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"Shhh." Her eyes flutter shut a moment at his command. She's never had anyone who took control like Philip does, and there's something about it that drives her absolutely wild. She gets to take the back-seat, when he does it.
In her every-day life, it was unacceptable, and yet—the minute that the right man does it, the minute that Callahan does it, she can't help but go wild.
His lips press against hers. The kiss starts sexual, and goes deeper from there. His tongue finds her teeth, but she opens them for him, their tongues dancing together. One of his hands squeezes her ass, causing her to suck in a deep breath. More of that, please.
She lets him move at his own pace. After a moment his lips leave hers, tracing a line with his teeth up her jaw and then back down her neck, alternately scraping and biting softly down into the sensitive skin.
"You like that, don't you," he growls. Morgan nods. "Say it."
"I love it," she says, her throat tight. "I need it."
His teeth bite in deeper, harder. Hard enough to hurt, but when she lets out a gasp and her body twists itself up, it's not the pain that she's reacting to. Her hips press themselves into him, his hardness pressing into her, taunting her with what she can't have yet. Because he hasn't given it to her.
His little nibbles resume, down her body, tracing the line of her shoulder and then her collar bone. He kisses down between her breasts and continues lower until his fingers are hooking into her panties and pulling them lower to allow him more space to kiss.
And then his kisses reach the place between her legs, the place that she'd been dying for them to go. She slips into the chair beside her and lets him begin.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
She tastes sweet and tangy and like a woman is supposed to taste. His tongue explores her folds greedily, as much about his own enjoyment as it is about hers. Her fingers, trying to find purchase in his shirt hair and mash his face in deeper, to take the last bit of pleasure, tell him that her pleasure is in no short order.
Philip's tongue moved faster, flicking the tip across the very tip of the hardened nub, as fast as his body would let him move. Morgan mashed in harder, already lost in the pursuit of more and more pleasure.
The feeling of arousal, of raw need, welling up inside his chest is too much. He probes a little bit lower, finding her wet and waiting hole with two fingers.
They suck at his fingers, trying to squeeze down and get them to pull deeper inside, her body already reacting to the intrusion by trying to make sure that he stays inside her as long as possible.
Her hips, on the other hand, tell a different story, writhing back and forth, not sure whether to try to drive him in deeper or pull back and try to regain her senses, so it does both alternately, sometimes trying to pull away and other times trying to force him deeper.
And then, when the efforts to pull away finally fail, and he adds a third finger to his probing efforts, when he refocuses his efforts on her g-spot, her body tenses up, her back stuck in a
high arch.
Only then does she cry out, her voice hoarse and shrill and rich with arousal and need. His hands keep moving, his mouth locked around her clit, his tongue working faster and rougher as she rides out her orgasm.
He stops when her body finally relaxes, his fingers trailing out of her slowly as he stands before her; him fully clothed, while she lays on his lazy boy in the nude.
His erection presses hard against the fabric of his jeans. Her eyes don't leave it for a moment, even as her breaths can only come in spurts and gasps.
"Fuck, that was—"
"You liked that, did you?"
Her eyes drift shut, and then open again a moment later, her body too lazy and too satiated to blink. "A little."
"Good."
With what seems to be all the strength she can muster, Morgan sits herself forward, her hands working the zip at the front of his fly. It springs out and practically into her face. His boxers follow his jeans to the floor, but by then, no doubt, she's already forgotten about them.
She swallows Philip's cock like she's a woman dying of thirst, like it's the only thing that's going to save her from her need.
He holds her head still this time. Time for something different. Something more. Her head still, he moves his hips. It's slow, at first. No faster than she was doing it herself.
She'll need to open her throat up a little, for what's going to come next. She could use the time to practice, to get used to it. To get used to his cock and get ready for what's going to come next.
He moves faster. His fingers dig into her hair a little, holding it tight and giving her that little reminder that she's not supposed to move. His hips thrust a little faster, now—a little needier.
And once he's sure that she can take it, he stops holding himself back. Her throat releases a choking sound with every thrust as her air gets blocked, just for a moment before he pulls back out. The tightness of the back of her mouth feels amazing, and every thrust sends a tight shiver down his spine.
