Page 75 of Haunted Spurs

"God... I..." I stammer, my head thrashing frantically from side to side. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. I don't know what I'm thinking.

"Yeah, baby, just like that," his voice is a filthy, perfect command. "Come on my face."

And then he starts destroying me.

He doesn't just use his tongue. He creates a powerful suction with his lips around my clit, pulling on the sensitive flesh while the tip of his tongue flicks the raw nerve in a fast, hammering rhythm. At the same time, his two fingers start moving again. Sinking in and pulling out, curling upward to hit my G-spot in perfect, diabolical sync with the movements of his mouth.

The heat of his breath, the wet friction of his tongue, the way his thumbs hold my thighs spread wide open... everything is pushing me straight to the edge of the cliff.

My nails dig into his scalp, pulling his hair mercilessly, as an inarticulate moan—almost a cry of release—is ripped from my throat.

The orgasm hits me like a shockwave.

My muscles contract violently around his fingers. I literally see black and bright stars dancing behind my closed eyelids. Ron doesn't stop; he takes my spasms, swallowing my moans, stubbornly continuing to suck and stimulate me with his tongue, dragging out my pleasure until I am left completely drained, trembling, without a single ounce of breath left in my lungs.

Only when I collapse back against the mattress, surrendered, do Ron's hands loosen their grip, and he pulls back, just a fraction, breathing heavily.

"So? How much do you hate me now?"

Hate you? What does that even mean?

"So much."

23

Thank God for Latex

Selene

My breath is still a broken mess. My mind is foggy, my body pulsing with aftershocks.

Ron pushes himself up, towering over me.

"Hmm..." he murmurs. That adorable, expressive little crease forms between his eyebrows. "So I guess you hate me too much to want me inside you."

Fucking bastard.

He's playing a game, and he's damn good at it.

I swallow, trying to scrape together a shred of my dignity. "Tell me you have a condom," I shoot back, praying he doesn't try to make a point and, more importantly, that he actually has one on hand.

In response, without saying a word, Ron looks down at his hips and gives them a shameless flick, making his hard cock bounce in the air.

"Real mature," I grumble, rolling my eyes so hard I'm afraid I might catch a glimpse of my own optic nerve.

"Yeah, well..." Ron reaches for his wallet and fumbles for a second, pulling out a little foil square. "To your misfortune, or immense luck, I was strongly hoping to do this with you again."

Praise the universe, the stars, and any listening deity. I don't think I've ever been so happy to see a condom in my entire life.

He tears the wrapper open with his teeth—a move that makes me squeeze my thighs together—and starts rolling the latex down his length. I watch him, mesmerized. And I swear, I have never seen anything more erotic than this. I must have hit my head, because, let's be real... how the hell is a guy sheathing his cock sexy?

And yet, the way his hands grip his own flesh, wrapping around that thick girth and rolling the latex all the way down to the base with confident strokes... God, my mouth is watering.

As soon as he's done, he moves. He comes over, grabs my ankle, and gives my leg a sharp tug, dragging me down the mattress until I'm completely trapped beneath his body.

The friction of his hot skin against mine fries my brain. I'm already humming with pleasure again, just feeling his weight.

Ron settles between my knees. He rubs the hard, smooth head of his cock right against my opening—already slick and throbbing for him—without actually entering me. A shaky sigh slips from my lips.