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Harlow wriggles. “You were almost to the best spot. Why stop now?”
“I intend to savor my dessert. Be a good girl, lie back, and let me.”
Capitulating isn’t her style, and I sense she’s gearing up to mount an argument for argument’s sake. I stop her by latching my mouth on her pussy again, opening as wide as I can to drink her all in at once. Her toes curl. Harlow grips the edge of the table and holds her breath. Her protest becomes a needy whimper.
God, I love giving her pleasure and having power over her body.
With a long lick, I ease back and grope for the champagne again and stand, leaning over her to pour a trickle of the chilled liquid into her navel.
Her stomach contracts and clenches. Her eyes slide shut with a sigh of pleasure. Her beaded nipples and rosy cheeks tell me how aroused she is.
And I’ve barely started.
I drink from her skin, relishing the way she writhes under me. Her responses are everything I’ve always wanted and like nothing I’ve experienced. When her fingertips curl around my shoulders, I can actuallyfeelhow much she wants this, wants me.
Swept up in my need, I can’t resist dribbling some bubbly between her breasts and licking the fruity liquid away. I take a swig from the bottle and hold the sparkling wine in my mouth as I capture her nipple against my tongue. When the cold champagne meets her heated flesh, her back twists. Her head thrashes.
I swallow and repeat the process with the other breast, sucking and tormenting to my heart’s content.
“Noah…”
I don’t answer, just curl my tongue around her distended bud and suck deep. It’s swollen from last night. Knowing she’s still sensitive enough to shiver at every lick and nip on her breast turns me on even more.
Her hips start gyrating against my abdomen, as if her pussy is desperate for stimulation. For climax.
I wonder if she’s figured out yet that it’s going to be a long time coming…but sooner than I want if I can’t get myself under control. The blow job she gave me a few hours past might as well have been a few decades ago. And her womanly scent is driving my primal urge to get in, sink deep, and fuck hard.
Easing back, I reach for the bottle of chocolate syrup, give it a shake, and send her a devious smile.
“You’re not going to drizzle that on my pussy and eat it.” She says the words in warning.
“Yeah, I am. You’re going to be my perfect sundae. Sweet cream…” I swipe my fingertips through her drenched folds with one hand and open the spout on the plastic bottle with the other. “Chocolate…” I tip the bottle upside down and coat her pretty pink flesh with the liquid cocoa. As she gasps, the rich scents combine and waft to my nose. I set the bottle aside and reach for the jar at her hip, popping the lid open. “And cherries.”
“Noah…” She writhes and tosses her head back, throat arching.
“What, baby?” I fish out one of the candied fruits and let it drip over the jar.
“Didn’t your mama ever tell you it isn’t polite to keep a girl waiting?”
I laugh. She’s always got a comeback, and it’s one thing I adore about her.
“Sure she did. But she meant for a date. We didn’t exactly cover oral sex etiquette. Now lie still and let me enjoy.” I set the jar of cherries on the other side of her thigh, still within reach.
“But you’re going to torment me.”
“I am.” And I plan to enjoy every moment…even if I’ll be tormenting myself, as well. Because, no lie, I’d love to strip off my pants and seat myself inside her in the next ten seconds, let my eyes roll back in my head as I lose my sanity to what I already know will be earth-shaking sex. Instead, I hold off. Wait. I want to make this so good for her. Mostly because I want her to want to stay around longer, even if it’s just for the sex.
If I can make her like me, even better.
Watching chocolate drip down the pouty flesh of her bare pussy could easily become my new pastime. She’s swollen here, too. Puffy. Perfect. Would she object if I took a picture and hung it on my wall?
I drag the cherry up the lips of her engorged sex, swiping it through the chocolate and her essence, then settle it between, trailing it up her distended clit. She gasps at the touch, body thrashing. I do it again, slow down the drag, swirl it around the hard, rosy bud. As soon as I lift the candied fruit from her, I follow up with a silken glide of my finger. She bites her lip and wraps her fingers around her breasts, squeezing as if she’s desperate for more.
I revel in every moment of her sexual agony.
Using a slow hand, I watch her fall apart by degrees. It’s a lovely sight, and she’s a sensual thing twisting under my touch. I’ve always loved women—the sight, the feel, the softness of them. But Harlow Reed is in a class by herself. I’m captivated by even the littlest things she does, by the way her dark hair gleams on my elegant table, by the way she pants when I touch her, by the way her entire body flushes as she approaches climax.
But she isn’t ready to surrender just yet.
