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Angling his head, he revved up the kiss, plunging his tongue deeper, stealing the breath from my lungs and setting off a chain reaction of chemicals.
Air. I really needed air. Absolutely did not give a crap.
I wrapped my lips around his tongue and suckled. A low, drawn-out growl crawled up his throat and poured down mine.
He broke the kiss … and what followed could only be described as honest-to-God’s sensual torture.
He began at my neck, making sure to seek out every “happy spot.” There was licking. There was suckling. There was biting. There was shaping. There was squeezing.
He soon drifted down to my shoulders and arms. The pads of his fingers skated over me, possessiveness in their every press, stroke, clasp, and glide. Like they were stamping my skin with proof of his ownership—not one I could see, but one that would settle into my bones; one that I’d never be free of.
He squeezed my breast hard, shocking a delighted gasp out of me. And then his grip gentled, loosened,frustrated.
One moment, his touches could be all carnal tenderness. The next moment, they could be wickedly rough. Again and again, he switched. But always, every move was laced with a leashed aggressiveness that threatened to surface any second.
Moist heat soon gathered between my legs. An intoxicating cocktail of chemicals danced through my bloodstream and drugged my mind.
He honed in on my breasts next, teasing until my nipples tightened to twin, painful, tingling points. Every suck and bite on the taut buds sent sparks of pleasure to my core. God, I felt so empty ithurt.
Swallowing a frustrated whimper, I sank my hand into his hair and pulled. “Dax—”
Teeth dug into the side of my breast in a not-quite-bite. With a hiss of complaint, I loosened my grip. His tongue eased over the smarting spot to soothe the prickle.
He slid further down my body, teasing my stomach relentlessly. His tongue would lick. His breath would blow over the wet skin. His teeth would then nip or graze.
At this point, my nerve-endings were on total overload to the point that even the crisp hairs on his thighs and chest seemed to scrape at my skin.
I raised my head to glare down at him. “Are you trying to make me crazy?” The hoarse words sounded tortured out of me.
Lifting his head to meet my gaze, he rested his hand on my stomach, his fingers splayed, taking up as much skin as he could. “What’s wrong?”
I blinked. “What’s wrong?”
Humor sparkled in his mismatched eyes.“You look a little flushed.” He slid his hand down to cup my pussy, digging the heel of his palm into my clit.
My toes curled so hard I thought they might cramp. “I want to kill you right now.”
Moving lower, he hummed as he nuzzled my slick folds. “I don’t doubt it.” His tongue did an idle little foray over where my “landing strip” used to be. “Do you know one of the things I love most about this pussy?” he asked, his lips skimming my damp flesh as he spoke, his breathliterallyfanning the flames. “That it was mine first.”
My eyes drifted shut as he licked at my slit. He ate me out with his usual pussy-eating mastery. He didn’t half-ass it, no,he went to town.
His tongue stole the show—a freaking sexual weapon that drove me higher and higher as it licked, swirled, and sank deep.
I wanted to ride that tongue. Wanted more of it. Wanted it deeper inside me.
And yet, I didn’t.
Because I didn’t want to come yet. That meant fighting my instinct to chase the orgasm that was hovering so close; meant resisting the urges to buck, squirm, and arch into his mouth and fingers. It wassucha mindfuck.
Again and again, I neared the peak of an orgasm. Again and again, I beat the pleasure back. He hummed his approval each time, rewardingly stroking my inner thigh or pressing a lingering kiss to my navel. But then he’d go all gung ho on my pussy once more.
Positivelydonewith this shit, I grabbed his head. “I really need to come,” I rasped.
He rolled his tongue around my pulsing clit. “So come,” he invited. “No one’s stopping you.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, biting back a whimper.
“You’re doing so good.”
