‘That’s it, sweetheart,’ he growls, ‘ride my fucking face.’
My palms pressed to the mirror I begin to come apart. Little by little. Lick by lick. Kiss by kiss.
Just when I think I can’t take any more, he twists me, the cold glass not quite as shocking as the way his dark gaze flicks across my body, owning every inch of me. He bends forward, placing a reverent kiss on the dainty triangle of hair between my legs. Another, then another, as he works his way to my centre where he kisses me as he would my mouth, every press of his lips and swipe of his tongue driving me to that unseen edge.
‘You’re so fucking delicious,’ he growls as his tongue solidly strokes, opening me, his whole mouth licking, sucking, devouring. ‘You’re going to come for me, sweetheart.’
‘I’ve never.. .’ I’ve nevereverdone this kind of stuff. Felt this kind of ecstasy from a man’s touch.
‘Sweetheart, you’re almost there.’
‘But—’
‘It’s mine. And you’re going to give it to me.’
Oh, God. Commanding Archer Powell is so sexy. That voice and those masculine grunts and growls, it’s like I’m the best flavour ever, the vibrations of his enjoyment adding another layer to my ecstasy.
‘Archer,oh. .. oh yes!’
My back arches from the mirror as I anchor my hands in his hair. I’ve never known a sensation like this, which is just as well because I’m certain this is how addictions begin.
I’m close—so close—the noises I make raw and beseeching. I’m panting and crying and chanting his name as it all becomes too much, as I struggle to break free from his hold, he continues to work me with mercilessly with his tongue, the sudden thrust of his fingers pushing me violently over the edge. As an encore, he groans into the very core of me, effectively killing me.
Yes, killing me.
I am dead.
And I’m pressed against the mirror.
And I’m not sure I’ll ever function as a human again, not as his palm presses to my thigh as he pulls back to look at me. His lips and chin shine in the low light making everything twitch inside me.
‘Y. You. Look very pleased with yourself.’ I think I say. I’m pretty sure those were the signals my brain sent to my mouth. Oh, God, the way he’s looking at me, maybe I asked him to do that again.
He rolls his bottom lip inward, the light in his eyes nothing but wickedness.
‘Is that your idea of a compliment?’
I nod. I feel like my gaze should have one of those signs they have on buses.
NOT IN SERVICE.
‘Good. Because we’re not finished yet.’
I’m not quite sure how I make it from the mirror to the bed, but the next thing, I’m looking up at him as he pulls the wallet from his back pocket. He flips a foil square to the mattress, dropping his wallet to the nightstand.
‘You came prepared.’ My voice is hoarse, like I’ve been running.
‘Your observation sounds like a complaint.’
I shake my head. It’s almost like I don’t have a quip or a retort left in me.
‘Now I know how all of our arguments will end.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, now I know the key to making you submit.’
‘In your dreams,’ I say with the kind of somnolence that speaks of bedtimes.The sleepy kind.
