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All I could latch on to was the fact he wasn’t saying no. Just “not here.” I clung to that bit of hope, still unable to stop myself from searching for relief, rotating my pussy over his bulge, wishing away the bulky fabric between us.
“I need to see you come, though,” he murmured.
Thank.
God.
“I’ve waited too damn long to . . .” He let his words trail off that time.
You’ve waited?
It was a flash of movement and muscle before he had me on my back, locked between his powerful thighs. His shirt joined mine on the floor. Then he removed the cross and set it aside, eliminating the last mental obstacle to taking what he wanted.
“Carter?” I wasn’t sure what I was asking him, but he seemed to know before I did, and he nodded.
He cocked his head, eyes dropping from my breasts to the waistband of my yoga pants. He shifted back and palmed my center over the thin fabric. “Will you stay quiet if I touch you here?”
My hips lifted from the bed, aching for him. “Yes.”
“You promise you’ll be good?” He set a hand to my abdomen, urging my body back down, taking control of the situation and me, and every cell in my body complied. “Tell me you understand. Let me hear you say it. This room isn’t soundproof. They’ll hear you screaming. And then I’ll have to cut off their ears for knowing how you sound when you come.”
“Operators need their hearing,” I reminded him, my brain apparently glitching, still a bit shell-shocked this moment was happening after he’d pushed me away earlier that night. My hands on the hard walls of his body offered more proof this was real.
“Tell me, angel, are you going to be good?” he rasped.
Angel? My panties were so soaked, more words like that and I wouldn’t be able to hide how aroused he made me. “Yes, I’ll be good,” I confirmed. “Quiet.”
He ran his thumb over the seam of the fabric. “How badly do you want this?”
“More than anything. I need it. Despite everything that happened tonight at the safe house that proved to be less than safe, all I can think about is . . .” You tying me to that chair. Your commands. My desire to obey.
“You’re not selling me on this that well,” he said hoarsely.
“No, please,” I begged. “Touch me. I swear I’ll be your . . .” I swallowed. “Good girl.” Panting words was officially a thing. At thirty thousand-plus miles in the air. “Whatever you tell me to do, I will.”
“Of course you will.” A dark smile cut across his lips as he held himself up over me. He rotated his hips, letting me feel how hard he was, capturing the small cry from my mouth as he lightly thrusted against me. If only he was inside of me instead.
He was testing my ability to behave and stay quiet, and I was seconds away from failing. Probably would’ve had his mouth not trapped a deep moan with his kiss.
My breasts smashed against his chest, and my nipples grew taut at the feel of his skin on mine. He dragged his mouth to my cheek, then over to my ear, shifting his weight to one arm.
He was going to touch me. Finally.
His rough hand traveled between our bodies, his palm slipping under the fabric of my pants and panties, and he hissed against my ear at discovering how wet I was.
“You have no idea how much I want to fuck your cunt with my mouth.” I’d never had someone talk to me like this, and I never wanted it to stop.
He pushed two fingers inside my tight walls, dropping his mouth over mine at the same time, sensing I’d misbehave and cry. He was right. This man’s skilled tongue in my mouth while he pumped his fingers inside me was beyond description.
“Oxy . . . fucking . . . tocin,” I murmured against his lips, feeling a little drunk.
He eased his lips back, removing his fingers from inside me, but continued to send me closer to the edge, the heel of his hand rubbing soft, sensual circles over my clit. “You said fuck.”
I bit my lip, hoping it’d come across as seductive and not goofy. “When the occasion calls for it.” At the sight of his sexy side smirk, I added, “I’ve never felt this good in all my life.”
His smile abruptly vanished, and he lowered his forehead to mine. “I’m a special brand of fucked up, angel.”
The words “angel” and “fucked up” didn’t exactly mix, and yet . . .
