“Darlin’, you want the whole package, believe me.”
“All of you?” I taunt. I bite my tongue to keep from asking,To get my money’s worth?It’s just a fantasy, I tell myself, ignoring the pang in my chest. But it doesn’t stop me from wondering how many times he’s heard that. How many times has he been belittled or made to feel cheap?
We have that in common, he and I. Different careers, same judgment.
“You want my mouth, my fingers, my tongue, and my cock.” His voice has a desperate, sandpapery quality to it. “Let me give them to you.”
How his words ache. How his body strains. How my core clenches as those images splash over the walls of my brain.His mouth on my breast. Midnight hair and his tongue buried between my legs.From the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair, I’m so ready for this.
“Let me taste you, Ryan. Let me give you a night you deserve.”
“You feel so good,” I whisper, not giving a damn for my breathy, porn-worthy words as I drop myself over him.Over his cock.“I’m so wet for this. So wet for you.”
“Show me.” This sounds less like a demand and more like a plea for clemency.
I fall forward, my nipples peaked and brushing his chest through my bra’s gauzy fabric. “How bad do you want that taste?” I whisper in his ear, closing my teeth over the fleshy lobe.
He hisses a curse, hips bucking, the heat of my pussy just out of reach. “So fucking much. Look at me—I’m desperate for you.”
And he is as I push up onto my knees, arching my back with intent, cupping my hand between my legs. Those lust-glazed eyes light up my pleasure center like the Fourth of July.
“Ryan, show me more.” His words sound despairing, like those of a man with an endless thirst. “Touch yourself, darlin’. Please.”
My insides pulse with longing as I slip my hand under the waistband of my panties, making a slow slide down. I make a soft noise as the pad of my finger reaches the wet ribbon of my flesh.
“Fuck, yeah. Yes.” His tongue swipes his lips, rendering them unbearably tempting. “Slip your fingers inside, beautiful.”
I close my eyes to his expression and the temptation of his voice.
“No, darlin’. Open your eyes. Watch me want you.”
And so I do. Our eyes connected, I touch myself, swirl and play, until I can’t stand it anymore. I fall forward, our kiss instantly hot and messy and frantic.
“Let me.” His fingers loop my wrist, his eyes bright as he brings them to his mouth, licking them clean, the sensations and the scene making my body buck. “Take off your bra,” he demands as he works those digits like his favorite sucker.
“Who’s in charge?” I whisper, dragging my finger down the ridges of his abs. “Who’s on top?”
“No doubt about it, darlin’. But I thought the aim was to torture me?”
So much temptation in his expression. If he was a work of art, and he kind of is, I’d name the pieceDistracted Desire. Maybe because it seems like he doesn’t know where he wants to look the most. I’m not sure I help his conundrum as I slip one hand behind my back and flick open the catch, then slide the straps down my arms.
“Jesus.” He blinks before his head drops back, and he stares at the ceiling for a beat. “I fucking knew it. Teardrop tits.”
“I beg your pardon?” I almost reach up to cover them. But I guess he’d like that too.
“You have teardrop tits. The shape so perfect, they make a man want to weep.”
“No need to cry,” I croon as I lean closer teasingly. I don’t even complain when he fills his hands with them, putting his thumbs to good use.
Complain, no. But moan . . .
He puts his clever fingers to work, learning me. A soft swipe of his thumb, a delicate roll. A tight pinch that rides the delicate line between pleasure and pain. I slide my hands into his hair, offering myself up when he takes my wrists, pulling them to the small of my back. The position changes the dynamic immediately as I go from torturer to captive. But I don’t care, and the only protest I make is when he licks his thumb to paint the moisture over my nipple.
“Oh, God.”
“You’re so sensitive.”
I shiver, the result of his soft-blown breath. But he’s not unaffected, as I note the pulse jumping in his neck. Anticipation shoots like stars through my veins as he lowers his head, and I whimper, though not from an expectation realized, as Matt presses his teeth to the curve of my breast.
