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“I’ve been this way for hours.”
“Then I better make it worth the wait.” He lifts the clear dome off the tray and plucks a big, ripe strawberry between his thumb and forefinger. Holding it by the stem, a dark fire brews in his eyes. And when he touches the cold berry to my exposed sex, I gasp on a hard shiver.
In that moment, I know that whatever he has planned is going to undo me. He circles the entrance of my body and thrusts the tip inside, filling the air with a fruity, provocative scent. The feel of cool pressure against wet heat is sinful.
“Mick,” I whimper in protest when he stops.
Smiling, he withdraws the glistening berry and brings it to his mouth, deliberately teasing me with the touch he withholds.
“Is it your plan to torture me to death?”
“No.” He takes a bite and sweeps the soft, juicy end across my lips. “I want you very much alive and coming all over my mouth.”
Rapid spasms tighten my core. “That’s not going to take long.”
“Yes, it will,” he whispers, sucking the fruit from my lips.
“No fair,” I moan.
“I never said I play fair.” With that, he drags the fragrant berry over my skin and his hot mouth follows—sipping at the hollow of my throat, licking the juice with the swirl of his tongue, moving to my shoulders, down my arms, and back up across my chest.
I’m swamped in sensation. Drowning in it. He rotates the strawberry around one stiff nipple then…I’m surrounded by hot, wet suction. The delicate pulls of his mouth are excruciatingly tender. I cry out, yanking on the restraint, trying to get free to touch him, to grab those wavy strands of hair and urge him to bite, to suck harder, anything to relieve this piercing ache.
“Easy, beauty,” he soothes, kissing his way over to my other straining nipple, and treating it to the same lavish attention.
I can hardly breathe to moan by the time he slides down into a prone position. My legs widen readily, my body so aroused that I feel flushed and fevered.
“You’re beautiful here too.” His gaze blatantly scans every fold and crevice, every drop of need. “Pink and creamy.”
Anticipation sizzles my nerve endings.
He swallows the last bite of strawberry, before his dewy mouth goes to the bare skin above the lace band of my stockings. He works his way up to the crease of one inner thigh, then the other, his tongue flicking slowly upward until he reaches the apex.
Headlights beam through the darkened glass. I blink against the glare, a reminder that I’m in the middle of Chicago—in the back of a limo—with my wrists bound, my legs wide open, and Mick between them.
He kisses my pubis, down the trimmed landing strip to my lips. My lower lips. He nibbles them gently. I’m already coming undone and he’s only kissing.
“Mick.”
“Right here, beauty.”
He brings his thumbs to my labia and I feel him carefully part them as if he’s separating the petals of a flower to expose its center heartbeat. His mouth lowers again, hovering over tender tissues, bathing me in a warm, moist cloud. He licks my cleft with the flat of his tongue, slow swipes, picking up my essence, sliding over and around my clit.
Pleasure slams into me. With the skill of a man who knows my body well, his maddening laps and diabolical tongue lure me to the cusp of orgasm. Over and over and over again.
“Please…” I beg, twisting against the hold. “Please, let me come.”
“Soon.” He hums, teasing me with feather light strokes, making me grind mindlessly into his coaxing mouth until I can’t take it another minute, until I’m sure I’ll die if he doesn’t get me off.
Only when my moans are keening cries, and I’m thrashing, my head tossing from side to side, does his tongue work that singular spot in quick, firm circles.
All the buildup, the teasing, the waiting coalesces into a firestorm. I sob his name and lock my legs around his back. My hips churning, my body shaking as sensation blazes through me, surging, annihilating everything in its path.
And still he doesn’t stop. His mouth is tireless, staying with me through the violent tremors, sucking and licking with a steady, unending rhythm, goading my orgasm to roll on and on, making it impossible to tell where one eruption ends and another begins.
The pleasure is so intense, my toes curl inside the tips of my shoes. I’m suspended in a dark vortex with Mick at its primary center. I hear the sounds of his ardent mouth mingling with my cries, see his broad shoulders, the back of his head moving, feel the velvet tip of his tongue massaging me outside and in.
I buck against the restraints, coming again on a thready cry, rising and falling until he finally stops and I go limp and boneless. My mind is still dazed when I feel Mick’s lips brush against my inner thighs. My legs still sprawled when I hear the metal rasp of his zipper. My eyes drift open. The juxtaposition of him being fully clothed, while I’m virtually naked with my hands tied only adds to the allure.
