Page 74 of High Water

“It’s one of my favorite things about you.” I smirk as I lean forward to get a better look, and his gaze darkens as he lifts his lashes to meet my eyes. It’s hot as hell. “Fuck yourself for me, and I’ll give you another taste.”

He starts to stroke in earnest, heavy-handed passes of his palm that quicken in their pace as he watches me slick my fingers again. I run my thumb over my index finger when I pull them free, wetting it before I run the pad over his lower lip. He sucks it into his mouth, licking and nipping the tip of my thumb as he strokes faster.

“Let me have one more try, honey. Please,” he pleads.

The look on his face has my heart and stomach tumbling one over the other. Every nerve ending in my body on a short fuse. I’m nearly as desperate as he is to give him some measure of what he wants.

I slide to the edge and spread my thighs wider for his benefit, pulling the strip of cotton fabric to the side. His gaze falls hard and heavy before it snaps back to mine for permission. I nod.

“One more taste,” I offer myself up to him. “But don’t stop. Finish yourself off.”

“Whatever you want,” he agrees eagerly.

He’s delivered exactly as he promised. I’m wet as hell. Glistening for him before he even touches me with his tongue. I can see the satisfaction reflected in his eyes as he takes in the sight. He wets his lips in anticipation before he leans forward to dip his tongue in for one last attempt to satiate himself.

He groans loudly the moment his tongue meets my pussy, dragging it over my skin and tightening his grip around his cock. I gasp at the sensation of his warm mouth on me, his breath dancing over me as he inhales. I bite down on my lower lip but it doesn’t stop the soft moan that escapes. A sound he draws courage from when he takes second, longer draw from the well.

“One more. Not two or three.” The reprimand would be more effective if it wasn’t punctuated by a murmured curse of pleasure.

Fuck. I’m letting us both tumble down this precarious cliff.

I slip my fingers into his hair, tightening my grip and gently tugging to bring his eyes up to meet mine. I arch my brow as I glance down to where his hand has slowed to a languid pace.

“I said finish yourself off.”

“Hard to focus I have a face full of the most perfect fucking pussy in the world.” His grin is positively devilish as his lashes lower, and he runs his tongue over a spare drop that’s ready to fall.

“Try harder.” I pull back from the edge of the desk and the edge of our rules, reining us both in. His eyes study my movement. I gently brush my fingers through his hair one last time before I let go, trying to make sure he knows I’m only wanting us to take things slow. Navigate this uncharted territory with the care we both deserve. He must understand because there’s a softer smile that forms on his lips before he complies.

“Yes, honey.” He sits back in his chair, giving me a full view of how hard he still is. He runs his hand over his dick in one slow stroke for my benefit before he spits into his palm. “I just needed a little bit of you to do this justice.”

He resumes the show he started earlier, working himself over, and drawing his lower lip between his teeth as he drags himself to the brink of his orgasm.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” I breathe, as fascinated by the sight of him now as I was years ago. “Let me see you come.”

He takes the command seriously, focusing his determination. His eyes shutter, and he moans louder and louder until his body shakes as he fucks himself straight over the edge and plummets. Thick streams splatter over his pants and stomach. His hand is covered, glimmering in the low light of the room.

“Fucking hell,” he curses as he sees the state of himself when he finally opens his eyes. They’re so heavy, sated with the effects of his orgasm. He licks his lips, and they flush with the effort. Matching his ruddy cheeks, bright with the exertion of his work. I slide off the desk to my tiptoes and push his chair back, the wheels giving way easily.

When I drop to my knees, he murmurs my name and starts to stand.

“Stay,” I order as I put a hand on one of his thighs. The thick muscle twitches underneath my delicate touch, and I grin at the control I have over him. I’m dizzy with the power of it.

“What are you doing?”

I take his hand and turn it over in mine before I take a tentative taste of him. It’s never been my favorite thing, but Bishop’s always been the exception to all my rules. And I grin when my theory’s proven right again.

“Cleaning up the mess I made.”

THIRTY

Bishop

I’ve died. It’s the only explanation. I’m dead, and I’ve gone to some sort of fucked-up purgatory where Aspen is my wife, and my special form of torture is that she won’t touch me until after I’ve already come. When her tongue drags over my palm, and her fingers slip under the waistband of her panties again, I’m sure of it.

The words “cleaning up the mess I made” echo in my mind. Fuck. I’ll make myself a mess for her a thousand times over if I get to see her half naked and on her knees like this. She’s an angel, a flawless one with gorgeous dark-chocolate waves that cascade over her shoulders and down her back, and perfect breasts that sway just the slightest bit with every move she makes. They’d be better supported in my hands, but I don’t dare touch her.

She licks a drop of come off my wrist, the tip of her tongue dancing over my pulse point, and my hips jerk forward from the touch. My cock is still coming down from the last high, but I think I could get hard again in record time.