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He intensified the kiss, his tongue stroking hers with audacity and confidence. She bit his lower lip, earning a sexy groan from him. When she shifted in his lap, she felt his rock-hard cock, and a sliver of anticipation ran through her, heating all her nerve endings.
“Je veux te foutre,” he said in French.
“What?”
“I want to fuck you,” he said.
“Yes,” she said in response.
He laid her down on the mattress, and gave her a long lingering glance. Then, he took off his shirt and dropped it on the floor. A shiver sizzled from top to bottom, and she chewed her lower lip.
Damn. She took in the sight of his phenomenal body. His shoulders were even broader in the flesh, his chest wide and with the kinds of muscles that made her want to touch, to run her hands over those hard ridges and angles.
When she blinked from her trance of complete male appreciation, she realized he’d been doing the same thing to her. His gaze tore from hers and descended to her lips, then her neck, now exposed as her robe had opened a bit when he put her on the bed. Her nipples puckered under the silky nightgown, and a tingle ran beneath her skin.
Goose bumps rose on her arms, and a moan unexpectedly escaped from her lips.
He scooted her on the bed until her feet touched the edge. Then, he leaned over her, and she propped herself on her elbows, sure he’d kiss her. She parted her mouth, her head bobbing in a daze of lust.
He nipped her chin, and little shivers ran wildly down her spine, electrifying her scalp, driving her crazy. She felt like she could melt into a puddle and slither off the bed.
He lowered the hem of her nightgown, and popped one of her breasts into his mouth. He laved his tongue at her nipple, then sucked her breast. With his free hand, he parted her legs, finding the scrap of lace covering her sex.
Sparks of arousal flashed through her body. Her female cream coated her folds, blood beginning to boil. When he fumbled with her G-string, she glanced down, and found his fingers slightly trembling, the tips touching her skin where the side of her underwear touched.
Her heart skipped a beat, then managed to float up her throat and throb in her ears all at once. Was he nervous? He, the international fuck boy? The idea endeared her to him, more than it should have, and the same feeling she had earlier, of melting, of softening, of belonging, stroked her again. “Let me help you,” she offered, raw emotion breaking into her voice.
She lifted her hips, and he slid her G-string off her, every inch that glided down her legs left a patch of awareness behind. He put her underwear on the bed, and parted her thighs. A cold draft swirled around her pussy, contrasting against the heat building inside.
Exposed.
She’d never had a man study her sex so blatantly, with reverence even. She also didn’t have the confidence to ask him if he liked the wax job she’d gotten, with a thin strip in the middle.
Her gazed zipped to his, and the moment their eyes met, her internal temperature rose like she’d been let off a rollercoaster ride. Without breaking contact, he lowered himself until he positioned his head between her thighs. Was he going to…
He gave her pussy an open mouth kiss, and she hissed, throwing her head back, no longer able to look at him. Too much.
“Luc…”
Groaning, he swung her left leg over his shoulder and thrust his tongue into her. Red hot lust flowed through her from top to bottom, sweat slicking her limbs. He hooked his hands under her ass, bringing her even closer to him, holding her like she was on a platter, and he was ravenous.
He ran his tongue between her folds, grazing his teeth on it, then sucked her clit. Spasms of ecstasy began building inside her. She bucked her hips, undulated them, desperate to find a release. Her eagerness only encouraged him, causing him to intensify the strokes, and the moment he inserted his fingers in her pussy, she lost it.
Fresh waves of pleasure rode her, one after the other, her breathing ragged. From the corners of her eyes she saw little dots flickering like fireworks, the sensation ravaging over her body. She quivered, calling his name, moaning, the sounds louder like she didn’t care if the entire building heard her.
The waves shifted into smaller tides, but the rapturous feeling stayed with her to the very tail end of the orgasm. When he disengaged from her, her thighs still trembled, rationality barely returning to her. All she wanted was to wrap herself in this man, to bottle him up, to hold him like that, naked and sweaty, and never let him go.
Never?
She gasped, catching her own madness. Did his tongue have the power of affecting her brain capacity? She slowly let out a breath, willing herself to relax. When she opened her eyes, she caught him looking at her with a close-lipped smile, the proud smile from a man who knew he’d just pleased a woman.
“Don’t be so full of yourself, cupcake,” she said, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him, and also to dispel some of the sexual awareness already re-energizing in her core.
He chuckled, a hearty sound like he hadn’t been expecting her to say anything that would make him laugh. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m betting on the main course.”
“Are you?”
He stood, then removed his pants, and she paid careful attention to the way his cock sprung, hard and oversized, out of the black boxer briefs.
He’s always so full of himself, and now I know why. Big dick energy dripped from him, and how could it not? Damn it, she wanted to get soaked in it herself. A part of her already was…
“Kira,” he called her, and the sexy way he pronounced her name added another notch of desire in a scale that was already bursting at the seams. “Are you on birth control?”
“Yes. I’m also… safe. Clean.”
“Me too,” he said. “Given our clause, I have to ask you before moving forward… do you want this?”
She swallowed. Technically, the clause was about him not even touching her, and he’d done more than that already, with her blessing. But she knew what he meant, as his eyes searched for hers, his hazel irises gleaming with hope. He was giving her one last chance to change her mind.
Her heart filled with warmth, and also a need to be very, very bad. “Fuck me, Cupcake.”
