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“No,” he said, but he paused. No movement. I swear I could feel his gaze on my face, waiting, gauging.“Is that what you really want?”he asked me silently.
I was bound and powerless, and yet powerful. If I persisted, he’d do as I asked, he’d obey.
So instead, I didn’t ask. I placed that power in his hands.
And then his heat was gone, though, not gone, lower. He was on his knees in front of me, leaving my upper body bereft of his radiating warmth.
His breath brushed across my clit, making it ache and pulse. I clenched my thighs together, trying to find friction, trying to relieve the ache.
“Hold onto the beam, darling,” he said in that lazy, confident drawl that never ceased to hit me like a shot of tingling arousal.
I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about being told what to do, and yet, my hands seemed to move of their own volition, gripping the cool wood just in time to keep myself balanced as he slid his hands beneath my ass and lifted me up, hooking my thighs on his shoulders. And then—
Oh god.
His tongue slid along my slit, all the way up to my clit where he toyed with my piercing. And then he did it again, dipping his tongue into my pussy, then lapping up to my clit. On the fourth or fifth pass, he suckled my clit into his mouth, still somehow managing to toy with my piercing with his tongue while he sucked with so much pressure, the sensation came dangerously close to sending me over the edge. Fast.
I gripped the beam above me hard, but it wasn’t necessary; he was pretty much holding me up with his hands on my ass, and I could so easily envision his biceps flexing, the veins standing out along them with the effort.
The fire inside me grew hotter.
His tongue flicked faster.
I panted and gasped and moaned.
I was so close. So close.
He stopped.
I groaned in frustration as his breath brushed across my wet flesh, but nothing more.
“Don’t stop,” I whined, or maybe I begged. Dear god, had he reduced me to begging?
His lips moved to the insides of my thighs, then up my mound, everywhere but where I needed him most.
Just when I began contemplating the merits of squeezing my thighs until he gave in to what I wanted, his tongue flicked across my clit, over and over again, fast, the pressure just right.
I could feel it, taste it; my orgasm was right there. I chased it, screamed for it. All I needed—
He stopped again.
“God damn it, are you trying to kill me?” I cried, gripping the beam so tight it was a wonder it didn’t snap like a twig.
He chuckled like this was somehow a laughing matter.Stronzo.
“Not at all, darling,” he said as he lowered my feet to the floor and stood up. “But I am going to make you come harder than ever before.”
I reached for a witty retort, but his words, his promise, stroked me like his expert touch, making me shiver while my pussy clenched hard.
Before I’d recovered, he slid a finger inside me, hitting my G-spot on the first stroke, lightly, slowly. I was so close, it wouldn’t take much more. Just a little harder, a little faster.
But he kept up his pace, his light touch.
He leaned in until his lips brushed mine, and I lunged for him, opening for him while my own tongue sought his out, to sample, to taste. I’d never been a huge fan of kissing before. It wasn’t repulsive by any means, just very up-close, in your face. More personal than sex really needed to be. But with Brute, I wanted him close, I wanted to memorize the warmth of his mouth, the light whiskey taste of him, the scrape of his five-o-clock shadow against my cheek.
On the next stroke of his finger inside me, his thumb flicked across my clit.
My hips writhed. My moans grew louder, tumbling one upon another into his mouth.
