He cups my head in his free hand. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
The touch is meant to be gentle, but when he closes his fingers in the loose strands, he unintentionally pulls on the roots.
A shiver skates down my spine. Heat accumulates in my belly. My need flares like sparks from a fire, my body coming alive for him just from that innocent bite of pain.
At the same time, somewhere in a distant corner of the lustful fog that obscures my reason, his comment registers. Does he think he’ll take advantage of me if we have sex because I’ve lost a part of my memory?
My answer is to go on tiptoes and kiss the corner of his mouth. The sharp intake of his breath is all the encouragement I need. It shows me I still have an effect on him, and the knowledge gives me confidence.
Holding his gaze, I take the glass. He lets it go, studying me as if he can’t decide if he should push me away or eat me alive. I press the rim against his chest and slowly tip it.
He stands like a statue, keeping one hand in my hair and balling the other at his side as the alcohol touches his skin. The scotch spills over. It runs in a rivulet between his pecs and over his flat stomach before the cotton of his briefs absorbs the liquid.
Leaning closer, I trace the path of the alcohol with my tongue. He watches me lick my way down his body with savage hunger burning in his eyes. I slide down until I’m on my knees, letting the glass drop onto the carpet. I don’t care if it breaks. All I care about is us. This. So I do it. I shove his pants with his briefs down his hips and free his cock.
He’s hard for me. I’m eager to taste him and desperate to show myself that this beautiful, powerful man is still mine. We’ve done this before, but it feels like it’s been a while when I lock my fingers around the thick base and swirl my tongue around the crest.
He spears his left hand into my hair and clenches his fingers until he’s bunching handfuls of curls between both fists. “Christ.”
I explore the embossed veins running along his length and the velvety crown with my tongue, kissing him at my leisure before sucking him into my mouth.
“Fuck.” He tightens his grip on my hair, pulling harder on the roots. “You’re killing me.”
The sensitive spot between my legs pulses with an ache that echoes in my core. I take him as deep as I can and stroke what I can’t fit into my mouth with my hands.
When I hollow my cheeks and graze him with my teeth, he utters another curse and rocks his hips with a sharp thrust that pushes him to the back of my throat. My eyes tear up. Saliva runs down my chin as my gag reflex kicks in, but I don’t fight him. I keep still, allowing him to take the lead.
He pulls out and lets me breathe, but he only gives me a second before he pumps through my lips again.
The restraint he held on to burns away with every punch of his hips. He holds my head gently and fucks my mouth hard. The dirty sounds that escape my lips should embarrass me, but they only make me burn hotter for him.
“Enough,” he says through gritted teeth, pulling his cock from my lips so violently I would’ve fallen backward if he weren’t cradling my head in his hands.
The man I love so much is gone, and the demanding beast I adore even more is back in his place. He hooks his hands under my armpits and hauls me to my feet. I utter a shriek as he hoists me up, forcing me to lock my ankles behind his ass to keep my balance.
He dives for my mouth, kissing me with desperate, hungry strokes of his tongue as he carries me to the bay window and lowers me onto the seat. Kneeling between my legs, he bends my knees and spreads my thighs wide.
My back hits the window. The skirt of my dress pools around my waist, exposing the thong I chose this morning with Dante in mind. I was hoping he’d find it sexy, and from the way he stares at the white triangle of see-through lace covering my sex, the underwear is doing its job.
I can’t remove it, not with my legs spread. My breath catches when Dante tears the skimpy thong off with his teeth. His mouth is on me before I have time to gasp, his tongue teasing my clit and dipping between my folds.
Oh, yes.
I moan.
I missed this. I missed him.
He slides a finger inside me and flicks his thumb over my swollen clit. “Is this what you want?”
My reply is breathless. “You know I do.”
He gives a few torturously slow pumps. “How do you want it?”
“Like this. Like you always do it.” Because he knows exactly what I need.
He buries his head between my legs, keeping his finger inside me as he alternates between nipping and sucking my clit.
I thread my fingers through his hair and hold on as he brings me to a quick, merciless orgasm. As always, the release is explosive, but I know he’s not done with me.
