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He pulls his fingers away. “I’m not sure.”
The coil begins to ease. “Luuuukkaaaa.”
He uses his wet fingers to explore my cleft, tugging gently, pulling me wider on one side and then the other. “Hurting you is the last thing I want to do.” He sinks deep again and a full-body shiver crashes through me as he finds that place inside of me again.
Oh, fuck, I’m panting hard now, so close to completion, so dizzy, so –
“No,” he announces, pulling out.
“No! Luka. No, what –”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” My hips push back searching for his fingers again, but all he does is trace along my opening. “Luka.” Nothing. I squirm. “Fuck! Come on.”
“Such language,” he taunts, glancing over my clit. I shudder in his hold.
“Don’t be a bastard,” I practically wail. “Come on. Fuck me already!”
He gets to his feet without warning and my heart skips several beats. His hand slides from my wrists to loop around my waist, holding me snugly against his thigh. “Well, you just had to ask.”
An oath dies on my tongue when he spears his fingers deep, stretching me wide.
Pleasure re-surges.
This time he doesn’t let up. Again and again and again, he thrusts into me with firm strokes. I barely register the sheepskin below me through the long strands of my hair that sway back and forth as he fingers me mercilessly.
I push up on my toes, I squirm, I whine, but I can’t quite get close enough to touch the oblivion I need so badly. At least not until he uses the fingers of his other hand to press down on my clit. Now with every thrust, he’s jerking me against that sweet bundle of nerves. The pressure quickly sets me off and rapture rushes over me in powerful waves.
Delirious and worn out, I feel myself being lowered onto the sheepskin. He arranges me to sit on my heels, facing him. With a grip in the hair at the nape of my neck, he forces me to look up at him. He’s so broad and big and looming, I think dazedly. And that smirk on his lips is divine, smug in all the right ways.
“Did you like that?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“I’m glad.” He sounds sincere, which fills me with even more satisfaction. Pulling me up by my nape to my knees, he presses my face to the solid length of him that’s still trapped behind his pants. I snuggle the bulge as if I were a cat.
“Take it out,” he orders, setting off a little aftershock in my core.
I peer up along the sleek muscles of his torso to find his smouldering gaze above his beard, framed by his loose hair and the flickering light of the fire. What an incredible view. With another nudge of my cheek, I go to work on the laces of his pants, anticipation making my movements jerky.
My fingers have barely gotten their first feel of him when he pulls his hips back. “Change of plans. Keep your hands behind your back. Otherwise this will be over before it starts.”
“But –”
His hand tightens in my hair. “No buts. Just your pretty little mouth open and ready.”
He cuts off any further protest by leaning down to my ear and whispering, “Next time you can do anything you like.” His tone grows harsher as he continues, “But right now, I want your fucking hands behind your back.”
If it’s the growl in his voice or the words themselves, I don’t know, but with a nervous lurch in my stomach that adds to the warm glow between my thighs, I do as I’m told.
Watching him reach into his pants erases all of my objections. Even though I saw him yesterday, I’m still taken aback by the size of him. My core clenches, sending a tremor through my entire body. “That’s right,” he croons, painting my lips with his leaking cock. “It’s all for you. Now open up.” He places the tip on my tongue, sliding forward so I can close my lips around him. “Yeessss,” he hisses. “Like that.” He holds still while I swirl, suck, lick, and nibble to the sounds of his approval, happy that my past experience has prepared me for this, if not the mind shattering orgasm he extracted from me earlier.
Soon he becomes restless. Soon the hand at my nape draws me a fraction closer and his hips involuntarily inch forward. Soon my jaw is stretched wide and he’s flirting with my gag reflex.
“Look at me,” he whispers thickly.
My mouth full of him, I do as I’m told. He doesn’t say anything, just seems to assess my state of mind. He sweeps a thumb under my eye. “Are you going to cry for me, little raven?” Before I can answer, he presses forward into my throat by an inch, gagging me. He holds remarkably still as my throat contracts around the intrusion and water begins streaming from my eyes. “That’s it,” he groans. “Swallow for me, let me feel it.” The ‘swallowing’ is not voluntary and the unfamiliar sensation sends a zing of aroused panic to my core. I try to pull back against his hold. “No.” The single, hard syllable causes another zing, this one laced with more arousal than panic. “A little longer,” he says and the overpowering need to please him has me relaxing by a fraction.
