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A quiver of heat streaks through my veins. What is it about his praise that gives me such a primal thrill? Maybe, it's the fact that I never received any growing up. I continue to rub my clit and feel a tickling sensation further back. I ease my finger back and discover more moisture gathering between my thighs. I move my finger back toward my clit, and it slides even more easily over the bud, so I speed up my actions. That heavy throbbing feeling grows thicker, deeper, swirls in on itself. The coming of a storm. The tension in the air before lighting hits. That sense of something teetering, looming over the horizon.
“Slide the finger of your other hand inside your hole.”
I moan. He called my entrance a hole, and that feels so wrong. And so right. A-n-d I slip a finger inside myself, but it still feels so empty. I wriggle my hips, and when that doesn’t help, I can’t stop the whine that spills from my lips.
“Still empty, huh?” He scans my features then, before I can reply, he adds, “Slip another finger inside yourself.”
I do.
“Better?”
When I don’t reply, his lips curl. “Add a third finger.”
Wha—? Did he say a third finger?My pussy clamps down on my fingers, but something’s still missing. Butterflies take wing in my stomach. Sweat beads my upper lip a-n-d,fine, I have nothing to lose, do I?I stuff a third finger inside my pussy, stretching myself around the girth, andwhoa—! Sensations crowd my skin. My scalp tingles.That’s so good. Sooooo good.
My movements slow down and he snaps, "Don’t stop kneading your clit; keep at it."
"B-but I feel like"—I lower my voice to a whisper—"like I'm gonna pee."
"Don't worry. You won't."
I study his face to see if he's telling the truth, and he nods. So, I go at it again, sliding over the swollen bud and stuffing my fingers in and out of myself, in and out. The tension builds, knots, folds in on itself. Sweat pools on my upper lip. "Declan, I can’t."
"You can."
"Declan, please, please..."What am I begging him for? What do I want?Liquid heat spurts through my veins. My breathing stutters, but I continue to stroke my clit, keep on skating my fingers in and out of myself, in and out, and all the while, I’m holding this gaze. I’m looking into those startling, now midnight blue eyes of his. He’s guiding me, leading me, pulling me toward that goal I can’t get to fast enough.Keep going. Don’t stop.A trembling sweeps up from my toes, my knees… My thighs tremble. My inner muscles clench.
"Dec-lan," I gasp.
"You will not come, Rabbit."
"Wh-what?" I stare at him, continuing to pump my fingers in and out of my sopping wet pussy. Every brush of my fingers against my clit sends a fresh burst of sparks shooting up my spine.Somethingis lapping up against my nerve-endings, threatening to overwhelm me. It batters against my will, threatening, pushing, dashing, battering against the last barriers of my sanity. "Please, please, Master."
His gaze intensifies. Those midnight blue eyes deepen in color until they’re almost black. The scar on his forehead stands out against his skin. He draws in a breath, then jerks his chin. "Come," he growls.
And the orgasm—because, surely, that's what this is—crashes over me. The climax goes on and on, and he still doesn’t release me from the tractor beam of his gaze. I pull my fingers out and begin to slump against the wall.
That’s when he closes the distance between us. He shoves his hand between my legs, cups my pussy in a possessive grasp and holds me up. My inner walls contract, and I shiver again. Every movement of his seems calculated to impress on me the mastery he has over my body. With his free hand he circles my wrist and brings my fingers—now stained with my cum— to his nose. "The sweet scent of your freshly orgasmed cunt… Is there any better scent in this world?"
Oh, my god, that’s so dirty. And hot. Why are his filthy words such a turn on?Before I can voice my protest, he lowers my fingers to his mouth. And when he closes his lips around my digits and sucks them clean, that melting sensation that gripped me when I’d climaxed overwhelms me. My eyelids flutter, and I give in to sleep.
When I come to, I’m horizontal on a bed. Muted light streams in from one of the windows. I hear the hum of the engines, so I know we’re still up in the air.
"How’re you feeling now?" a hard voice asks from beside me.
A small scream spills from my lips, and for a second, I’m transported back to that moment when I woke up in Declan’s bedroom in Naples. And when he unfolds himself from the chair and walks over to stand next to me, I wish I could go back in time and fix everything that happened after.
"I’m sorry Diego’s men beat you up. I didn't think it through. I didn't realize…"
"Shh…" He picks up the bottle of water on the bed stand, uncaps it, and holds it out.
"I really do mean it.".
"I know, Rabbit." He urges me to accept the bottle of water, then insists I drink half of it before he allows me to put it down.
"I’m good."
"Let me be the judge of that."
