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His mouth was tight with craven need for her, and horrible shyness. He was so. . . everything.
She tilted her hips, so his uncertain eye was drawn again to how much she wanted him, cherished him.
She wanted to see him spurt over her in a moment of wild absorption, lacing the beautiful sculpture he had done on her pelvis with further proof of his devotion to her.
"Come closer, down on your knees," she commanded, and spread her thighs to let him fit between them, giving his avid gaze a full view. "No, don't put your ass on your heels. I want you standing on your knees as long as they'll hold you. " A wicked grin crossed her face, though the corners of her lips trembled with something more feral.
He had gorgeous thighs, muscular from outdoor work. His right calf had a serpent dragon coiled from ankle to knee. From the tender joining crease of pelvis to mid-thigh, a tattoo of a sword had been stenciled. The jeweled hilt was drawn just below his hipbone. A latticework of ivy and pale gold flowers twined around the blade, and at its point the greenery twined into a tight vee that curled up into a dime-sized upright pentagram, a symbol of the elements and protection, which anchored the work on the inside of the thigh, just below the heavy nest of testicles.
Once again, though the work was beautiful, she wondered at the artist who had not recognized perfection when it was plain before their eyes, needing nothing to adorn it. Her lips curved. If it were up to her, and at least for this weekend, it seemed to be, she would have him walk around naked all the time to admire.
He had a fine silken triangle of dark sable around his standing cock that she would dearly love to run her fingers through. But later. For now, she held herself still, and watched.
Marcus had slid out his legs on either side of her so now she was cradled between his thighs. She felt his blatant, impressive reaction pressed against her lower back. Lauren reached up a hand and pressed it to his jaw, and smiled at the absent brush of lips against her pulse, with a hint of teeth, but her eyes did not leave Josh. She was sure his did not, either.
"You let him touch you easy enough," Josh growled, desperation behind the snarl. "When I could touch you and mean it. "
His words shot pure fire through her vitals, but she kept her expression cruelly bland. "Put your eyes on my pussy, Josh," she said. "Don't take your eyes off it. I want you to watch it grow wetter with every stroke of your hand on yourself, watch it drip on the sand, all for you. "
He groaned. She knew he was not aware that his hand began to rub his shaft as she spoke, primitive instincts overriding the mind's embarrassment. She knew because he jerked, startled, when he realized it, but at her encouraging murmur, his hand settled to its work. That loose curl of fingers that showed how well men knew their bodies, just as women knew their own, the right pressure to stimulate themselves to orgasm. The pressure up his length that pushed the loose skin forward, creating friction against the velvet steel beneath. It worked his hips forward and made his breath quicken, get more harsh. Clear fluid collected on the tip of his cock and a drop fell, landing on the sand design, then another, this one landing on her clit, a tiny kiss that made the flesh quiver.
Marcus's hands moved, cupped the outside of her breasts, pushing them together so the drip castle he created tumbled in on itself. He spread the sand across her skin, rubbing the grit gently into her nipples, the rough texture stiffening them further. Josh's eyes flicked up to them, his tongue coming out to wet his lips.
"Stop," she snapped, albeit a bit breathlessly.
His hand froze on his cock, quivering with its longing to continue, his body vibrating. He was so close; she could feel it like a heavy haze in the air, the stillness before an explosion.
"Where is your gaze supposed to be, Josh?"
He dropped his attention to its proper place, while beads of sweat rolled down his shoulders.
"Tell me. "
"Your pussy," he said hoarsely.
"You disobeyed me, Josh. " A soft smile curved her face as Marcus continued to knead, cup and lift her breasts like water. She allowed herself a little mewl of pleasure at the sensation and wiggled her ass in the sand. She chuckled softly at the rumble of frustration, almost a whimper, from her submissive. "If you don't do it again, I will forgive you and let you continue. Will you do it again?"
"No, Mistress. Fuck it, no. " There was a primitive fervency in his voice that made it rough as gravel.
"You're just so beautiful. "
"Then you are forgiven," she purred. "Continue. And I don't need to remind you that you need to ask before you let that bad boy go over. "
"No, Mistress. "
"Then keep going. You are the beautiful one, Josh," she added quietly, with fierce sincerity as she watched his intent features, the renewed movement of his hand. "You cannot imagine how watching you do this makes me feel. You'd drown in how wet I am. I'm adding to your sculpture already, aren't I?"
His head bobbed once, a jerk, and his breath hitched.
She loved it, loved bringing him to the edge of control with nothing but words and the sight of her spread, aching center. She could have offered Jonathan this, if only he had wanted it. Her vision faltered and for a moment she was uncertain again, almost self-conscious, then she heard him moan.
"Please, Mistress. . . I need to. . . "
She used his need as her rope, and pulled herself out of that quagmire.
"Ask me, Josh," and she trembled with the anticipation of it, every vibrating nerve ending screaming at her to unsnap the leash.
"I - want - to. . . come," he gasped, every muscle of his body flexing with his effort to maintain control.
