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She screamed. If he’d touched her clit, she would have lost control, but he didn’t. He had his other hand on her sternum, holding her against the wall as he played in her wetness and continued to watch her unravel before him, beg without words, only feeling. Except his name. She muttered that like a one-word prayer for mercy.
He captured the necklace in his teeth, pulling on it gently. He released it and used his tongue over her nipples, easing the throbbing rawness the flogger had left. Her cry became a whimper of gratitude, of a need for more.
He stepped back and thank God, removed his shirt. Her gaze slid over the firm flesh, defined pectorals and sectioned stomach. The doctor in her made a note of the healing “graze,” confirming he’d told her the truth, that it was fine. The bruising elsewhere was healing the way it should. If she had any doubts, the sex marathon he’d put her through before the M&M said it wasn’t slowing him down.
The woman in her needed to feel his upper body against her. He opened his jeans, and pushed the underwear beneath down, scooping out his heavy cock.
She needed that, too.
He left it that way, making her sex throb for what he brought so close.
“Please…”
His cock brushed her thigh as he pressed an almost chaste kiss against her cheek. “Whose pace, Les?”
“Yours.”
“When will it happen?”
“When…you say.”
She was caught in the powerful storm cloud of demand in his eyes. But he slid his arm around her waist and palmed her ass to lift her up against the wall. He leaned in, putting his cock between her legs. He lowered her onto it slowly, so slowly she decided he really must be sent straight from the most wicked, sinful parts of hell to break apart her soul.
Inch by excruciating inch, he brought her down onto his length. His fingers, still slick with both their fluids, probed between her buttocks, playing with the sensitive nerve endings around her rim.
“Oh God…” She writhed on his cock as he slid all the way home. Sensation slammed into her. She tried to hold on, knowing she needed to wait for his command, even if he built it to a lethal amount of response. He was taking her where he wanted her to go, and she surrendered that to him. Just like her fantasy, that picture. Waiting on Him.
“Now, Les.”
He wanted her to come. Demanded it, and she was helpless to do anything but what he told her to do.
The orgasm turned the treehouse into a spinning cloud of earth colors as she cried out. Brick’s intent gray eyes were at the center, his masculine presence as rooted and firm as the trunks of the trees that held them aloft. His cock was the same, thrusting deep as his thighs and buttocks flexed under her heels, all those muscles committed to what made life worth living. Worth creating. Worth giving and sharing.
He freed the strap with a jerk so her arms could drop over his head. Her nails raked his neck and back, her head pressing against the side of his as she shrieked, as he groaned out his own release against her temple. He pushed her against the treehouse wall, and she felt it creak and groan, absorb their fierce response.
When his seed spewed inside her, the heat of it left one overriding desire. To give him everything.
As they slowed, he was holding her weight against him. He slid from her, but only to turn, drop to a knee and put her on her back on the blanket he’d told her to leave folded on the floor. She was glad the reins still bound her hands, because she didn’t want to let him go, and she didn’t have the strength to hang on otherwise.
He was still hard enough to put himself back inside her as he lay upon her. Her cunt spasmed, milking out aftershocks that had her clutching him with twitching fingers. He adjusted his hips in small movements, staying as deep as he could, letting her feel him there.
“You make me want to do nothing but fuck you all day long.” Her man who loved to quote poetry, speaking raw and plain to her from the primitive pleasure of their joining.
At length, he guided her arms from around his neck to remove the rein. He moved to his knees and checked her circulation, rubbing her wrists and fingers. Her mind was in a drifting, wordless place, so she tugged her hands free to put them on his chest, scraping, asking, pulling. His gaze softened as he lowered himself back upon her, though he held most of his weight on one arm.
He seated his cock against her sex, giving her one more aftershock through her clit. As he pressed a kiss to her cheek, under her ear, he did whisper poetry to her, roughened by the passion still in his voice. A snippet of the poem he’d quoted to her the first time he fulfilled one of her fantasies, the spanking between her legs.
“The mystic deliria--the madness amorous---the utter abandonment…” He put another lingering kiss on her mouth.
“That Walt was a sex fiend.”
“Just a normal man with a poet’s soul.” Brick chuckled. “He wanted to put the feelings to words.”
“For some things, there are no words.”
“No.” His gaze met hers. “And none needed.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
