Swoon.
I bury my face in the sprinkle of dark, fine hair between his pecs, inhaling his clean, soapy scent as he carts me off to his inner sanctum. I’ve only gotten glimpses of the master bedroom in passing through his partially open door. All I’ve been able to see are dark wood and earth tones.
The full view doesn’t disappoint. Like the rest of Connor’s flat, it’s a study in upscale, masculine chic. There’s a wall of windows with a specular view of the Manhattan skyline. And I was right when I guessed that his bed was huge. It’s big enough for him, me, and the Knicks starting back court.
But I’m not interested in gawking at his magazine-worthy bedroom or the most famous skyline in the world right now. There’s another view I’m jonesing for. If you ask me, it’s high time I’m not the only one in this scenario who’s wearing nothing but a smile.
Connor lays me on his massive bed, kissing down my neck, between my breasts, circling my nipples. I lose myself in the sweet sensations created by his lips and tongue until I remember that he’s still got his damn pants on, and I reach for his belt.
He covers my hand with his, stopping me. “Not yet.”
“How the hell is that fair?” I groan.
“Nobody said this was going to be fair.”
He pauses to remove his glasses, folding them carefully and setting them on the nightstand. I want to scream. How can he be so calm, cool, and collected when I’m about to spontaneously combust?
“But trust me, I’ll make it up to you.”
And boy, does he. Connor Dow is nothing if not a man of his word. He slides down my body, inching my thighs apart with his hands and settling between my legs, his mouth centimeters from my core. He plants wet, sucking kisses on my inner thigh, teasing his way up to the spot where I really want him.
When he gets there—finally—the damn teasing doesn’t stop. Instead of sucking on my clit like I want him to, he licks everywhere but. His rhythm is slow, steady, and deliberate, like he’s determined to drive me crazy before letting me come.
I moan and close my eyes, fisting my hands into his comforter. If he keeps this up much longer, I might pass out from pure pleasure.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against my pussy. “Just lie back and let me make you feel good.”
I twist the comforter tighter in my fists. “I don’t think I can feel much better.”
“Sure about that?”
He takes my clit into his mouth and bites down. Not hard, just enough to shoot sensuous tingles to every pore in my body.
My eyes fly open and my hips piston off the bed. “Did you just bite me?”
He looks up at me with a “Who, me?” grin. “And what if I did?”
I’d like to wipe his smug, sex-god smile right off his face. Except he’s got every reason to be smug. The guy’s seriously good at this. Like expert level good.
Sex-god level good.
I lift my head to eye him right back, not afraid to tell him what I want. No, this is beyond want. We’re into need territory. “Then I’d ask you to do it again.”
He gives me another nibble then adds a finger to the action, pushing it slowly inside me. I can feel myself start to tighten, and I know I’m not going to last long, especially when he starts moving his finger in and out, angling it so it finds my g-spot.
All the while he’s still licking and sucking. The trifecta of lips, tongue, and finger is too much to take, and it’s not long before my muscles clench and I’m spasming around him.
He lets me ride out my climax on his lips. When I’m done—after what seems like an eternity, I don’t think I’ve ever come that long or that hard—he withdraws his finger and brings it to his mouth. He runs it along his lower lip then sucks it in, tasting me.
Holy hell, that’s hot. Sure, he’s had it directly from the source. But there’s something so decadent about watching him lick it from his finger. Like he doesn’t want a drop to go to waste.
When he’s done, he trails his wet finger down my abdomen, leaving a row of goosebumps in its wake. “Was I right?”
“Huh?” What did he just say? I prop myself up on my elbows and stare at him through glassy, post-orgasmic eyes. My fuzzy brain has no clue what he’s talking about.
“Was I right?” he repeats, emphasizing each word.
Okay, still clueless. I don’t know whether he’s being deliberately coy or whether I’m so blissed out I can’t even comprehend a simple question. “About what?”
