Placing my hands against the back of the sofa, he murmurs, ‘Don’t let go.’
Three words, commanding and caressing in equal measure, desire spiking in my veins.
His thumbs stroke my peaked nipples before he bends to run the point of his tongue across each in turn. It’s so hot seeing him lick me, his body bent in an elegant arch, accentuating our size differences, making me feel incredibly fragile. Dainty. Through thick lashes, his gaze crawls up my chest to my own. I close my eyes and I whimper as his tongue continues to swirl.
‘Keep them open, I like that you’ll watch.’
Oh, God...
Fingers touch and tease where his mouth is lacking, hurting almost, and heightening the need between my legs. Fevered sensations swell through my skin; I want to reach out, run my nails across his spine, share the perfect agony, but somehow his words and manner keep me in place. Not that I’m quiet as he increases his focus, his mouth hungry against such a sensitive place.
‘Please!’ I cry out.
In one fluid motion, he drops to his knees.
Panting, I become aware, as I stare down at him, that he’s still fully clothed while I am wearing nothing but knickers and heels. Not the usualshow me yoursfollowed by a reciprocation. I’m almost naked in front of a hot man.On his knees.
His ravenous gaze makes me feel wanton, provocative, and brave. I part my legs a little as he hooks his fingers into the elastic at my hips, pulling my underwear down to my knees. Sitting back on his heels, he appraises me through hooded eyes and long, dark lashes, his breath a soft caress. It all feels so good—his eyes, his breath, his watching me.
I close my eyes and let the sensations flow through my body... then I remember my hiatus from waxing. How mortifying; my nether regions haven’t felt the tear of wax in months.Wasn’t Barbie-bare the new thing?Though trimmed, I probably look like a cavewoman in comparison and begin to stammer, attempting to close my legs.
‘Shh,’ he murmurs, hands firmly on my hips. ‘It’s a little retro, but so very...blonde.’ What begins as a teasing admonishment sounds more like appreciation, almost a groan.
My embarrassing train of thought is no more.
As he leans forward, brushing his nose against me, I’m surprised my legs are still supporting me at all. I’m bound by my underwear, my arms have slid across the sofa and my chest is thrust out. Shackled by my own longing, feelings coalesce and consume: I feel vulnerable, erotic, indecent... a confusing mixture of thrill and disgrace. I fight the deep-seated instinct to squirm under his gaze as he deftly pulls the scrap of cloth the rest of the way down my legs. Catching one foot, he widens my stance and I whimper as he parts me, stroking a finger along my slick ribbon of flesh. Barely a touch, his finger moves backwards and forwards, igniting every nerve ending. My legs tremble and I close my eyes again, pressing my lips together in some pretence of control, gasping as he bares my clit. I cry out and arch my back at the sudden invasion, his fingers lowering before pushing inside.
‘Wet,’ I think he says, though the sound is more of a masculine groan. It’s almost as though the evidence of my arousal is some source of awe. His fingers drive in deeper, repeating again and again as his eyes watch my face, moving to where his fingers work me and back again. ‘Such sweet lips. I don’t know which I want to kiss most.’
My brain breaks right there. Misfiring synapses interrupting service. His words aresoarousing.Auralsex; unfamiliar but so very effective, vindicated by the pulsing between my legs. Driven by instinct, and an increasing need, my body moves in rhythm with his fingers, hips thrusting and matching his pace.
As he places both hands against my hips, I actually groan—unhappily—before making a whole series of different noises when his hands slide around to my arse, pulling me toward him. Toward his face. His tongue strokes my swollen flesh, opening me. Licking and sucking.Devouring.
He moans, and as I’d imagined, the sound reverberates through my insides, pushing tiny noises from my throat. With a hand behind my knee, he lifts it over his shoulder. My fingers tighten on the sofa back, something hot and sleek rushing through me, his tongue merciless in its assault, flicking and driving circles around and around my swollen clit. I writhe and moan, the sensation explosive as he brushes the inflamed bud with his lightly stubbled chin.
‘Oh, please, Kai!’ I rasp, meaning bothplease stopanddon’t you fucking dareas he takes the sensitive flesh into his mouth, sucking and grazing it exquisitely with his teeth.
The noises I make are raw and needy, my body stiffening, driven over the edge into climax. Imploding, exploding, I arch with my hands at his head, struggling for freedom from his mouth; the feeling is so intense, I almost can’t take it. But Kai doesn’t give me the choice as he continues to hold me, pressuring me with his mouth and coaxing my orgasm further. My flesh is electrified, every nerve ending screaming for release. It seems impossible that I can feel more, but I do as he groans into the very core of me, drawing my orgasm out. I’m frayed. Whimpering. Supported by the back of the sofa and held in place by the man between my legs, I’m torn between it all being too much, and somehow, just right.
With a last tormenting flick of his tongue, he releases my over-sensitized flesh, sitting back on his heels and lowering my leg.
‘The ladder,’ he rasps, his tongue briefly tasting his bottom lip. ‘I’ve been imagining what you’d sound like when you come.’
I close my eyes, hiding from my wetness glistening on his chin. I’m panting, all jellied legs and heaving chest. The only reply I have is a further series of mewls of pleasure and, I think, lament. I’ve never really listened to myself come and I’m not about to start now. Of course, I don’t know whether to be embarrassed that he’s mentioned it, or thrilled.
A wet kiss at my navel startles me, his hands cupping my butt as he moves to stand. I’m too blissed out to protest as he lifts me. I cling to him compliantly, though I’m mindful of the sharp point of my heels that I realise I’m still wearing.The only thing I’m wearing.
Lowered to a huge bed covered in crisp linens, I watch through heavy lids as he pulls off his shirt. His hair is a mess from my hands, his shirt bearing a damp badge of my wetness at his waist. And while he’s hot in his clothes, as he peels out of them, he’s a visual treat. Skin as I’d imagined—caramel tan over defined muscle—fine hair trails from his navel, disappearing into his pants. Up until this moment, I’d never believed the term happy trail as an appropriate one, but I’m willing to bet at the end of that path stands something to make me very pleased.
My eyes follow his hands as he pulls loose the fly of his pants.
‘You look lovely. Relaxed, thoroughly fucked.’
I bite my tongue to prevent pointing out the obvious. Depends on your definition, I suppose. Not that I’m complaining. Hell,I’m way too full of endorphins to reply.
‘Content,’ he continues, aiming a roguish smile my way.
Resting a hand against the nightstand, muscle sinew and veins stand to attention as he reaches into a drawer. My body betrays its sated state, my own muscles tightening low. Holding a small foil packet, he tears the corner with his teeth.
