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“Fuck,” he growls. “You really are a menace.”
A startled laugh escapes me and I look up, only to have my lips ensnared by his. He whips my sweatshirt over my head, groaning at the sight of me naked beneath it. My hands are captured next, handcuffed by his to the wall on either side of me. He feasts on my breasts, neck, and mouth until my legs turn to jelly and I sag into a pulsing, wanton mess.
“My turn,” he whispers.
Before I can protest, he lowers to his knees. In seconds, my jeans are undone and tugged roughly down my thighs. To my embarrassment, he immediately presses his nose to my secondary pulse and breathes deeply, his chest rumbling with approval.
“What is it with you and doing that?” I gasp.
His grin flashes upward, my only reprieve before he pulls my underwear down and spreads my legs as much as my pants allow.
The first touch of his tongue wrings a cry from my throat. My hands flutter helplessly and finally find purchase on his shoulders. He laps me with long, sure strokes, which gentle as they swirl around my clit.
Dear God.
It’s torture. Not enough and altogether too much. I ache with emptiness, poised on a fence of sensual overwhelm and an innate craving for more.
With a growl, Lucas yanks my pants off completely, then pulls my left leg over his shoulder. “Hang on to me,” he demands right before burying his face in my pussy.
This time, two long, skilled fingers sink inside me, curling into and massaging a spot that makes my head thud against the wall, my eyes close, and stars explode across a dark canvas.
My raw, helpless moans fill the house as I undulate shamelessly against his face in an effort to find what I need. And then I do. I sob as I come apart, my orgasm a full-body molecular massacre that makes me black out for a few seconds.
When I next open my eyes, the only thing holding me up is Lucas. His firm hands on my waist. His shoulder still angled beneath my trembling leg.
He blinks up at me, licking his glistening lips. His eyes twinkle merrily. “Did I break you?” he asks. I smack him on the head, but he just laughs. “I’m serious—I called your name like four times.”
I roll my eyes and shove him. He isn’t expecting it, toppling backward atop the foyer’s area rug. His legs splayed as much as the jeans still tangled around his knees allow, he lifts onto his hands.
For a moment, I merely appreciate the sight beneath me, then I follow him down and straddle his hips.
“Get rid of these,” I say, snapping the waistband of his underwear.
He chuckles and folds his arms behind his head. “You’re closer.”
I bite my lip on a grin, then play along, moving on all fours and lowering my head until I have the elastic band in my teeth. I look up, watching his face—grin faltering, swallowed by need—as I peel the damp material down.
Once his cock is free, I waste no time, grabbing the base with one hand and licking a line from my fingers to his tip. I swirl my tongue, tasting the salty nectar, then take him into my mouth as far as I can.
He groans, his fingers cradling my face before tangling in my hair. “Celeste, stop. Stop before I come in your mouth.”
I take a break long enough to say, “I’m in charge right now, and I want this.”
His sigh mingles with a gasp as I marry my pumping, twisting hand to the movements of my mouth and tongue. His hips begin to jerk, small upward thrusts, and I exalt in his unraveling control.
His helpless groans.
His tender, filthy whispers.
His fingers spasming in my hair.
“Celeste, I’m?—”
I already know, having felt him swelling, growing even harder against my tongue. I give him no quarter as his body stiffens, as he cries out and his release coats the back of my throat. I swallow him greedily—and with a surprising lack of gag reflex.
When he relaxes, I give him a final kiss and sit back. A gratified smile teases my lips at the sight of him: limbs lax, chest heaving, and eyes closed.
“Aww, did I break you?”
