“Yes, that’s it.” His thumb swipes my cheek so tenderly. “You’re so beautiful, Amelia. Your cunt feels like velvet.” That word—the base, coarseness of it causes a cascade of sensation through me, the effect written in the pleasured pain response on his face. “Oh Jesus, yes!” His hands coast down my body, his fingers sudden manacles against my wrists. He pulls them to the small of my back, adjusting his hold to one hand. With the other, he slides the tangled hair from my face, cradling my cheek, all dark, tender eyed.
“Move for me, darling.” His words drip through me like honey. “That’s it,” he encourages, moving with me. “Ride me.”
“You’re so big this way,” I choke out a garbled compliment, my insides throbbing at the thick slide of him. “I can’t—” I can’t think. Not as he grips my breast, lavishing my nipple with his tongue, leaving it hard and shining rudely in the daylight.
“Yes, you can. It’s okay to take what you want.”
I begin to rock, tentatively at first, then harder, buoyed on by the way he watches me, watches my face, watches my breasts as they move, observes how my body accepts him.
“You look so beautiful, riding me.” My tempo increases with his compliments, my thighs beginning to sting as I work myself over him. “Fuck yes, fuck me harder. Like that. Fuck me until I tell you to stop.”
“Oh God, stop—stop talking before my head explodes.”
“Don’t stop until Daddy tells you to,” he adds with an unrepentant grin. “Fuck!”He draws the expletive out on a groan as my body bows, my walls react around him. “No denying how much you love the sound of that.”
“Stop talking and kiss me.”
With the slightest resistance, he releases my wrists, allowing me to slide my hands around his neck as I devour him. His lips are faintly sticky from the mango, his breath hot and sweet as I work myself over him again and again.
“Oh God!” The brush of his pelvis is like the cherry on this sexual sundae.
I’ve never felt this way. My skin feels alive to his touch. So alive, so sexual.
His hands slide up my back, curling around my shoulders, his grunt countering my cry as he thrusts up into me. “Come on, Amelia. Fuck Daddy like you want to.
Pleasure radiates through every inch of me, our mouths meeting, messily tongued and panting as we rock and surge like one entity, our moans filling the room.
“I’m so fucking close.” Tense-jawed, he draws his brows together as though desperate to delay the inevitable, and if that doesn’t give me a sense of power, I’m not riding Whit’s cock like my life depends on it.And I am.
“I want it,” I whisper. Knowing he’s close somehow heightens my pleasure, makes me rock harder, makes those pulses stronger. “Give it to me.” I begin to ride him, it’s the only way to describe my body’s motion as I impale myself on him over and over again. From one breath to another, I suck in a sharp gasp, my whole being suddenly electrified. My skin is on fire as Whit chokes out a curse, undulating into his climax. Lost to the pull, lost to his expression, so beautiful and true, my fall follows his.
23
MIMI
Parting is such sweet sorrow?
I never thought I’d say it, but I can’t wait to put a little distance between myself and Whit. It’s not that I want to leave him, I just can’t stop being awkward, swinging betweenI’m going to climb you like a treeandyou deserve better than me.
I need to regroup—I need a day to decompress. I’ll be fine by Monday morning. Equilibrium restored, allgrab-life-while-you-cancylinders set to go. But for today, I find I need to hate myself.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Whit’s tone is concerned as he glances briefly my way.
“Of course.” I want to sayit’s not you, it’s me,but that would require an explanation I can’t give. I’m not even sure I can make sense of my feelings. I just know I thought being with Whit would be uncomplicated and now I realize there’s no such thing. “I just wish you’d let me make my own way home,” I add when I realize he’s staring at me again.
“Give it up, he murmurs as the lights change and he merges into the traffic. “Not happening,”
A glimpse of last night flashes in my head and my belly, the thoughts a pleasurable undertow impossible to resist. The thatch of his midnight ink hair between my legs and the rasp of his cheek against my inner thigh as his gaze rose to meet mine. His devilish grin as he—
“Have you got any plans for the rest of the weekend?”
“No.” My insides pulse and pound and I duck my head as though the sensation might show on my face. I absently pluck a thread at the hem of my dress, and as it begins to unravel, I make a frustrated huff. I shove my hands under my thighs against the temptation to pull it. To ruin it like I’ve ruin my plan. I wasn’t supposed to feel like this about him. It was just supposed to be sex—his heart and his feelings weren’t supposed to be my concern. No, that’s not right. I’m not so callous. I just saw Whit as I remembered him. A man irresistible to women. A man always down for a little no-strings tryst. And I suppose he is, but it doesn’t stop me from hating myself a little bit. Turning my head to the side window, I watch the London streets spin by. Well, crawl, maybe. Knightsbridge traffic is no joke, even on Saturday.
“Next time, you should bring a bag?”
“Sorry?” My head spins back. “What was that?”
“Next time we get together, you should bring a bag.” He does that thing men everywhere seem to have perfected—you know the thing where it seems like they barely glance your way but take youallin.
