Page 63 of Bared

How she squeezed him. Soaked him. Milked him.

Moved him…

He could no longer deny the recognition. It was the fucking truth, and he’d have to accept it. Later, he’d unpack the whole mental mess it came with. The whys and hows and what the hell nows.

Right now, there were more urgent needs for his system to unload.

“Sir.”

So much more urgent.

“Please…Sir.”

She spoke it like a wish laced with worship. An appeal but a demand. Likely ruining him for anyone else who’d speak it again. Like he fucking cared about that right now.

“Pixie.” His own voice was filled with the building pressure through his body and mind. He wasn’t going to last much longer. His balls were wads of lava. His dick was a goddamned branding iron. And if the quiver of her clit was any indication…

“Oh! Yes! Please, Sir…”

And what an indication it was.

“Come for me, Pixie girl. All the way, my sweet Jayd.”

“Oh…yessss…”

She flung her head back. The action shoved her breasts up at him. In a frenzied rush, Brick shoved the satin away from the swell that was still covered. He followed with his mouth. Sucked in her red, puckered nub with suction dictated by passion.

“Oh, by the Creator, yes.”

She was so close, but not all the way there. Not…yet…

Damn it.

Frustration and anticipation collided, blasting away his courtly control. Instinct roared in its place. The impulse had him biting instead of sucking. Pulling hard at the beautiful berry between his teeth.

“Brickham!”

As soon as her scream jolted the air, her pussy flickered around his cock. Her body surrounded his in wave after wave of undulating ecstasy. He knew exactly how to respond—by again grabbing her nipple and digging in like it was the best fruit he’d ever tasted. Because it sure as hell was.

“Wh-What is happening? What is this?”

“Let it come, Pixie,” he grated into the valley of her chest. “Let me come with you.”

“Yes.” She would’ve sounded like a broken playback loop if not for the vocal sugar roughening her tone. “Yes…yes…yes…”

The gorgeous litany went on, a repetition between every drive of his aching autocrat of an erection, until her voice was hoarse and her thighs quaked. For one wonderful moment, Brick imagined stroking one of those thighs and fingering a mark upon it. His mark, branded permanently into her skin. No longer would she be his for just a night. She’d be his submissive princess forever.

Never to be.

But right here? In this incredible moment?

This was meant to be.

If all of Paris broke into flames then, he wouldn’t have noticed. If aliens were suddenly skipping through Montmartre, he wouldn’t care. There was nothing but her now. Nothing but her high cries in his ears and her succulent cunt around his sex. Absorbing every plunge from him. Taking every inch of him. Accepting every drop of him.

He couldn’t get enough of her.

He sure as hell couldn’t look away from her.