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Harlow’s lashes flutter open, and I’m stunned by the aroused green of her eyes. I’m trying my best to rob her of breath, but everything about this woman is stealing mine, too.
“It’s a request. I’m telling you what I want. You’re not one of those who demands manners in bed, are you? Please, Sir and thank you, Sir and all that?”
I never have been before. I’ve always preferred equal partners. But the thought of bending Harlow to my will with the pleasure I give her trips my trigger more than I would have thought. “What if I am?”
Something passes across her face, so quickly I can’t tell what she’s thinking. But I get the impression she actually doesn’t hate the idea.
“Well, that’s not my thing.”
Now I know she’s lying—whether that’s to me or herself, I’m not sure. I can’t even put my finger on the reason I’m convinced she absolutely wants a man to command her in bed. Maybe the breathless way she denies it? I tuck the knowledge into the back of my head for now and shrug. “Whatever you say, baby. I won’t make you beg.”
At least not at the moment.
Harlow bristles. “I don’t do that.”
I think I can make her—and I will…when the time is right. I’ll ease her in, let her get comfortable, until she thinks she knows exactly what sort of commodity I am between the sheets. In the meantime, I’ll learn her body, read her cues, see how she responds. I’ll pounce once she’s ripe and she least expects it.
“No sweat. I assume you have no issues with me putting my mouth on your clit and sucking until you scream your throat raw?”
She inhales a sharp breath and struggles to find her voice. “None at all.”
“Excellent. You told me to do my worst, so…”
I let the insinuation dangle. She can interpret that however she wants. I intend to get busy.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Harlow’s shaky nod. But I’m already fixated on her nipples—and the rest of her body I haven’t had the opportunity to explore yet.
Cradling one breast in my hand, I dip my head and lave the distended tip. The bead is hard against my tongue. I drag it in and nearly moan at how plump it feels as I suck it deep. I’ve always been oral during sex. I enjoy getting my mouth on a woman and watching her squirm and pant as she races to climax. Already, I suspect Harlow will be different. She won’t lie back passively and let me go down on her. She’ll want to put in her two cents so she has some semblance of control.
That’s not happening.
She threads her fingers through my hair. There’s not much to grip, but she manages to dig the tips into my scalp enough to send a tingle racing through my entire body. I shudder as I shift to the other breast and wrap my lips around the taut bud.
“Harder,” she demands.
“How hard?” I admit I have a caveman streak. I love being rough with a woman’s nipples. I love to squeeze, bite, torment, and suck them until they’re red and throbbing and sore. “I can make them ache, baby.”
“Can you make me feel it tomorrow? So that every time they rub against my bikini top I’ll bite my lip and remember?”
Besides food and music, this is another place where we’re absolutely in sync. “That’s like asking if I know how to breathe. It comes natural. If that’s what you want, I’ll be more than happy to give it to you.”
Her breath sounds choppy as she nods. “Do it.”
I give her a lazy smile. She has no idea what she’s inviting…
When I bend my head and lick one hard tip again while pinching the other, she gasps. I don’t even let her recover before I hoover her into my mouth, add a bite of teeth, then soothe it with my tongue again. As I switch to the other nipple, her hips move restlessly. She gives a not-so-subtle tug of my hair. The arch of her back, lifting her breasts closer to my mouth, tells me she’s loving this.
That makes two of us.
I keep at her, and the sounds of her whimpers grow louder, closer together. She wraps her legs around me and digs her nails into my scalp with every drag and draw on her nipples. They’re swelling in my mouth, and I swear the flavor of her on my tongue is only getting sweeter. I can fucking smell her arousal in the air between us, and it’s all I can do not to grab the nearest condom and start plowing her until she screams. But I have to make this so good for her that she’ll never forget. I need her to be as desperate to have me inside her as I am to get there.
I’ve always been competitive. Succeeding has been bred and hammered into me since my first peewee football coach, my dad, insisted that I should never try less than my best and that dreams unfulfilled are merely aptitude wasted. No way am I not succeeding at arousing Harlow—what’s her last name?—out of her head with desire.
“Holy hell…” she pants out. “That’s so good.”
“Your nipples sore yet, baby?”
She nods almost unconsciously. I wonder how much control she has over her brain with all the desire coursing through her blood. Her hugely dilated pupils say it’s not much. “Yeah.”
