough for her. But then he seemed to just kind of press down. He kind of rolled the heel of his palm over her there, until it almost urged her against his mouth.
And Jesus, the way it intensified every single sensation.
