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Lips on my neck.
Chest to chest.
Hair fisted.
Sting and soothe.
Fingers frolicking all over my pussy in a pattern I can’t predict, yet also the most harmonious tempo. I slump against him, my hands roving over his taut muscles, tracing the sinuous trail of his ink—a dark angel spanning his chest, compasses and code etched on one bicep and trickling around the dark angel, the skeleton of a tree frog on the other arm—simple yet elaborate in a way that speaks volumes about the man clasping me against him.
The scene is so damn erotic, naked and wading to the pattering tune of the waterfalls under the picturesque canopy of a freckled night. My vision clouds at the edges, mimicking the sky above with stars and shadows.
“Jesus,” I hiss. “So good. I’m gonna …” I whimper into his wet skin. “I’m gonna come.”
“Not yet, baby,” he contends, withdrawing his hand to encircle my waist.
The loss is shocking and nothing short of tragic. “What?” I pant. “Why would you stop?”
He chuckles and kisses my temple. “You got round one, Ace. I get the rest. Prepare to be wrecked.”
I scoff, subtly rocking my hips in search of friction. “You’d think letting me come would play a part in that.”
Rolling one of my nipples between his fingers to deliver a delicious tingle that zaps right through to the throbbing ache between my legs, he smirks. “Don’t be greedy, Carver. It’s so unbecoming.”
No time to respond because, as if we were one of those swing-dancing couples, he throws my legs off his hips and out of the water, catching them so I’m cradled in his arms—my knees draped over one, the other under my back, but snaking over to resume his massage on my clit. I tether myself to his neck, folded like a taco inside his mammoth reach, and any objections I have dissolve in the pool. My body immediately twitches in his hold, igniting with goose bumps, every muscle fraught with a volatile longing.
“I’ve got to get you somewhere warmer though, baby,” he says. “Hang on.”
His fingers keep cavorting over my clit and whirling inside me as he carries me out of the water, both of us dripping all over the travertine, my limbs heavy and trembling.
“Fuck,” I squeak, head lolling back in ecstasy. “Oh God.”
He smacks my pussy, and the bastard has the gall to wink when I gape at him.
“What the hell, Graves?” I hiss.
He tsks. “Keep it together for me, would ya?” His head shakes in admonishment. “Yelling and making a mess all over my arm. That perfect glistening cunt is gushing everywhere, baby girl. Really.”
And as the man holding all the damn power, he recommences his torture, pleasuring me into submission.
I miss the entire journey leading to his room, eyes watering all over my face, too heavy-lidded to open. As he drops me on the bed, I bounce with a flop, but can’t find it in me to care about my naked acrobatics because his mouth descends upon my aching heat.
“That’s it. Yes. Jesus.” I wouldn’t tell him, but allowing him to do this is an extreme act of trust for me. I don’t …
He licks and laps, his tongue rollicking with his own ferocious groans. God, I love to hear him ravenous for me.
My hips buck, so feral and crazed, fingers clenching his thick hair to glue him in place. Almost there. “Don’t you fucking move, Liam. I’ll smother you if I have to.”
He chuckles against me and stands. Asshole.
I bound off the bed with a homicidal hysteria, shoving my acrylic nail into his inked steel pecs. “I swear to God, if you keep this shit up, I’ll kill you and dry-hump your corpse.”
That sends him into his own hysteria, which he powers through for a good two minutes while I huff and glare. He finally calms himself and scoops me into his embrace, hazels nearly gold in this light, like a menacing lion, brimming with both amusement and possessiveness. Even in my orgasm-denial agony, I love his eyes on me.
His knuckles sail over my cheek, fingertips coasting down my jaw to splay his palm across my throat. “I’ve got you. But you need to trust me.”
I’m sure he simply means that in regard to our evening sexcapade, but it twists something inside me. I’m not in the habit of trusting people. But with Liam, on some level, I think I’ve trusted him for a while. Even when he was a jerk, he felt like a shield.
“You’re tormenting me,” I whine, “and I was fucking good to you.”
