Page 39 of Up In Flames

He touches my cheek. “Not insane. Overcome. I was pretty overcome, myself.”

Odd, how some reassuring words can warm me down to my toes.

We begin walking again. “As to finances, my parents left me with a pretty hefty inheritance when they died. Between their business and the high-value insurance policies they took out the moment they adopted me, I don’t actually need to work. I can’t live too extravagant a lifestyle. I’m not a billionaire or anything, but I have enough to provide for a family if we live simply. I certainly have enough to pay for a lady’s supper.”

The way he says “family” and slants me a glance makes my pulse start jumping again.

“Anyway, just so you know,” he continues as we walk, “I’ll take it as a personal insult if you try to pay when we go out.”

“Because you’re a macho man?”

“You better believe it.” And he tacks on a playful growl at the end of his sentence that sends all those bolts of electricity zinging right between my legs again.

I don’t bother to argue. I just lean into him, all the hefty muscles in his thigh bunching and extending as we walk. “You’re going to spoil me for anyone else, Sammy.”

And when I look up, it’s to find him looking down at me as if he’s just experienced a theme park ride for the first time in his life.

I guess he likes the nickname.

*****

The French bistro food was delicious. Spread over the coffee table so we could sit on the couch and enjoy everything and each other, which we couldn’t do as well at my dining room table given his size and the tightness of the space, the empty cartons now look like the aftermath of a battle. Mr. Mittens has decided to nap in the middle of the destruction, his soft purrs wafting through the air.

I’m almost ashamed to say I ate as much as Sampson did. On his lap. Naked, because we couldn’t keep our parts from connecting. Between offering me sips of heady red wine, he fed me morsels of tiny quiche bites that melted in my mouth, sips of onion soup, and bread spread with incredible, melty cheeses. I had to keep reminding him to eat, which he did with an absent expression, too intent on watching me chew and swallow.

I didn’t know swallowing and chewing could be sexy. Live and learn, apparently, but I can’t say that I mind being the object of his focused attention.

“On a scale of one to ten,” he asks, his long fingers feathering my neck, petting me, as if he can’t stop touching me, “how sore is your pussy?”

“Really? Again?” Once we finished eating, we fucked. Again. And again. Not to mention the three more orgasms he gave me with his tongue before we started eating. “Kind of sore.” Because he’s large, but with the build of the rest of him, that was expected.

“Yeah, I figured.” Without moving me from his lap, he snags his jeans from the floor and shimmies into them. I clasp my hands around his neck to keep my balance, but then he begins his feathery strokes down my body, and before I know it, I’m turned around and kissing him passionately, shoving my tongue down his throat, and seeking in him the same sort of ecstasy I keep discovering.

But since I really am sore, and my body reminds me of that fact each time I clamp down on a new wave of arousal, I finally pull away, but only so that I can slip to the floor and fumble with the jeans he just pulled up. Time for him to experience being cared for.

The hiss he inhales as his eyes grow limpid tells me he understands.

“Dessert for me. Lift your hips. Help a girl out.”

Which he does, so I can wiggle the pants he just put back on down to the floor. No underwear, which I could get used to since his dick is long, hard, and tempting. I like the image of it sticking out of his waistband.

His hands weave into my hair, holding me away from him as I lick my bottom lip. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to do this.”

He releases me with a sigh and leans back, jutting his hips forward on the cushion for easier access. I wrap my hands around his length, one above the other, and run my palms up and down over his shaft. A tiny dot of fluid springs from the eye of his head, and I lean forward further to lick it up on my tongue.

He tastes of earth and sky, water and fire. The salty, briny taste of life spreads across my taste buds before I open my lips wider to try to suck him down. He’s too big to fit within my jaws without my teeth scraping him, but I try. When I can’t succeed, I vacuum the side skin between my lips instead, giving him light hickeys up and down his dick in-between using my tongue to trace patterns. All the while, my hands pistol up and down, wringing him, tempting his seed.

He groans as he wraps his fingers into my hair. “Nina.”

Just my name. It’s enough.

I slide my lips down his shaft, using my tongue, moistening him I move a hand to cup his balls. Once there, I squeeze gently. I’m pretty good at blow jobs, but he’s so big, it’s impossible to inhale him like I want to. A sound of frustration leaves me as I try again to suck at least his head into my mouth.

The stretch makes my jaws ache too quickly.

“Sshh. Stick out your tongue, Jelly Bean. That’s it. Good girl.” He moves my hands to his thighs, his big muscled thighs, and uses his own hand on his shaft. At the same time, he rubs the head of his dick over my extended tongue. “Wow, that feels amazing. Thank you.”