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“Get naked and sit on that barstool.” He jerked his head at a row of chrome stools lining the breakfast counter and pulled off his shirt. She hurried to obey, and jumped when he thumbed the vibrator up higher. “Not the shoes.”
“Of course not,” she muttered and climbed onto the bar stool, the furry white seat soft under her naked bottom.
“Hook your heels over the bottom rung and spread your legs as wide as you can.” He sank to his knees in front of her, pushing her thighs apart even as he spoke. She gripped the chrome arms of the chair, a squeak escaping her when he reached behind her to pull her forward so her splayed sex nearly hung in the air.
His face inches from her naked pussy, he tenderly took hold of her labia and spread them wider, then glanced up at her with a demanding glare so stern it was nearly feral. “Don’t you dare come.”
Then he licked her.
Her hips leapt and he growled. In pleasure or reprimand, she didn’t know. She held still, panting out the tension, and he licked her again, slowly, gently. And again.
It was unbearable.
Tension crawled up her calves to her straining thighs, her nipples swelling against the clamps. Her clit strained against the alligator clip, feeling like it might burst with each lick and nibble, with each tender kiss. His tongue did wicked things to her and she could not resist.
“Miguel,” she gritted out, as if unclenching her throat would break the thread of will that barely kept the orgasm in check.
“Yes, dear?” He paused and looked up at her, like a politely inquiring husband. She wanted to smack him. She needed to come. She told him so.
He gave her a little shrug, all innocence, then stretched her wider. “Do what you need to do.” His mouth clamped on her then, fierce and hot, his teeth scraping the clip away so that her clit exploded.
She shattered with it, his head clamped between her thighs, while she sobbed out her release and relief. His mouth never stopped working her, however, and she’d barely started descending from the crest when she felt the tension begin to rebuild.
“Oh no,” she moaned, pushing weakly at his head, still buried between her shaking thighs. He looked up at her, sliding his hands down to her knees, spreading her wide again.
“Oh yes, Roo. Over and over. Mark my words.” He took out the remote, thumbed it to the highest setting and sent it skittering across the floor. She convulsed under his hands. “Hold still. Don’t make me tie you up.”
And he resumed the gentle, insistent stimulation of her feverish tissues.
She came twice more that way, with his diabolical lips and tongue driving her to madness and beyond. She lost all track of time, all coherent thought. Riding the rolling waves of ecstasy, she became a pliant vessel of sheer pleasure.
When he lifted her into his arms and carried her, naked and wet into the warm Caribbean evening, her body still thrumming with arousal that seemed to only increase with each orgasm, she barely noticed the change in position. Then he bent her over the balustrade, so she looked out at the moonlit ocean.
Miguel pressed into her back and she registered that he was naked now, too. He filled his hands with her breasts, squeezing them and pinching her clamped and throbbing nipples. She cried out his name, begging him for something she could no longer put words to.
“Good,” he murmured. “Exactly like that, only louder.”
He pulled back and she heard the crinkle of condom foil. She waited, legs spread and thighs taut in the high heels, gripping the stone rail. His fingers slipped into her and she moaned, pushing back so the bullet slipped out. Her vaginal walls pulsed, reaching for its now familiar weight, then welcomed in his cock, huge and hard, filling her in a way the toy never could. She cried out his name and Miguel slammed into her, hard hands on her breasts, breath hot on her neck.
He pumped in and out of her and she urged him on, harder, faster. He pinched her clamped nipples and she begged for more, some unhinged, unraveled version of herself who could not be sated.
When the climax took her, it took her down hard. Blackness rimmed the edges of her vision and she barely registered Miguel’s ecstatic shout of triumph as he followed her up and crashing over into oblivion. She did know, however, when he arched her back to take her mouth with his, in a deep quenching kiss.
December 28
Fourth Day of Christmas
Four Calling Birds
When she awoke in the strange bed, floor-to-ceiling windows open to an endless ocean view, she had no idea where she was.
Then it all flooded back with startling clarity. She groaned and stretched, feeling the ache in every crevice from the best sex she’d had in her life. Miguel padded into the room, wearing nothing but white silk pajama bottoms. And a smile. A sexy, warm and sated smile that spoke of an amazing evening.
“Sleeping beauty awakes.” He leaned over to give her a lingering kiss, then handed her a cup of coffee. “Cream and sugar, yes?”
She scooted up and sipped. Sighed. “Oh yes.”
“How do you feel this morning?”
