‘Put your fingers inside. Open yourself up to me.’
It should sound disgusting and dirty, but it doesn’t. It feels intimate, like a secret shared or a pleasure owned. I slide my hands down my stomach, one hand making aVover my lady bits, sliding them farther apart to pull the skin aside.
There is only the stillness of the room. My arousal. The sound of our breathing, and Mac in front of me, his eyes unmoving from where I bare myself.
‘You’ve got a very pretty pussy, Ella.’ My skin prickles as his gaze crawls up my body, eventually capturing mine. ‘Anyone ever tell you that?’ I shake my head.
‘How many people have seen this pretty pussy? More specifically, how many men?’ I feel myself frowning. People watching—anonymous and amorphous neighbours watching us get it on is a turn-on. Not the mention of doctors or old boyfriends. ‘Did your previous daddy see this pussy, Ella? The man you worked for in France? Have you been flashing this cunt anywhere else?’
‘No.’ My denial sounds more like a groan as his breath caresses my heated flesh.
‘You’re sure?’
It doesn’t sound like a question, more like an accusation. One that has me wrapping a hand in his hair. I forcibly tilt his head back, his dark, angry gaze intent on mine.
‘In Paris, I worked for a woman,’ I say carefully.
I don’t have time to process the relief in his expression, or wonder where this has come from, as Mac leans forward and kisses my clit. Yes, kisses it. Just one soft movement of his lips that pushes a sigh from my chest.
‘Don’t move your fingers,’ he instructs. One hand on my pussy and one still in his hair, my whole body melts. With the flat of his tongue, he laps. With the point of it, he flicks as he sets to work making out with my pussy until I’m writhing against him, desperate for relief. Arching my back from the glass, I participate the only way I can. Wrapping my fingers in his hair, I push against him as he envelops my clit with his mouth, sucking and swirling, licking and flicking, releasing and repeating again and again, until words have no meaning and thoughts don’t exist. There’s just sensation, heat, and need, building between my legs.
‘That’s so fuckin’ sexy,’ he says, his accent rougher now. ‘I can’t wait to feel you around my cock. But for now, my good girl, come fuck my face.’
My body quakes, his words and actions just too intense. I run my hands through his hair, touch my breasts, desperate for the white-hot pleasure to crest as Mac fucks me with his tongue and I hump his face.
When I think I can’t take any more, he hums his pleasure, the feeling and the meaning behind his articulate noise almost too much to bear.
‘That’s it. That’s fucking it,’ he growls against my hot flesh. ‘You taste like fucking honey,’ he says, parting me farther and setting straight back to work. ‘Give it to me.’
My skin feels alive and electric, everything outside this moment insignificant or irrelevant. It’s too much—I can’t take it. I want him to stop, to never move from between my legs again, but I can articulate none of this.
My breathing is rapid, my chest heaving as he slips one finger inside me. He sucks me into his mouth, and I detonate. There isn’t another word for it. Not one powerful enough. Everything goes white around the edges, blinded by heat and ecstasy.
‘Oh, Jesus Christ.’ I place my hand on his shoulder, once I remember I still have hands, noting the one still twisted in his hair.
‘I need you inside me,’ I pant as he licks his way up my body. ‘Please, no more waiting. I need you to own me.’
‘Now you’re talkin’,’ he whispers, his tongue flicking out to lick my kiss-swollen mouth, painting me in my own arousal.
Then I’m in his arms and he’s carrying me to his bedroom. And I don’t complain about being too heavy. Not once.
Mac lays me on top of the dark grey quilt. I’ve been in his bedroom before but never with him. A king-size bed for a king-size man. Whitewashed woods and pale rugs, but that’s not what I’m looking at now. Not as he loosens the buttons on his shirt.
He toes off his boots, then his belt buckleclinks, the leatherwhooshingas he pulls it free from the loops. Who would’ve thought those sounds would have such a visceral effect. My nipples stand to attention, and I think I might sigh as he hooks his thumbs into both pants and black boxers, sliding them down his legs.
The sight of him naked in this darkened bedroom is raw and erotic. A broad chest and arms the size of some girls’ waists. Abs that look like one of those wooden instruments teenagers play in school.Is it a glockenspiel?
‘What are you smiling at?’ he asks, smiling himself.
‘I’m wondering what sound you’d make if I touched your abs.’
‘Give me a minute and we’ll find out,’ he whispers hoarsely.
‘Shush, stop speaking. I’m taking inventory,’ I reply, running my eyes across his powerful V and the long line of his thighs. The powerfulVof his hips.The seat of his power.I’d read the description once in a romance book. By the looks of things, Mac could break me in two. And God, I want him to.
‘Saving the moment for posterity?’
‘Totally committing your magnificence to the annals of history.’
