When his gaze dropped to my breasts, I lifted one to him in offering, and Murray immediately cupped it, squeezing and kneading until I writhed with the sensory overload. He drew my nipple into his mouth and my inner muscles clenched around him in response.
His eyes flared as he stared up at me, his tongue flicking over my nipple, making me wetter.
I tried to keep my escalating pants and gasps stifled, but it was difficult when I wanted to cry out his name.
Then suddenly he lay back on the bed, changing the angle of his penetration, and I bit my lip to stifle my shout as the tension inside me intensified. Leaning forward, my palms roamed over his stomach possessively, caressed his chest, my thumbs catching on his nipples. I took great satisfaction in watching Murray attempt to stifle in his own sex sounds.
“Ride me from below.” I pressed my palms to his chest to steady myself in anticipation.
Surprise crossed his expression as his hands squeezed my hips in reaction to the demand. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
When he thrust upward, I arched my back in response and clamped a hand over my mouth.
“Fuck.” Murray growled and then he flexed his hips faster, harder, hitting the perfect spot deep inside me.
“Oh God, oh yes, oh God, Murray, Murray,” I whispered frantically as I met his upward thrusts, riding down on him, my hips moving over his, faster, desperate.
“Fuck … fuck …London …” He sat up abruptly and caught my cry of surprise in his mouth. His kiss was ravenous, dirty, wet, and so delicious that the tension in me hit the breaking point.
I shattered with a shout of ecstasy that was muffled by his kiss. He released my mouth as I shuddered and clenched aroundhis cock and buried his face against my breasts to soften the sound of his own climax as he jerked beneath me. The pulsing throb of him only heightened the aftershocks of my orgasm, and I clung to him, my arms wrapped around his shoulders, our skin slightly damp from exertion as we shuddered and shivered and gasped against each other.
As we recovered in contented silence, Murray nudged my breasts with his nose and then began peppering little kisses over them. Before long, he was sucking and laving at my nipples again, making me restless in his arms.
“Murray?”
He looked up at me. “We’re not done yet,a ghràidh.”
A ghràidh.
It was Gaelic for “my love.”
My inner muscles squeezed around him tightly in response. Oh yes, we were definitely not done. I was insatiable for him.
“What do you want next?” Murray demanded quietly.
An image flashed through my mind, making me squirm.
His hands flexed on my back, like he’d felt my reaction around his cock. “Tell me.”
“Will … will you …” I reached up to stroke his beard. “I’ve always wondered what this would feel like against my inner thighs.”
Murray’s expression gleamed. “Oh, have you now?”
“I have.”
“No need to wonder anymore.”
I almost let out a squeal of delight as I found myself on my back. Giggling, I watched as Murray stood. “Just let me deal with this condom.”
Lifting my head, I watched Murray stroll into the bathroom, and I bit my lip against a thirsty moan. His ass was like one of those sculptures … rounded with muscle and flexing as he walked.
I wanted his ass in my hands as he thrust inside me.
A soft laugh escaped my lips as I arched and stretched across his bed, at once satisfied and still raring to go. Relief and joy I could never have anticipated mingled with all my other emotions. Because after Nick, I thought this part of me might be broken. That the bastard had stolen my sexuality from me. That I’d spend the rest of my life having sex with myself because I was too afraid to trust a man in or out of bed.
But then I didn’t know I was going to meet someone as special as Murray.
