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“It’s on you not to scream, Red.” There was dark laughter in his deep, scratchy voice. “Good luck with that. I’m not holding back.”
And he went at me. Tenderly, hungrily, the same worshipful kisses against my pussy lips that he’d done to my hands, but more, deeper, wilder. Opening me with slow, teasing swipes of his tongue. His plunging, caressing fingers were made slick with my juice. Licking and swirling, tongue lashing, fingers delving. Suckling on my clit oh, so delicately. Working me into a helpless froth of pure, shaking need.
I bucked against his face, clutching at his hair, whimpering and gasping as the first orgasm wrenched through me. Obliterating me.
He waited afterward, kissing my thigh, petting my mound as if it were a purring kitten. As soon as I was close to normal consciousness again, he started again.
His instincts were spot on. He knew just when to push and when to wait, and when to speed up and go for it, insisting. I abandoned all control and let myself be carried away on that voluptuous ride. The pleasure built and crested, again and again, until I was limp and soft, thighs slick, every cell of my body humming with pleasure.
He finally leaned back, got to his feet, and pulled me up, pushing the robe off my shoulders, letting it tumble onto the couch. He pulled the nightgown off me, tossing it away. I couldn’t see his eyes, in the dimness, but he knew he could have anything he wanted of me in this condition. I was unraveled, undone. Lost to all reason.
He took my hand, wrapping my fingers around his thick erection. I stroked it appreciatively, remembering how it felt inside me. Aching to have him there again.
“What do you want from me, Shane?” I couldn’t control my shaky tone. I didn’t want to sound this vulnerable, but it wasn’t up to me.
He pulled me up onto my feet and turned me around, pushing me toward the couch. “This.”
I tumbled against the couch, my knees on the cushions, face pressed against the back positioned me right how he wanted me, thighs wide, ass out. But his hands slid up my inner thighs and boldly stroked my pussy again. I pushed myself against him as I felt his thick cockhead prodding me, sliding into the slick, sensitive opening of my pussy, pressing forward against the resistance, pulsing against it, teasing, taunting.
Staying there. Stroking the opening, swiveling, caressing my pussy lips. Making me wild for him to thrust his cock into me.
“Goddamn it, what are you waiting for?” I demanded.
“To be sure it’s what you want,” he murmured.
“You’re the one who was supposed to beg,” I said tartly. “Not me.”
He vibrated with silent laughter, and thrust deep.
After all my fine words about not screaming, I had to press my face against the couch to muffle the gasping moans that jerked out of me at each slick stroke. He gripped my hips and pumped hard, fucking me expertly into a blinding explosion.
This time, as I drifted back, the sweat on my naked body made me shiver as I braced myself for a repeat performance of last night. The post-coital lava pit.
He was collapsed over me, panting. If he was cold and rejecting to me now, I’d be destroyed. I would also have to go through the whole emotional routine again. Feeling stupid for letting my gullible, wretched, silly-ass self be seduced into this vulnerable position once again, when I already knew better.
Cass Clarke, the eternal slow learner.
But he didn’t pull away. He just stroked me, hip, waist, ribs, cupping my breast, teasing my nipple as he squeezed the side of my neck. So far, so good.
He withdrew from my body with a low, grinding sigh. “So do you want first crack at the bathroom?” he asked. “Or shall I go first?”
Huh. Maybe he wanted to sneak off while I wasn’t looking. Well, let him. That might be the easiest thing. Slightly less humiliation involved. But only slightly.
“Sure.” I stumbled for the bathroom and shut myself safely inside before I dared to turn on the light.
I was shocked at the look on my face. Good thing it was dark in the bedroom. I didn’t want to show my eyes to anyone. It was written all over me, how scared I felt, how uncertain I was. How needy.
I washed up hastily with the shower nozzle, wishing I’d had the wits and foresight to bring the nightgown into the bathroom. Just to feel more protected when I walked out. But there was no effective protection, not after being pounded into sobbing, wailing oblivion by the man of my dreams. As it was, in that shaky state, I had to strut out there, stark naked, like the queen of the world. The Red Queen. Hah.
I switched off the light before putting my hand on the knob, and tightened every muscle in my body to get ready for… whatever was on the other side.
Which was to say, probably an empty room.
I opened the door and found him standing right there. I jerked back. “Whoa!” I said. “You scared me!”
“Sorry,” he said. “My turn?”
“Sure,” I said, bemused. “Ah… go for it.”
