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My gaze flickered up to meet his while I brushed my fingertips over the swollen, damp head.
He hissed as if I’d burned him. “More.”
I did it again, fascinated by how his muscles tightened and the veins bulged and shifted under his taut skin. His flesh was so much darker than mine. He was covered in lots of dense, dark ink. Swirls of intricate lines climbed his left arm creating a leopard with fascinating blue eyes. As his muscles rippled, so did the dangerous cat. More artwork reminded me of tribal swirls I’d seen on a few famous actors. It was much more interesting to see it so close, especially where I could touch. So different than my virgin skin.
Virgin everything.
His part-Italian heritage allowed him to tan, whereas I only crisped up like a lobster, and just sliding my paler hand against his length was oddly exciting. Every part of this was. We were so different, with so many angles that could rub and spark against each other.
I slipped my fingers farther down his shaft. Loosely, his fingers encircled the base, holding his erection up for my perusal. I wetted my lips as I wrapped my fingers around his width. Tried to anyway. They didn’t quite meet. Taking cues from his breathing, I shifted my hand, tentatively moving it up and down.
Testing him and myself.
I’d done this before, but no other man was quite like Oliver. Not only was he holy flipping hung, his stare was a physical thing. I could feel him watching me rather than watching the movement of my hand. Maybe he was making sure I wasn’t about to freak out and run screaming from the room.
Panicked little virgin.
Not anymore.
That confidence balloon inside me was still growing. The bubbling water was like a cushion, hiding some of the choppiness of my breathing. I was nervous, but not scared. He was wa
iting for me, leaving the ball—balls, as it were—entirely in my court.
I wanted to play.
Lowering my head, I licked the tip. Quickly. There was no lingering, not yet. But I was curious how he would taste, and that little burst of salt on my tongue spurred me on. As did his rumbling groan, trapped in his throat. God, what would it be like to hear him come?
To make him come?
“Again,” he whispered, but he didn’t have to. My mouth was already watering for another longer taste.
Still clasping him in one hand, I used the other to hold back my sloppy ponytail as I went down once more. This time, I circled my tongue all the way around the domed head, lapping up the wetness there, returning to do so again when another pearly dropped immediately formed. I did it again and again, just focusing strictly on the tip, letting the power of this moment surge inside me until I had no choice but to try for more. To open my mouth wider and move my head down so that he rested on my tongue, and then to take more and more. Water teased the tight tips of my breasts as I took him deeper. He was swelling even further, the weight and pressure of him causing me to try to take too much, too fast.
I wanted everything.
“Easy.” His voice was a rumble, barely audible over the bubbles.
I inhaled through my nose, tears sparking briefly in my eyes as I stopped him just before my gag reflex engaged. The sound of the bubbling water and white noise buzzed in my ears, nearly blocking out everything.
His hand was on my hair now, stroking gently just as he’d done on the plane. The feeling instantly calmed me and allowed me to take more.
It was as if doing this one thing was now my purpose. Pushing his control and stretching mine. Giving him pleasure. Giving it to myself.
He undid my ponytail and my hair fell forward, sticking to my neck and chest, partially hiding my face. He gathered it up in his hand, drawing it back so carefully. Collecting each strand, pulling it back so nothing could impede his vision. He was watching every slide of my mouth, every flick of my tongue. Every alteration of my position so I didn’t take a mouthful of bubbles instead of him.
When I hollowed my cheeks and sucked, he groaned, and I tilted my head, squinting to watch the flex and bob of his Adam’s apple through the hazy sheen of tears. I’d pushed myself a little too hard but the slight burn in my throat was a badge of honor. I’d made him feel good, so good that his shoulders were strained, and his chest was heaving, his previously tender strokes on my hair becoming almost painful.
I craved that too.
He hauled himself back, and I watched the visible battle take place on his face. He was trying so hard not to rush me, not to hurt.
But I wanted that part of the experience too. I wanted him mindless over me.
I drew back just far enough to whisper against the shiny tip. “More.”
Our gazes connected and I knew he understood. The jets rose and frothed around my belly and teased my breasts as I eased myself closer using our height difference to my advantage. I pushed him back against the edge of the tub and gripped the side for balance.
The heat and thrill of controlling him—even a little bit—left me lightheaded. I slid my mouth down his shaft, taking as much as I could. He didn’t deny me that bite of pain. I wasn’t sure if I liked it, but my body certainly did. My clit fluttered and I pressed my thighs together to try to get some relief. He must’ve noticed, because he reached for me with his free hand, his expression questioning even as his lips parted to drag in air.
