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The room is dark, just the slight light from the hallway filters in. I give my eyes a moment to adjust, while my core continues to pulse with pleasure, coiling with need and anticipation. I’m going to come again, soon, harder than the climax I already had in my so-called dream.
I look down and find a head full of strawberry-blond locks between my legs. A moan escapes my lips, causing his eyes to flicker up to lock on mine. My heart slams in my chest. I look away, not able to stand the words he’s trying to say with just those gray orbs.
My hips start to move of their own accord as I plant my feet into the mattress. I don’t miss the tight grip he has on my thighs. I’ve negated sanity.
Somewhere in the back of my brain, there’s screaming for me to push the head between my legs away. Yet, the deprived part of my brain that hasn’t had the touch of this man in years—she’s yelling for me to shut the fuck up and ride his face like a cowgirl.
I listen to her and my body that’s screaming to finish. I buck my hips up off the bed, rocking against his hungry mouth. He grasps my hips in his big hands, holding me to him as he devours me.
It’s too much. I shouldn’t have set the challenge, knowing he would accept and deliver. He always does.
I try to back away, but he chases me down until I have nowhere to run. My back is against the headboard, my legs are shaking as I try to wiggle free. He’s not having it. In one swift motion, my legs are tossed back over his shoulders and his hands are guiding my core into his waiting face.
I cry out, feeling my soul as it tries to leave my body. This is why I’ve never tried to replace him. I’ve heard my friends at work talk of one-night stands that have gone completely wrong, or the guys who have talked shit about their dick game, only to disappoint.
I’ve never known that type of disappointment. Every touch I’ve ever received has been one of pure fire and unleashed sensuality that is unmatched. I know nirvana. It’s the reason I wouldn’t allow him to kiss me last night. One kiss and I would’ve been putty at his feet.
“Please,” I sob out, feeling my peak rush me. “I need. Oh, please… I need.”
I shouldn’t be begging him for anything, but I never have a single rational thought when it comes to him. If only I could scratch this itch, then tell him to kiss my ass. Yup, that’s what I need.
“Mm,” he murmurs into my center, pushing in deeper with his tongue.
This man’s mouth is a place of sin. My chest feels like it bursts open while he eats up every last drop, I gush all over his face and reach up behind me to cling to the headboard.
You would think he would back off once I begin to rain down on him. Nope. He growls into me, taking. I feel his thumbs at the base of my opening, prying me apart for his exploration.
I’m too wrung out to protest. I close my eyes and try to call on my strength to end this. A deep rumble grabs my attention and has my eyes opening once again.
I look down to see those gray eyes on me. This time they hold a fire in them that shows so much determination and frustration. I almost open my mouth to ask him what’s wrong.
I halt my concern, chiding myself for it. My senses begin to come back to me. I can’t believe I was on the verge of pouncing on him to ride that glorious prize of his. Heck, I was nearly begging for it moments ago.
I try to squeeze my thighs together. Narrowing my eyes as I try to push all the lust from them, but my face is quickly met with the pillow. I’m flipped onto my stomach so fast, the breath whooshes from my lungs.
My hips are in the air and my crack is met with his hard length throbbing against me through the fabric of his briefs.
“Don’t,” I grate out in warning.
“Never have I taken you without you being with me,” he hisses in my ear.
I don’t reply. I can’t. I should push him away, but I don’t.
I’m hit with a ton of emotions—surprisingly to me—the strongest one being my need for him. I hate it. I don’t want to admit it, but it’s there in the forefront, ripping me to pieces.
As if knowing just how much I need him and in which way, he wraps himself around me. One hand covers my right breast, the other clasping my throat. He doesn’t squeeze.
Instead, his thumb caresses the soft flesh behind my ear. My spot. He remembers my triggers.
He hasn’t moved to thrust inside me, but I can feel him pulsing against me, hot and heavy. I shiver, my sex squeezing with want for him. It’s the soft trail of kisses against my shoulder that causes me to break.
“Please don’t,” I gasp.
“Shh,” he coos. “I need you, but I won’t take this any further. I can feel you’re not ready.”
“Then, get your hands off of me,” I bite out, but it sounds feeble, even to my ears.
Instead of releasing me, he flicks my nipple with his thumb and my ear with his tongue. My chest starts to heave, my sex weeps in expectation, and my body trembles. I know the power behind this man’s touch. He has yet to show me even an inch of what he’s capable of.
