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d he tilts his forehead against mine, giving gives me a heavy-lidded smile, and plants a soft kiss on my lips.
When he lifts his mouth off mine, I press my lips against the base of his throat, pausing for a moment because at first, I’m sure that he will pull away.
He doesn’t move.
I can hardly breathe. As I gaze at his smooth, tanned skin, I find his throat is marred by a small, horizontal scar. It’s thin and pale, and looks like someone drew a dash over his jugular with a beige Sharpie. I roll my tongue over it and feel him shudder. Yessss.
His hands wrap around my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, then grasping my skull. I’ve never been a skilled lover, but this is different. My hunger leads me. I see his smooth throat as a canvas and I want to mark it. I kiss him softly at first, then so hard I hope it aches.
I’m rewarded by a hard catch of his breath, followed by a muttered, “fuck.” He clutches my head tighter and presses his erection against my hip. I wait for him to move, to grind against me—in fact, I hold my breath for it—but he doesn’t. He just juts against me, his throat still under my mouth, his chest frozen against mine. And then, after an exquisite second, he grabs my arms from around his neck and pulls them up over my head.
“What a little slut you are,” he growls. Clamping his hand around my wrists, he pushes me toward a row of shelves. With my arms bound and my upper back against one of the Tupperware containers, I’m helpless—and panting so hard I feel almost panicked.
I can feel my face burn as he looks down on me.
“You like this, don’t you?” His fingers tighten around my wrists. His head drops down. He kisses my mouth slow and hard, then bites the corner of my lips. “You like fucking around with me, don’t you, Cleo baby?” He murmurs it against my cheek. “You were waiting for this. You’re already wet for me.” It’s true, of course. I feel him hard against my lower belly, and I grit my teeth.
He takes my chin in his fingers, revealing my face. There’s no point in answering. I know he can see it in my eyes. I can see my lust reflected back at me in his.
His face is so intense, I almost expect him to pull my leggings down and take me as I lean against the shelves.
Instead, his strong fingers release my wrists, and he drops down to his knees. He puts my shawl out of the way and claims my pussy with his wide mouth.
“Ohmygod!”
He closes his jaw just slightly, mouthing at me, and then I feel his voice vibrate. “You smell like sex, Cleo.”
It takes everything I have to keep from rocking into his face. My legs quiver. My voice shakes so hard I can barely speak. “I haven’t had a shower.”
“You don’t need one.”
His mouth shifts against me, and there is his tongue. I know it by its lovely pressure; the feel of it is big and hot and damp. He settles it warmly over me—and then his lips are back, clamping on my throbbing sex as he blows into the fabric. I can feel the hot moisture against my skin.
“You want my mouth on your pussy. You want to feel my tongue between that slit, right where you’re wet and throbbing, don’t you, Cleo?”
Yes!
He puffs on me again, and I can feel the damp heat seep between my lips. I can’t help it—I thrust myself at him.
“Cleo...” The pressure of his mouth is gone. I want to scream as he wraps an arm around my ass and looks down at my feet. “You’re on your toes. So hungry...” His eyes find mine. His grin is arrogant; unhampered. “I bet you want my cock. It’s okay.” His fingers, pressed into the back of my thigh, loosen their grip. Begin to stroke. “There’s no harm in wanting a big cock in your pussy. I think a good, plump pussy deserves a thick cock. I bet you do too...”
He rubs his lips against me through the fabric. I grip his shoulder.
“Say my name,” he purrs.
“Kellan.”
“What do you want, Cleo?” As he looks up at me, he blows another long, hot breath through my leggings.
I moan. “Please!”
He pushes his tongue against me. Moves away. “Please what, Cleo? Please who?”
“Take off my leggings!”
His fingers pluck at the elastic. “And?”
Eat me out. I can’t say it. “Put your mouth...”
