What the hell was that?
I’m panting and floating down when he gingerly lifts me, setting me upright in the chair and tearing my panties off. He orgasmed me stupid because I’m thinking a lot of things that I can’t muster the brain cells to utter. Not complex thoughts. Most hover around,What now?
And he answers that for me by staying on his knees, throwing my legs over his shoulders, shimmying his hands beneath me, and meeting my swollen core with a languid stroke of his flat tongue. He dives in, consuming every drop of my arousal like a man who’s been fasting, parched and insatiable.
I wince and writhe, doubtful I can take another—not his brand of climax that strips me of all my faculties.
My heart thunders against my sternum and eardrums and temples when I insist, “I can’t.”
“You’ve got another,” he rasps in that authoritative tenor of his. Though there’s no masking his on-the-verge-of-losing-it drunkenness.
What would it take to make him feral and crazed?
His tongue disappears inside me, and the sight is so damn erotic that a salacious whimper escapes me. My hips buck, and my clit rejoices, declaring the veracity of his claim. He nips at it, and a spike of sensitivity, which is both abrasive and satisfying, racks through me.
Even though I’m halfway to another climax, I can see how hard he is, and it doesn’t seem fair. I want him to feel good, to come, to know I can do that for him. “Let me take care of you.”
He shakes his head, but glances at his watch and reconsiders. “We might have time for that, but you owe me at least one more.”
Oh, that’s right. He has somewhere he has to be.
He thrusts three fingers into me, stretching me and filling me while his mouth peppers playful pecks against my heat, coaxing me back to the edge. It’s such a tight fit—agony and ecstasy crammed together.
He’s still fully dressed while I’m naked and splayed before him with the illuminated city surrounding us and his family beyond the door. He pumps into me so vigorously that my breasts bounce and my stomach muscles contract and the sloshing sound of my arousal permeates the room.
My involuntary moans, proclaiming the height of my climb to the summit, become so clamorous that he shoves two fingers from his free hand into my mouth until I suck those on his silent command. He keeps me quiet and tests my gag reflex, all while caressing that coveted spot inside me.
“You are right to assume I want you to submit,” he says, his sapphires planted on me with a wicked enjoyment of my tortured pleasure. “And I’m not opposed to utilizing pain, but I far prefer to offer rewards and incentives. Sometimes, those things align.”
Rewards? Incentives?Maybenext timereally is a possibility if he’s telling me how he does things. And the mere prospect has me gyrating into his hand and mouth and teetering on the ledge of a blissful cliff.
I murmur against his finger gag, announcing my impending peak.
The hand inside my pussy whips out to smack my clit with a delectable sting that melds pain and pleasure before he plunges back inside me. Rough and relentless.
That does it. I suck and groan around the fingers in my mouth, coming like I’ve never come before. A violent surge of tranquility.
My vision clouds, a vignette haloing the man bestowing an otherworldly expedition. Losing all modesty, I fist his hair, gluing his mouth to my cunt as my back arches, my quivering legs hooking behind him for more leverage, my eyes watering from the intensity.
A euphoric tempest with a galvanizing charge lifts me up. And every fiber of my being, every cell, every hair on my damn head heeds the contradictory sensations ripping through me.
Rigid to relaxed.
Stretched to slack.
Alone to held.
I’m flying and floating and soaring and shaking. And baffled at how he touched places that were frozen, iced over by a life of cold resolve to always carry a stone. It kills, or it rescues, depending on how you view it, but it’s heavy all the same.
“Fuck,” he hisses, watching me intently between feral samplings. “The whole goddamn room glows when you come. So pretty.”
His praise trickles down my spine like hot wax, decimating any remaining chill. He’s gorgeous—his eyes molten and black and his scruff glistening with my arousal. I blink at him, at a loss for words, so blown away by his generous intimacy that I just want to hold him. To help him carry whatever stone is weighing him down. But I know that’s not what this is, and I don’t want to send him running.
So, I pull my legs off his shoulders and slink to the floor with him, cupping his balls and dragging the heel of my palm over his erection to the melody of his untethered groans.
“One night.” I don’t phrase it as a question because I can’t bear to appear needy, but I hold my breath that he’ll correct me.
He studies me for a beat, staring at my lips again, before confirming my fear. “Yes.”
