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His fingers play gently on my shoulder. Taking his time. Teasing me.
If I had my way, I’d already be out of the bath and bent over the marble countertop. I know that’s all I’d need to explode.
But he makes it clear that he’s in charge, and he’ll take his time, so I need to wait.
His fingertips trail to my neck. His touch is so light, but every nerve of my body feels it. Growing impatient, I push out my breasts, hoping he’ll touch them. I feel needy, hungry. His hand takes my cheek, and he leans in.
Not even the kiss is rushed. First, he breathes me in, his mouth so close to mine I can feel it, despite our lips not touching. He smells my skin while his fingers travel to the back of my head and get lost in my hair. When his lips finally meet mine, I revel in it. I want to put my head back, open my mouth wide, and take him all in, but I resist. Instead, I follow his lead as we softly build longing with longing. Soft, warm lips; slippery tongues slowly exploring one another. It’s so good, but I want more. I lever myself a little higher out of the water and push out my breasts again, trying to tempt him to touch them. He gently pulls away from me, eyes still aflame, and without breaking eye contact he reaches for an ice cube from the silver wine cooler.
He turns his attention to my breasts, and his subsequent expression says it all.
Best tits in London.
I don’t flinch when he touches the ice to the skin of my breast. It’s not the cold shock I expect—it’s more of a small, concentrated thrill. His right hand cups the other breast, his thumb resting on my nipple.
I close my eyes and groan. I can’t help it.
“I love that sound,” he whispers, voice gruff.
I love the way you touch me, I want to reply.
Eyes shut, lips parted, I savor the sensation of the ice cube travelling around my breast, willing it to touch my sensitive nipple, curious to discover how it will feel. He takes his time trailing it all over. I groan again. His grip on the other breast tightens, his thumb and forefinger squeezing hard, and at the same time, he pushes the ice into my nipple.
I exclaim. Shock, delight, pain, pleasure … they swirl together, not allowing me to fixate on any one of them. He eases off, and I laugh. I can’t help it. It was intense.
He pushes what’s left of the ice cube into my mouth, his fingers on my tongue.
He gives me a serious look and warns, “Don’t choke,” which makes me want to laugh again, but before I can, he has my cold nipple in my mouth and is sucking it hard. Almost too hard. Hard enough to make me think I’m about to come.
I exclaim again, louder this time.
He eases off. He is like a warm sea. Violent and calm and dark and light.
“I want you,” he growls, making my pussy twinge. Before waiting for a reply, he reaches right into the water—expensive watch and all—and hauls me out, lifting me over the edge of the tub and squashing me against his chest as he carries me back to the bedroom. The water soaks his clothes, but if he cares about any of it, it doesn’t show.
His muscles ripple, and his tenderness is gone. It’s the dark tide, now. He throws me down onto the bed and I relish being tossed around like his plaything. He is the black jaguar and I am his prey. I want to feel his weight on me. I want to be crushed by him. His eyes shine; his teeth are white. I want him to completely devour me.
Part of me expects him to ask if it’s okay.
Do you want to do this?
Can I touch you like this?
But that’s not his style. A jaguar doesn’t ask his prey for consent. Besides, my body holds all the answers to his unasked questions.
Yes, it’s okay.
I want to do this.
If you don’t touch me, I think I might die.
There is a whipping sound. I look up to see that he’s taken off his belt. I feel a thrill. I hope he doesn’t use it on me. Kind of.
I’m so turned on at this point that I would probably agree to anything. I’ve never been one for kinks, but this man could change that.
This man, I realize as he grabs me, could change everything.
Chapter 9
