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He rubs his cock against me. “You’re so wet and slippery, Kate,” he growls, nipping my ear, and a noise I’ve never made before slips out of my throat. He pushes up abruptly, unfastening my jeans and sliding them down and off. Then he flips me face down and, oh God, how did he do that so easily?
He trails a long finger all the way down my spine, the groove of my backside and around the leg of my underwear. Then he leans in and nips my shoulder, nuzzling into my neck.
“You have the best ass I have ever seen.”
I snort into the pillow at this.
“That’s an excellent pickup line. You should use it in …”
His hand comes down on me with a sharp smack. “Quiet, woman,” he says in a way that is halfway between a command and a plea, and I close my mouth.He’s dominant in bed. I think he’d back down if I wanted him to, butLord no. This roughness … where … what do I know about his past, dealing with threats: Does he suppress it? A shiver runs through me. The men I’ve been with before have been sweet with me in bed, but Fabian is not treating me with kid gloves at all. And I don’t want him to: I don’t need it. Blood is thundering in my veins now like horses let loose in a field. Fabian’s assuming I can take it, and maybe Icanthrow off the mantle of seriousness and responsibility that has dogged me all my life, be a little free and wild.
“Let me savor this,” he murmurs, rubbing his nose into my back as he kisses down my spine to my lace briefs, pushing them up, then he stretches out to the table and the warm stickiness of more honey lands on the crease at the top of my thighs.
“Oh my God,” I mumble into blue cotton.
His tongue curls along the fold, teeth sinking in, fingers soft on the inside of my thigh as he sucks.Higher, come on, higher. I stretch my arms right out at ninety degrees to my body, reaching for the edges of his big bed, curling my hands into the covers.
“Mmmmmmm.”
“Kate? Talk to me.”
The words are stuck in my head. I clear my throat. “Your teeth … right on the edge of my nerves … Oh!”
He leans over me, propping his body on one arm anchored close by my head, nibbling my shoulder as his hand slides in from behind and under the lace of my panties, fingers finding the wetness. He brushes down one side then the other, so I widen my legs and he reaches farther forward with his finger and presses on my clit. Just once.
“Here?”
I groan into the covers, and he removes his hand, resting his weight half on me as he nuzzles into my neck and whispers in my ear.
“Glad to know I’m having the right effect.” His hand slides over my ass, long fingers cupping me as he moves his thumb gently over the crease at the top of my thighs, and God, I want him inside me.
“You’re sowet, Kate.” He’s still all of a sudden, voice wobbly, and I groan, shifting my hips toward him, pressing into his erection, and he nips my skin, a low rumble vibrating in my eardrum. He’s torturing himself as much as he’s tormenting me.
Then his hand disappears, and he sits back on his heels and leans across the bed. I turn my head to peer at his arm muscles as he rustles through the wooden drawer in the nightstand, and a slow smile spreads over my face.Finally. But when he straightens there’s a bottle of oil in his hand, not condoms. He drips it all over me and his strong fingers sweep down my back, digging in. Oh God. Vertebrae crunch; the strains of the day—fuck, probably years of overwork and late nights hunched over my desk—disappear as he kneads and pokes. He works his thumbs down the center of my spine, pressing on either side, just enough to make me wiggle as the tips of his fingers tickle my ribs. Goddammit, I want those warm hands somewhere else. But he focuses on the dips near my coccyx, pushing me right into the mattress.
Fabian holds himself above me suspended on his arms, muscles bunching in my peripheral vision, his ropey body sporting the imprints of where I’ve mapped his tattoos, traces of honey on his chest. His eyes are fixed on my face, sweat and honey sticking us together, and his hair is a halo of riotous curls as I’ve wound the strands around my fingers over and over again. I’m buzzing with distracted desperation. The sheets are oily. We’ve been here for hours, and he’s taken me close to the edge time and time again. I run my hands down some scratches on his sides and follow the ridges of his abdomen, the dark curling hair between his legs. His distended cock distracts me, and I start to wrap my hand around it, but he shakes his head, batting my hand away.
“I’ll come if you touch me, Kate,” he mumbles, his voice gritty and coarse like he’s holding on by the slightest thread.
I slide my hand over his thigh and in, and his eyes widen, thinking I’m disobeying him, but I cup his balls, stroking behind them, and he fixes his gaze on the wall above my head as he grinds his teeth. My other hand locks around his hip as I pull him forward widening my legs. I’ve tried several times to coax him inside me tonight: Is he going to allow it now?
He groans, bending to kiss me. “Don’t. Just … this is … I can’t …” He sucks in a long breath. “Christ, I don’t know what I want.”
I tug at him until his length is pressing against my wet folds, and he closes his eyes, swallowing. Then he rests his forehead against mine, opening his eyes, and I stare at their soft gray, the black in the center, his pupils blown wide.
“You’re drenched.”
I want to say something that might tempt him to push forward, but my mind is blank, floating with the tide, drowning in sweat and skin. We both watch as he grips his cock, and it strikes me that he’s handling himself almost gingerly, so I grin up at him and his eyes crinkle at the edges in return: a smile and a grimace.
“I think I’m a bit wound up.”
The cute vulnerability of that: My heart takes off at a gallop. He’s such a surprise in bed. He’s tender and slow, but dictatorial too. My God, I want to give him every relief I can.
He pushes forward pressing on my mound and I reach down to move him so he can press right where I want him. My fingers brush the tip of his shaft, and he grinds his teeth.
“Fucking hell, Kate.”
When I tip my hips, his cock slips over my clit. He stretches out, leaning over and pulling a condom out of the nightstand, going up on his knees.Thank God.He rolls it on, wincing. Then he’s back down and moving lower, finding my entrance with his cock but sliding back up again; pushing forward to press against me. After all the torture, to have direct pressure there gives me tremors down my legs. He smirks and repeats the movement, once, twice, and I’m shuddering, scrabbling at the damp skin of his hips. He slides back down again, this time holding himself unmoving in my opening. So, I relax my knees and rest my feet on his calves.
