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When his fingers hover over the second button, I blurt, “I like looking at you, all right?” The words tumble from my lips in a rush. “Are you happy now?”
“Not really.” He slips the second button through the hole so that even more flesh is displayed. “What exactly do you like looking at?”
My jaw locks. It’s obvious he won’t be satisfied until he completely humiliates me.
When I remain silent, trying to figure out a way to fight him, his fingers drift over the bare skin above my bra. Goosebumps rise in their wake. Back and forth he strums until I can’t stop myself from shifting restlessly beneath him, hungry for more of his touch.
It’s demoralizing to realize that Austin is capable of turning me against myself and reducing me to a quivering mass of hormones.
“Everything,” I gasp.
“Be more specific.”
I gulp and force myself to admit, “Your biceps.”
“Is that it?” His finger dips beneath the material, moving dangerously close to my nipple.
“Your chest,” I blurt.
When the blunt tip of his digit brushes over the stiffened peak, a whimper escapes from me.
“Anything else?”
“Your backside.”
“You mean my ass?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He caresses the stiff little bud for a second time, sending a thousand little shivers reverberating throughout my body.
“What about my cock?” His gaze lifts, fastening onto mine as if he’ll never release it. “Do you like looking at that?”
More heat pools in my cheeks but part of me no longer cares. The only thing I can focus on is the pleasure he’s sparking to life inside me. It’s not like anything I’ve ever experienced before, and as much as I want this madness to stop, I want itto continue. I’ve never felt more at odds with myself. It’s the strangest sensation.
His hand slips from my shirt, leaving me to feel bereft. A moan of protest almost breaks free from me when his mouth settles over the stiffened peak through the fabric of both my shirt and bra. The moan turns into more of a cry as the taut bud is surrounded by warmth. Even though it’s not skin-on-skin contact, I feel the tug of his lips to my very core. Unconsciously, my fingers tunnel through his hair, attempting to shove him away.
Or maybe I’m trying to drag him closer.
I don’t know.
Or maybe I do, and it’s that knowledge which frightens me most.
Where is the line?
Whatwon’tI let Austin Hawthorne do?
He nips at me before repeating, “Do you enjoy staring at my cock?”
“Yes,” I gasp. “I like looking at all of you.”
“Good girl.”
And then he’s sucking my nipple into his mouth with a greediness that has my back bowing off the mattress. This goes on until I’m crying out and my core is pulsing with a shameless amount of need. I have no idea where this girl writhing on the bed has come from. She’s not someone I recognize.
With one final tug, he releases me. Disappointment takes up residence at the bottom of my belly. Or maybe it settles lower.
Much lower.
