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“No,” he growls. “I’m not wasting my seed. Every last drop of it belongs in that eager pussy.”
He moves his hand savagely against my soaked center, grinding my panties against my lips and my clit. I gasp louder, longer, a song of pleasure that I can’t stop singing as he moves his whole arm like a piston, powerful and impossible to resist.
“Fuck—fuck,” I gasp as he suddenly jams his hand down my waistband and finds my bare sex, his finger fused against my clit, rubbing, pleasing.
“That’s it,” he snarls, leaning back so he can watch me twitch and writhe. “Oh, fuck, Sadie, that’s it. You look so fucking good right now. Keep moving like that.”
“Like—this?” I breathe, not even sure what I’m doing as my pussy tingles and somehow grows wetter.
“Perfect,” he whispers, slowly inching his hand away from my sex.
I pause, using the opportunity to suck in a breath. “Why did you stop?” I whimper.
“I want you to wait, Sparkplug,” he smirks.
“You evil man,” I laugh with a strangled quality to my voice.
“Sometimes,” he grins wolfishly. “I just love to see how badly you want it.”
“Ah,” I cry, twitching when his finger brushes lightly against my clit … only to draw away again.
“Beg, Sadie,” he growls.
“Please,” I moan, loving the way his gaze enflames at my words. “Please, Saul. Flame, please—”
I throw my head back and scream when he presses against my heat again, this time sliding two fingers inside of me and moving them in a whirling wet motion of ecstasy.
His fingers dominating me, pushing me up against the wall, my whole body twitching and writhing under the force of him.
The pleasure breaks inside of me and my orgasm let’s loose, my thighs clamping tight around his hand to trap him there, in that heaven-filled place.
“Yes,” he snarls, pumping his hand. “Fucking hell. I wish I could watch you cream forever, my perfect virgin.”
I deflate as it passes, gasping in breaths. “That was …”
“Perfect,” he groans, stepping back with a smirk. “That was better than perfect, Sadie. If I didn’t want you to wear my gift so badly, we might be skipping dinner altogether.”
“Wear your … Saul, what are you up to?”
He takes my hand again. I feel my wetness on his fingers, but I don’t care, even if maybe I should.
The closer we can get, the better.
He leads me to my bedroom and nods down at the bed.
“I had it specially ordered last night,” he says.
“I could never wear that,” I mutter, staring down at the lacy red dress.
It’s the sort of curve hugging dress I’ve always steered clear from, not cut insanely low, but not long either. The lace moves across the cleavage, meaning that there would be a dignified amount of that on display, too.
Dignified, that is if another woman was wearing it.
“Why not?” Saul demands. “You’ve got an incredible figure, Sadie. You’ve got the most smoking body I’ve ever laid my goddamn eyes on. Why shouldn’t you flaunt it once in a while? You don’t have to wear it, though. You never have to do anything.”
“I want to,” I admit. “It’s just scary. I know how silly that sounds.”
“It doesn’t sound silly,” he says, looping his arms around me from behind, bringing his face down so that we’re cheek to cheek. “Holding you like this, it’s so easy to imagine you pregnant. I can already feel kicking.”
“Saul, don’t you dare—”
Too late.
He starts tickling my belly as I squirm and giggle and dance in his embrace, and finally swivel on him, giving him the mother of all pouts.
“Seriously,” I say, all smiles from the tickles. “Do you think I could pull that off?”
“I think you’d be the sexiest woman in the restaurant if you wore dungarees and a lumberjack shirt. But with the dress, Sparkplug? Nobody has a chance.”Chapter SixteenSaulAfter arranging a dog sitter for Jasper, I drive us a hundred miles away from Marchway, to a large town called Icy Falls, named for the waterfall that runs into the nearby lake and, apparently, once remained frozen solid for three full winters sometime before the Civil War.
As I drive through the winter-dark landscape, I have to focus hard to keep my eyes on the road, made sparkly by my high-beams.
The temptation to turn and drink in the sight of Sadie in that red dress is almost overwhelming, and if I didn’t take driving so seriously I know I’d give in to it.
Even so, I risk a glance now and then, refreshing her majesty in my mind.
The dress hugs her hips and then slides up to her cleavage and down to her thighs, the outline of them beneath her black tights somehow even sexier than if they were bare. Now I can torture myself with thoughts of peeling those tights away, slowly, inch by inch as she whimpers and begs for my manhood.
