Page 31 of Up In Flames

He leans down and kisses my lips again, his expertise on display as he takes me back to another level of bliss and away from my concerns. I drop into that state where time doesn’t matter, focusing on the way his tongue strokes inside me, and the way he sucks at me, and invades at the same time. We kiss forever. I’m only half-aware that at some point he pulls my shirt up over my body, and then only because he breaks our connection to joggle the material over my head.

“Wow. Who taught you to kiss?” And on the heels of the question, I snap, “No. Don’t tell me.”

He laughs, a low, sultry rumble. “I love that you’re jealous. I’m jealous, too.” Throwing my shirt to the floor, he grins again, this time with an expression that has the devil at its edges. “One day we’ll explore your boundaries, including my spanking bench, but today is about coming together, not kink.”

In the next instant, he’s got my bra unhooked. Thankfully, I changed into my red lace set. I didn’t know I’d end up beneath him, but I guess I hoped.

My jeans go next. If I didn’t already know that he’d had lots of experience with women, I’d know by the way my clothes leave my body without a hitch. His follow. First, his shirt practically evaporates, leaving a steamy line of muscled terrain. I swallow—hard—as his hand moves to pop the top button of his jeans. He’s not naked beneath the denim. When he flips the buttons, one by one down his fly, the bulge pulses out against the insubstantial material of his tight boxer briefs. He moves off the bed, standing and bending over so that, for a moment, I can’t see his dick, but when he straightens, it’s there. Splendid. Magnificent. A tower of smooth skin over veins.

And so much bigger than I imagined. His dick is raw and untamed, with a slightly larger head over a shaft that’s full of crags and delights. But there’s no possible way that monster is going to fit inside me.

“It’ll fit, Jelly Bean,” he says, reading my mind or my horrified expression. He slides back onto the bed, his movements strangely balletic, even though he’s so large.

My knees are bent, and he moves between them, forcing them wide to the sides of his thighs before his hands caress over my waist to my hips. My breath hitches when his thumbs wrap in the lace thong and seesaw the fabric over my clit.

“So wet already,” he murmurs, staring between my legs where the red lace must disappear into my folds. “So absolutely beautiful. You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this moment.”

Another kind of sound escapes me as my hips latch. “Sampson…”

“I’m getting there, Jelly Bean. No need to rush.”

“Oh, I really think there is.” My hips lift again, seeking more contact.

“Trust me.” And he twists the fabric tighter, sawing it gently, lifting and cupping me so that all I can think about is him putting his lips on me.

Another moan. Another mewl as he continues to use my thong as some sort of erotic device. I throw my arm over my eyes, lost in the sensation.

But the motion stops. “Keep your eyes on me, Jelly Bean.”

So I open them, despite the heat flushing my cheeks. Because I don’t want him to stop.

“Good girl. You’re so unbelievably perfect. So beautiful. So lush.”

Another rush of wetness leaves me. He’s going to dehydrate me before I ever get an orgasm, but whatever his game is, it’s working. The men I’ve known have rushed to the finish line, mostly leaving me behind. But Sampson plays. He entices. He rests in the moment, and I’m already so aroused by his restraint that my nipples have become hard pebbles, and my entire body is torqued into a sphere of need.

From the seesaw of fabric, his fingers brush against my nether lips, teasing me with the hope he’ll move that slight degree more and tweak the swollen bud waiting for his caress. Instead, he explores the shape of me, down to my opening and up again, all the while ignoring the burning slide waiting for him.

My eyelids flutter closed, but I open them immediately. He nods, as if pleased, before leaning over me. Once more, he reaches for my lips for a kiss. His tongue invades my mouth, a paroxysm of what his dick should already be doing: filling me. Seducing me. Taking me.

I reciprocate, running my tongue over his into the interior of his mouth. I graze over a wide wall of teeth into him. He tastes of sharp wine and deliciousness. I moan into the cavern he opens for me, and moan again when he pulls his lips away to trace open-mouthed kisses down my neck, sucking my flesh against his teeth, marking me with little love bites and hickeys that piston my hips like I’m a machine.

“Sampson, I swear, if you don’t—ah!”

Because he thumbs my clit, making circles in the damp he finds there, lighting fire. My entire body seizes. He’s got the perfect pressure down cold, as if he’s had years to know what I need.

Another one of his fingers glides through my soaked pussy to find my entrance. It plays there while he circles my clit before stretching the outer edges, inserting itself to the smallest degree.

Another moan, this one almost a scream. I push into him, desperate to have something of him inside me, but he travels no more than about an inch. Teasing. Tempting. Playing me like some instrument.

“Tell me what you want, Jelly Bean,” he growls.

“I want you. Inside me.”

“Good. Not yet.”

The man’s an obvious sadist.

Instead, I feel the loss of his fingers on me and in me while he pulls off my thong and throws it behind him. In the next instant, his face is buried between my legs, his mouth sucking my clit between his teeth and onto his tongue.