And that triggers my jealousy.
But I have moves of my own. I’ve kissed enough frogs to prepare myself for the prince.
The brush of his mustache against my top lip makes me shiver as I open my mouth to welcome him in. No prevarication when I want him inside me. Desperately.
His tongue flutters over the sensitive underside of my lips, more playful than I thought he’d be as he stirs the nerve endings there to life.
Soft licks, small sips, gentle tastes.
It’s not what I expected.
I like it.
But it’s…
Not Maxim.
I moan.
He graces me with a husky chuckle.
Annoyed, I press into him. Squirming against him so that he can feel my nipples—bra-free—against his chest. Fingers digging in. Hunger dripping from my touch.
And I bite his bottom lip.
Hard.
Which is the “Open sesame” I was hunting for.
He dives in for more.
There’s the dominance I expected as he seizes control of my mouth, of our kiss. Me.
Time stills as he feasts. Suddenly, I’m the smorgasbord from before and he’s the one eating. I’m so okay with the turnaround because, dear Lord, the way he kisses me is divine.
I’m worshiped yet savored.
His reverence is right there—hovering behind every slip of his tongue against mine. Every raw thrust a mimicry of another type of penetration as he looms over me, controlling the tone he established.
Blood settles in my core but also surges to the surface so I’m awash with heat. Skin tingling in desperation for more. His handscup my throat, the best type of necklace, but the rest of my body craves contact it’s never known before.
I whimper.
The soft sound is another trigger.
The pedestal he put me on years ago cracks and sways when my bones liquify as he forces me to submit to him. My head falls back as if my neck no longer exists when he fucks my mouth. Over. And over. More biting thrusts of his tongue against mine as he consumes me whole, proving that his hunger for me is real.
So what’s his deal?
I have to ask? Or show him I want him?
God, why is he so confusing?!
I feel the urgent press of his dick against my hip and take my embryonic hypothesis for a ride. When I rock my pelvis forward, however, he freezes.
Steps back.
I stare at him with blind eyes. Unaware that I look ravaged. Unaware that I silently plead with him for more.
