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I mash my lips together and swallow with a gulp. The instant his tongue dips into my belly button, my spine bows. I bite my lip to keep quiet. God, he plans to torture me with sensation overload, all the while forbidding me to see or speak.
What a diabolical, devilishly sexy man.
I fist my hands as he moves to my left breast, mouth closing around the sensitive peak, teeth clamping down until pleasure turns to pain. I gasp but manage to refrain from saying a word. He journeys to my right breast before once again lowering to my belly button, tongue hot and wicked on my skin.
Then he moves lower.
I hold my breath as he pushes my thighs apart. His fingers spread me in indecent exposure, leaving every inch of me bare in the candlelight. Somehow, with my sight taken, I feel more vulnerable than ever.
At the first dip of his hot, wet tongue between the folds of my womanhood, I almost fracture.
Almost break the rules.
Almost cry his name in a plea for more.
Staying still and quiet has never been so difficult.
He moans against my flesh, lips closing around my clit, and the skill of his tongue sends me higher and higher, until there’s nothing but sparks behind my blindfolded eyelids. It gives the term “seeing stars” new meaning.
I can’t help the gasping mewls escaping my lips, but gasping and moaning must be okay because his fingers thrust into me, again and again, keeping time with his tongue. I’m dangerously close, and I want to tell him so, but he made it clear I’m not allowed to beg.
I’m not allowed to come, either. The rule is unspoken yet powerful between us, and I’m aching for his permission.
As if he senses my sexual uprising, he pulls back and slows the rhythm of his fingers. It’s not enough. I’m too worked up, but he’s not touching me enough to send me over the edge.
“Christ, Jules. I could watch you like this all night.”
I resist squirming against the mattress. Nails biting into my palms, I thrust my breasts upward, nipples hard and tingly. He never said a thing about not begging with my body. And sweet Jesus, is my body ever begging.
Shaking apart at the joints.
Nothing but a tight wire ready to snap.
The tempo of his fingers triple, and I flood around those digits, too damn close to releasing the rising pressure.
“Don’t come, Jules.”
His deep, throaty timbre is enough to make me climax, but I hold back, teeth grinding together in the effort. His breathing quickens. So does the pulsing around his fingers.
I whimper.
“You’re so wet,” he whispers. “But you won’t come, and all because I told you not to.” He curses under his thready breath. “You have no idea what that does to me.”
I sense movement, then the crinkle of foil followed by the hiss of his breath as he rolls on the condom. Seconds later, he grips me by the hips and plunges into me. “Fucking hell,” he groans. “Come for me.”
He thrusts to the hilt, inducing a massive orgasm that rips through me with such intensity that each wave launches from my throat in a soundless cry, and I scream his name without making a sound at all.
