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His chuckle was a low breath of arousal and denial.
His hands caught her wrists, dragging them back up his body. “This time, I get to savor you. ”
“No. Dawg. ” She shook her head, moaning at the thought of what she knew he intended. What he had done that first time before taking her.
“Yes. Crista,” he growled.
Then he was drawing back from her, lifting her before turning and stepping to the bed, tossing her to it before he followed.
He didn’t give her time to protest what she knew he wanted, what she wanted. His hands immediately spread her thighs, pushing her knees up as his head bent to the wet flesh aching for his touch.
“Oh God. Dawg. ” She arched, she moaned, as his tongue licked slowly through the saturated folds. “Yes. Oh yes, I need this. ”
She needed. She hungered for it.
He growled against the swollen curves, licked, his tongue moving with velvet roughness around her swollen clit as she stretched beneath him, arched to his mouth and did nothing to hold back her cries.
“You taste like fucking summer. ” His voice sounded angry. Harsh. But she knew that voice, it wasn’t anger that drove him, it was a surfeit of lust that poured from every cell of his body.
Dawg couldn’t believe how sweet and hot she tasted. Smoother than whiskey, yet more potent.
Sweeter than candy and more addictive than drugs.
He buried his tongue in the sweetness, licked and sucked at it, tried to draw enough of the creamy syrup into him to sate himself on the taste of her.
If he could ever sate himself. With each lick, each taste, he only burned for more.
“Dawg. ” She twisted beneath him as he drew the fragile bud of her clit into his mouth in a long, firm kiss. A tiny suck, a flick of his tongue before he released it.
“More,” she whispered breathlessly. “I like that. Oh I like that so much. ”
“How much do you like that, sweetheart?” He was dying for more of her. He smoothed his fingers along the saturated curls, feeling her syrup cling to them, tasting the sweetness of her against his tongue as he licked around the swollen little bud of her clit once again.
“I love it,” she whimpered. “Oh God, Dawg. I love it. ”
Her clit throbbed against his tongue, almost as fiercely as his cock was throbbing in his jeans. He was wild for her, driven by a hunger that made no sense to him, that had his senses consumed by her, his muscles tight with the need to taste her, touch her, fuck her.
She belonged to him.
And where that thought came from he had no idea.
But it was there, suddenly so much a part of him that it sent a hard shudder racing through his body.
“I can’t breathe,” she panted, arching, writhing beneath him as his hands held her still. Her voice was soft, light, echoing with her own hunger.
Dawg lapped at her; his tongue slid through the soft folds, ached for bare, creamy flesh all around.
She would be visiting the spa soon, he assured himself. He needed her soft pussy bare to his lips, so sensitive that his breath washing over it would send her to the brink of climax.
As he moved lower, the snug little opening that drew him clenched and fluttered against his tongue.
Sliding his hands under her hips, he lifted her higher, closer, then sent his tongue burrowing into the sweetest flesh he had ever known.
Crista knew she was losing her mind beneath his touch. Stars exploded against the backdrop of her closed eyes and sent her arching closer, desperate for more. She fought the hands holding her, the broad shoulders that held her legs wide, and pleaded for more.
“Damn, you’re sweet,” he muttered as his head lifted just enough to allow his tongue to lick back to her clit. Not that it brought her any semblance of control, because his fingers were moving in to replace his tongue, sliding inside her, first one, then two, stretching her with exquisite heat as she undulated beneath him.
“I could eat you for hours. ” His voice was a rumbled vibration against her clit. “So creamy and sweet. ”
