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“I like that sound,” he tells me nipping sharply at my ear before he pulls away. “Let’s see if we can get you to make it again.”
“Come back,” I demand in a voice gone husky with desire.
“No worries there,” he answers but he doesn’t immediately comply. Instead, his fingers go to the bow at the front of my blouse.
He grabs both ends and slowly pulls them until the bow unravels. I expect him to finish untying it and go straight for the buttons underneath. Instead, he pauses for a second, two, left eyebrow quirked and the two strips of fabric held taut by his huge, hard hands.
With another man, having him so close to my throat with something he could use to strangle me would be terrifying. But with Shawn, this man who has been so careful to make sure I’m along for every step of this ride, the vulnerability feels okay. More, it feels sexy—makes me feel sexy as I wait to see what he’s going to do.
In the end, all he does is finish unraveling the ties before letting them fall back against the fabric of my blouse. But the threat—the promise—of what he could have done is in the air between us now. It speeds up my breathing, makes my nipples peak and my sex wet. And that’s before he starts unbuttoning my blouse one excruciatingly slow button at a time.
Four buttons in and I’m panting and arching against him, one small step away from begging him to fuck me right here in this niche down the hall from the bathroom.
He stops at five buttons, and I give a strangled little protest that he cuts off with a finger to my lips. Then he’s using his other hand to slide my blouse off my shoulder before leaning down and pressing a warm, wet kiss to the spot where my neck meets my shoulder.
It feels good, really good, especially when he starts licking at the sensitive bend, his mouth hot and soft and just a little bit wet as he sucks my skin between his teeth and gently bites down.
This time the sound I make is more moan than gasp—half-pleasure, half-pain, all arousal—and he laughs a little. It’s a dark, sexy sound that only makes me wetter…and more desperate.
I pull at him then, sliding my hands back into his hair and tugging, until that glorious mouth of his is back against my skin.
He licks at me a little more, nibbling and kissing his way over my collarbone to the upper swell of my breast. His fingers come up and stroke my nipple through the lacey edge of my demi-bra. I clutch at him as my legs nearly go out from under me, but he pushes at my hands until they’re against the wall on either side of my head and I’m spread wide open for him.
“Keep them there,” he tells me.
There’s a note of command in his voice that would normally set me off, that would normally have me telling him to go to hell on my way out the door. But there’s a look in his eyes as he says it, though, that turns me on. Half-amused, half-challenging, and all male, it turns me from hot to molten and from wet to absolutely drenched.
Which is the only reason I do as he says. Because this kind of pleasure—this kind of need—is not something I’m used to.
“Okay?” he asks after several fraught seconds.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“Good.” He smirks then, and at another time I’d be tempted to wipe the look off his face using whatever means necessary. Right now, though, all it makes me do is arch my back in an effort to draw his attention to my body. To my breasts. To the pleasure I’m suddenly desperate for.
It works, because the next thing I know, his mouth is back on my breast again, his tongue tracing the edge of my bra cup as his fingers pinch my nipples. Hard.
My hips buck against his and my leg seems to lift of its own volition to wrap around his hips. It’s his turn to groan, his turn to thrust forward even as he continues to use his mouth and hands to give me a combination of pleasure and pain that nearly sets my skin on fire.
I slide my hands down, grab on to his ass and try to pull him even closer, until his dick is nestled against my sex. He won’t have it, though. Instead, he shifts his hips back and continues to tease me until I gasp. Until I whimper.
Until I beg.
For his mouth. For his touch. For the release I can feel building inside of me just from the press of his mouth on my skin. Just from the tangle of his fingers in my hair.
And then he’s untangling my leg from around his waist, holding it up and to the side as he drops to his knees in front of me.
Before I can register what’s happening, he’s got me leaning back against the wall, hips canted forward and leg draped over his shoulder. Then his mouth is on my breast, his teeth biting gently at my nipple through the thin layers of my blouse and bra.
“Please,” I gasp, fingers grabbing on to his shoulders in a futile effort to steady myself. To stay grounded when all I want to do is float away. “Oh God. Please.”
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he tells me as he slips his hand past the waistband of my pants, skims his fingers along the top edge of my panties. “I’ve got you.”
As he lifts his mouth from my breast, I have one moment to breathe. One moment to remember where I am. Where we are. One moment to remember all the reasons this is a really bad idea.
But then his thumb is drawing circles on my clit, his fingers stroking along my sex, and the only thing I can think about is how good it feels. How good he feels.
It’s been so long since I’ve made love to a man, so long since I’ve had any part of a man inside me. And the men I have been with through the years—all four of them—never made me feel like this. Never even came close to making my body tremble and my nerves light up like the Fourth of July.
