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"Just grabbing a tool."
I swipe the item in question off the table and stroke it over her skin delicately so she'll feel every touch of the feather on her skin. The way her breaths quiver makes my cock ache, but I ignore my own needs and skate the feather over her body, letting it tickle her flesh in long sweeps with the vanes barely contacting her skin.
She swallows hard enough I can see the movement in her throat.
When I skim the feather over the nipple of her exposed breast, she sucks in a breath and throws her head back, crushing it into the pillow while her spine arches up toward me. Our bodies meet for a brief moment that takes my breath away, then she falls back onto the mattress. I trace the feather over her lips, then set it on the table.
Lifting her again, I reach under her body to unhook her bra, dispatching it with one flick of my wrist. I remove her knickers just as her bra flutters down to the floor. Retrieving the feather, I dance the vanes over her skin from her throat down to her breastbone, and even lower until I'm teasing her mound. I spread her legs with one knee, then drag the feather along the insides of her thighs and up again slowly, frisking it over her slick folds.
I whisk the feather away, laying it on the table.
She sinks her fingers into the pillow, almost panting. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Don't stop."
I place a kiss on the hollow of her hip.
She jolts and clutches the pillow so tightly her knuckles turn white.
Why do I love teasing her this way? I've never done this with any other woman, but with Erica, I can't get enough of watching her reactions every time I tickle her skin with that feather or my mouth.
I lick a path down her belly to her thigh, planting an open-mouth kiss so close to her mound that the hairs tickled my cheek, the sensation arousing me with such intensity that I'm having trouble breathing.
She reaches for me.
I snare her wrists with one hand, keeping my grip firm but gentle. If she lays one hand on me, I mightcaithbefore I even get inside her. Erica rolls her hips like she's desperate to have my mouth on her, but I restrain her wrists over her belly and seal my mouth over her clitoris, swiping back and forth. When I drag my tongue up and down in a single languid stroke, a strangled moan escapes her.
She lets her knees fall wide open, exposing all of her to me.
I lap and suckle while she bucks and writhes, fisting her hands in the sheets, but I cannae stop or slow down my relentless pace, alternating up and down, side to side, then circling my tongue around her nub only to pull my mouth away to blow a breath onto her flesh. Erica cries out with every lash of my tongue and every puff of my breath. She struggles against the constraint of my hands cuffing hers and my body pinning her to the bed, though she doesn't seem to want me to move off her. Her noises and movements are ecstatic, not angry.
She trusts me—with her body.
"Lachlan, wait. I—"
If she means to tell me to stop, I don't realize her intent. The force of her lust has shut down my brain, so I keep going, raking my tongue down her cleft and diving it into her entrance, milking all the pleasure her body can stand. Whatever she'd been about to say, she seems to have forgotten what it was.
Her entire body freezes, and her breaths shorten into sharp gasps.
"Lachlan!" she screams while her body bows inward and she squeezes her eyes shut.
And I keep going, determined to wring every last bit of pleasure from her.
She collapses, her body limp, her chest heaving.
I release her wrists.
The lass flails her hands as if she's searching for me, but she's too dazed by her climax to remember the blindfold that covers her eyes.
I settle my body on top of hers, my erection trapped between us.
Erica buries her face against my neck. "Wow, that was…"
"The beginning." I push a hand into her hair. "We've got all night."
I peel my body away from hers and sit back on my haunches.
