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“No. Please…”
With growled approval, he bent to her again. If he’d been taking her in one slow suckle at a time before, now he consumed her, opening his mouth over her sex as if to kiss her the way he’d seized her mouth. Sensations brimmed and roiled. She twisted and cried out, stunned and shocked and on fire. Something inside her was building.
He added to the sensations by working one of his big fingers inside her. It slid in with astonishing ease. No pain. No force necessary. She was wet—something she had never been in her life. His mouth wasn’t the only cause.
“Trees…” Before she realized it, she’d moaned his name, plunged her fingers in his thick hair, and urged his face deeper onto her sex.
“Yes. That’s it. God, you’re sweet, little one. Fuck. Come on my tongue.”
How? In her experience, orgasm was for men, but TV and films suggested otherwise. Maybe it was possible for her to cry out and gush with pleasure. The more he ate at her with his mouth, the more she felt that something inside her cresting.
If she climaxed, would she fall asleep afterward? Was that why he was heaping pleasure on her?
She couldn’t let that happen. She had to reach her sister.
“No…” Laila meant her denial to be forceful.
“Yes. I want you to.” The flat of his tongue stroked her sensitive bud again, swiping, flicking, teasing. He slipped another finger into her and twisted his hand to rub a spot that had her crying out for more. “Do it for me.”
The rumbling timbre of his command sizzled through her, unbearably seductive. In that moment, she ached to comply.
“You can do it. Be my good girl. Come right here…” He stuck out his tongue, then marked the spot by manipulating her rigid bud back and forth, unrelentingly, unceasingly, his burning stare demanding everything from her.
She couldn’t refuse.
Moments melted away with the sawing of her breath and the gonging of her heart. Under the onslaught of his tongue, it didn’t matter why she was here, where she was going, or what she had planned. All she knew was the tension coiling and building in her body—gathering, swirling, tightening—and the man arousing it all.
“Yes!” She clutched the sheets and writhed, digging her heels into the mattress, unable to stop herself.
He groaned against her throbbing flesh and shoved another finger deep, sweeping the tips over a tingling spot high and inside her. Together with the vibrations from his mouth, he unleashed a firestorm of need. Where he penetrated her, Laila burned. The conflagration of pleasure threatened to roast her alive.
“Now.” His command reached inside her and ripped away the last of her worries, questions, and restraint.
Her blood pooled and thickened. Her nipples puckered. Her legs went stiff. The tension between her thighs threatened to split her in two—and she didn’t care anymore.
Her hips moved against him. She heard a whining sound in her ears, then realized that was her begging. The coming cataclysm was going to be dreadful and wonderful, and it might kill her.
Laila no longer cared.
Her heart banged against her chest as the churning sensations converged and melded. She thrashed and twisted, holding her breath, suspended in an impossible moment of rising pleasure-pain.
Then she exploded in a burning rush.
Laila grabbed his hair, her legs tightening around his shoulders, as she screamed in a voice high and dying with need. “Trees!”
Laila came like a woman discovering pleasure for the first time. Nothing turned Trees on more. She writhed and keened through an orgasm that jolted her whole body. He kept at her slick, swollen pussy, laving, licking, and heaping all the sensation on her he could, as if it was his biological imperative.
Because it was.
From the moment he’d set eyes on her, he’d ached to make her his. Might as well stop bullshitting himself. Sure, he’d fought the feeling because she was a client and supposed to be off-limits. And her fear of him had been palpable. None of that had stopped him from watching her every move. Listening to her every word. Guessing her every thought. Wanting her with every breath.
Once she’d touched him, resisting was impossible.
Now she dripped on his tongue, and the reality of having her under him, bucking for him while screaming his name in ecstasy, was way better than his fantasies.
Trees clutched her thighs and ate at her with unabashed zeal, dry humping the mattress like a teenager desperate for his first lay. Laila did that to him. She was beyond beautiful. She was everything.
Finally, her high-pitched shriek of excitement—one every person in a two-mile radius had likely heard—dwindled to soft moans, then the occasional cry. Whimpers followed before she twisted and tried to close her legs.
Too sensitive. Right.
Trees knew that in his head and tried to back off, but…she tasted so sweet and he craved more.
