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“I’m aware, Angel. That was just the start.” Brontë’s eyebrow rose at his declaration. He mirrored her action.
“Spread your legs for me.” He jutted his chin in her direction. As she spoke, he shook his head. “This is not a discussion. You agreed to the rules. Now. Spread. Your. Legs.”
Defiance blazed in her chocolate pools. Jonah found it a turn-on. Especially since, contrary to the daggers she shot him, her legs slowly parted. He finally got a good look at her. Her mound was groomed with a low landing strip. Although he had wiped away the evidence of her previous release, her lips glistened. Good, she was excited. His eyes lifted and was captivated by the allure of her gaze.
The pink tip of her tongue licked her lips and caught his attention. His heart rate kicked up, and his dick elongated.Soon.In an effort to distract himself, he removed his cufflinks and placed them in his pocket.
“Touch yourself.” He commanded as he unbuttoned his shirt. The sight of her delicate fingers petting her folds caused his mouth to water. He wanted to rush to her. Feast on her nectar. Jonah willed himself to take it slowly. Ensure that Brontë got the most from the experience. He removed his shirt. With patience, he didn’t know he possessed. He folded it and placed it on the armchair. All the while, a very sexy woman shot him daggers. That he didn’t mind, as long as she followed instructions. She remained quiet, except for her deep inhales and exhales, as she stroked her pearl.
“That’s enough.” He instructed as he positioned himself prone between her thighs.
“Keep your hands palms down on the bed.” Jonah had a face full of the prettiest pussy. It was positively delectable. She smelled divine. His firm touch spread her wider for him. He dove headfirst. Finally, getting to taste her from the source. His tongue swiped her folds, parting her lips. Brontë’s moan of pleasure zipped through him. He could feel himself leak in response.
Jonah lapped at her center. His tongue dipped into her core. Her sweet ambrosia coated his tongue. It wasn’t enough. His pursuit became frenzied. As he slid his hand beneath her ass, tilting her hip upwards, giving himself better access. She squirmed at the intensity. His tongue slipped from her warmth. Brontë sighed in relief at the reprieve. It didn’t last long, as he moved to her hooded jewel. His breath tickled her pearl. Teasing. Then he engulfed her mound as he suckled her into his mouth. The sound of her moans increased, filling the air. The perfect soundtrack as he lapped at her treasure… savoured her essence. Her responsiveness was so sexy.
Now it was she that was tilting her hips upward, chasing the pleasure building inside. The trembling in her leg was an indication that she was close. Suddenly, her hand pressed on his head. Abruptly, he stopped.
“Hands,” Jonah admonished. Her hand immediately fell away. His tongue was now his weapon. He lapped ferociously at her pearl until she jolted off the bed. Completely open… spread before him. His swipes migrated between her folds, continuing until he reached her rosette. His licks were slow as he teased her forbidden star.
Brontë mumbled incoherently as the trembling in her leg increased. She was so close… he could smell it. Hell, so was he. Jonah was so hard it ached. His attention drifted to her now-plump bud. Their sounds of pleasure melded in a harmonious chorus. Both the giver and receiver were captivated by the moment. Although they both anticipated her release… desperately chased it. Its arrival still shocked them both. Her thighs locked around his head, holding him prisoner. The way she jackknifed off the bed pressed her creamy channel to his eager mouth. He licked at her entrance, not missing a drop. As her pants of pleasure urged him on.
Finally, with a deep sigh of surrender, her legs slackened… falling away from his head. Brontë’s sigh of contentment had Jonah spurred into action. He ignored her grumble as he slipped from the bed. Again, he slowed his action. Despite the anticipation raging within, he retrieved the protection from his bag. Then removed the rest of his clothing. He hissed… his own touch was almost too much as he rolled on a condom.
Brontë tracked his movements as he approached the bed. Her gaze disappeared beneath her lids as he got on the mattress, positioning himself between her thighs. “Eyes open. Keep them on me, Angel.”
Her wetness beckoned him as he guided himself into her heat. Jonah saw the question in her eyes as he paused with the head of his cock in her treasure. God! He needed a moment. It then dawned on him that staying still was almost worse. With great ease, he slid his dick in as far as he could. Her eyes fluttered closed… “Stay with me, Angel.”
The urge to quicken his strokes called to him, but he shook it off. Sliding out to his tip, he registered her disapproval. Jonah smiled internally, as she bit back whatever disagreement she felt. She was doing so well… following his instructions. He would be sure to give her an extra reward.
Jonah wanted to feel Brontë fall apart while he was inside her. He began his movements. His strokes were shallow, slow, and precise. One hand caressed her leg, while the other cupped a heavy globe as his thumb worried her diamond tip. It was so inviting. He wanted to capture it in his mouth and suckle it deep, but then he would lose their gaze. He needed that connection, in order to keep sight of her pleasure.
Desperation morphed her features… she begged him to help her find her release. Her moans filled the air, while her walls squeezed his length.
“You feel so good, Angel. God, you are so close I can feel it.” At his words, she became wetter. His strokes changed to deep and punishing of their own accord. The sound of their joining was a beautiful symphony as his hand released her leg.
“Ahhh,” she ground out as his ring finger caresses her rosette while his thumb and forefinger worked in tandem to finesse her slickened pearl. The look of wonder that slackened her jaw and caused her eyes to become a dark pool of satisfaction as she panted his name, was Jonah’s undoing. He hurdled over the cliff of desire, with a roar of accomplishment. His release felt like a firehose turned up all the way. Despite feeling spent, he couldn’t seem to stop pounding into her. Her eyes round in a mix of confusion and wonder as she came again. This time silently, her mouth frozen in a wide O, her breath caught in her throat. Brontë was so tight around him that it finally forced him to halt his movement. It was incredible. He had felt nothing like that before. It took him a moment to realise that something was off.
With a gentle stroke to her face, he encouraged, “Breath for me, Angel.”
Her breath came back in a harsh huff as she squeezed her eyes shut. Although he wished he could stay exactly where he was, he needed to see to Brontë’s needs. Regrettably, he slid from her core. After taking one last look at her, he smiled as he walked to the bathroom. She looked properly satiated. As Jonah walked into the restroom, he glimpsed his reflection. His expression mirrored hers. He disposed of the used prophylactic and did a little cleanup. With her at the forefront of his thoughts, he prepared a warm washcloth. On the way back to where she lay unmoving on the bed, Jonah retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Here. Drink some water.” He instructed as he opened the bottle and placed it in her hand. She peeked at him with one eye. Without a word, she lifted her head and took a sip. While she drank, he used the cloth to cleanse between her thighs. It surprised him she didn’t raise an argument. He was sure that she thought that they were done for the night. With a little hydration, she would be ready for all the rest he had in store. Brontë had requested a night of being taken care of and he would be damned if he didn’t deliver.
ChapterSix
It was all… so much.
Jonah couldn’t be serious, Brontë thought. Where in the hell was he finding the stamina to keep going? Hell, how was she? To her recollection, she could not recall ever cumming this many times in one night.
What had it been?
Six?
And she was cresting on the seventh. The last seemed like a reprieve. It hadn’t stolen her breath and caused her body to shake. No, it was a warm, soothing blanket that covered her in tender euphoria. The one building now… as he fucked her from behind, was going to be epic.
Jonah’s iron grip on her hips held Brontë in place. He hammered into her. In, out. Out. In. The sound of their flesh slamming together was accompanied by his gravelly voice, “Do you feel how fucking hard you make me?”
Yes, Brontë felt it. She also felt him hammering her hidden spot. The ease with which he’d located her spongy place, and his continued accuracy, was astounding. She felt… dominated. It was a first for her. No other man had satisfied her without being instructed step by step. Still, those times had not been as gratifying. Brontë felt like she did most of the work. Not with Jonah. He guided her from orgasm to orgasm with ease. At times, he made it seem like he knew her body better than she did.
