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“Please touch me,” I cry out.
He parts me with strong fingers, and taunts my sex. I roll my hips, a low moan rumbling from the depths of my throat. God, yes.
“Don’t move,” he says, and I go perfectly still, not w
anting to do or say anything that will prolong this seduction. I suck in a breath and let it out ever so slowly when he leans into me, sweeping his tongue over my swollen clit, with slow leisurely strokes that heat me to the boiling point. Holy God. I grip the wall, to hold on.
His tongue lazily laps at me, and I want to move, want to shove myself onto his face, grind against him, hard, force his mouth to ravage me, but I don’t do any of that. Instead I stay still, giving him the control, and I have to say, remaining motionless comes with its own twisted pleasure.
He finally, finally buries his face between my legs, eats at me like a man starved, and his finger thrusts inside, faster and faster as he changes the tempo and pressure, his tongue plundering, taking everything it wants, until I sink into a haze of sensations. My breathing grows rough, and I gulp for air as he drives into me with filthy, blunt strokes that shut down my mind. Tension builds inside me, and I cry out his name, needing release before I shatter into a million broken pieces. My skin grows taught, and I whimper as a powerful orgasm tears through me.
Dizzy and gasping, I feel my hot release drip down my thighs, and he slows the pace, removing his mouth from my clit as I ride out the waves. He takes my hands from the wall and puts them on his shoulders. I squeeze, and work to ground myself as I slowly come back down from that high.
My God, is this what I’ve been missing out on?
He stays between my legs, pressing soft, openmouthed kisses to my pussy, and I struggle really hard to keep myself together, in more ways than one. He slides up my body, his cock pressing against me, and my mouth waters for a taste but he seems to have other ideas. He steps back and I ache at the loss of his heat. But it’s short-lived. Two seconds later, he has me bent over the kitchen island, and the hiss of his zipper as he releases his pants sends shivers of anticipation down my spine. My entire body quakes.
I try to look over my shoulder but he puts his hand on my back, and presses my swollen breasts against the cold marble. It does little to push back the heat building inside me. He jerks forward, shoves his hard length against my ass, and I wiggle. That movement gets me a small slap on my backside. I yelp, but it’s from pleasure not pain.
“Such a tease,” he says, leaning over me to whisper in my ear. His heat trickles through my blood, and my breathing grows shallow. I catch his scent, breathe it in and lose myself in it as it swirls around me.
Strong fingers grip both ass cheeks, and squeeze. I’m sure I’ll have little finger bruises come tonight, but I love that he’s a little bit rough and wild, and those marks will be a reminder of this moment. My belly draws in tight as he pulls on my cheeks until my sex is wide-open and wet for him.
“Shit,” he curses, and his hands clamp tight as he nudges my feet a little farther apart, spreading me more. His erection is now between my thighs, pushing, and probing, big and needy, but then he’s gone. I wait a second, but it feels more like an hour. When he doesn’t rush back, I’m about to turn, to get down on my knees and beg him to finish, when I hear the foil crinkling. I nearly cry out with relief.
Once sheathed, he reaches around my body, and pinches my clit with slick fingers as he positions himself at my opening. He pulls in a deep breath, and then another, like he’s a sprinter about to run the race of a lifetime, one he’s been training for since childhood.
I know the feeling.
He pushes into me, offering me one sweet inch after another and I claw at the counter as he stretches me open. “More,” I cry out, and his hips power forward. He grunts, and holds my hips for leverage as he seats himself high inside me, filling me completely.
My heart pounds against my ribs as he buries himself so deeply, I’m sure he’s going to ruin me for any other man. But I don’t care. Right now, all that matters in this moment is that Cason is inside me, and how incredible that feels.
“You good, Londyn?” he asks, his rough voice rumbling through me as he strokes a finger down my spine. A quiver rushes through my entire body and he groans as the movement squeezes his cock.
“Yes,” I lie, fearing I’ll never be good again. “You?”
“You feel so fucking good,” he growls and pulls almost all the way out. I whimper as the heated friction hijacks my ability to think with clarity. He drives back in again, and I lift my ass, my sex growing wetter and wetter as my peaked nipples nearly score the marble countertop.
His lust-saturated groan curls through me, and he moves with steady thrusts. He cups my ass, kneads my flesh and pounds into me. His length teases me as his girth stretches me in the most delicious ways, and the second he reaches around my body and races a finger over my clit, another climax takes hold. I’ve never climaxed twice. Never. Not even with Mr. Right, the battery-operated toy that hangs out in my nightstand. Why the hell is sex so good with him?
“Oh, my God, yes,” I cry out.
He presses hot kisses to my back, the moisture on our bodies sealing us together as he drives harder, his movements frenzied as he chases his own pleasure. I rock against him, meet each speeding thrust as he sinks into me, and my hot wet sex muscles clench around him until his control is a thing of the past.
“Londyn,” he growls, and hearing my name on his tongue as he lets go does the stupidest things to my heart. He groans as he depletes himself and I grip the counter harder, doing my best to hang on—to my sanity.
My God, that was the most erotic experience of my life.
Sated and spent, he falls over me, his lips warm on my back as he silently peppers me with lazy kisses. His soft touch creates a new kind of need in me. One I’m not about to explore. A long time later, he lifts me from the counter, and wraps his arms around my waist. With his chest against my back, he just holds me, his forehead pressed to my shoulder and we breathe together. My mind trips back to last night, to when he crawled in bed with me, holding me just like this until I fell asleep. He may be a hard son of a bitch on the outside—but there is a warmth and kindness in him he can’t hide from me, no matter how hard he’s trying. But I’m here to get my heart back from him, not let him get a tighter hold on it, right?
I touch his hand, pull one away from my body and peel his fingers open to expose his palm.
“Looking for something?” he asks.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cason
