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“What?” I ask, biting my lip, but the smile can’t be tamed. I’m too damned excited. It’s been so long since someone kissed me there, and it really is one of my very favorite things.
“You want to make me your slave, don’t you?” He strips my panties down my legs, making my breath catch, then catch again as he draws my leg over his shoulder. He turns his head, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh as he murmurs, “Get me addicted to this wet little goblin pussy and have me on my knees for you every night.”
“Say the phrase ‘wet little goblin pussy’ again and I’m leaving,” I threaten, but I don’t mean it.
I couldn’t leave if I tried. I’m too desperate for that hot mouth of his between my legs. Even the fear of what fangs might do to my most intimate places should he lose control can’t mute the ache gnawing away inside of me.
“Slick little witch cunt?” he murmurs as he kisses closer to where I need him so desperately.
I shudder as my fingers thread into his silky hair. “Better,” I breathe.
“And how about this?” He brushes the softest kiss across my clit, but even that tender touch is enough to make my head spin.
“The best,” I pant as he kisses me again. “Damn, you’re good at that.”
He hums smugly against my slick skin, but I can’t get mad about it. Let him be smug. From what I’ve experienced so far, he’s earned the right to be full of himself when it comes to pleasing a woman.
My eyes slide closed as I give in to the wicked beauty of his mouth savoring me, exploring me, devouring me with increasingly intense rolls of his talented tongue.
And those fangs I was so worried about?
They don’t get in the way, at all. In fact…
“Oh, yes. Yes, there,” I moan, arching closer to the pointy tooth currently pressed against my clit. I buck into him, breath coming faster as his tongue pulses deep inside where I ache.
He reaches up, cupping my breasts and playing with my nipples as he murmurs against my sex, “Need you on my cock, Blaire. Need to be buried in this heaven.”
“Yes,” I whimper, nails digging into his shoulders. “Now.”
“First, you come on my mouth,” he says in that overbearing voice I’m shocked to find doesn’t bother me when we’re together like this. In fact, I kind of like it. When he adds, “And then I’m going to pin you against the wall and fuck you until you scream,” my bones turn to overcooked carrots and the only word I can find is, “Yes. Yes, yes, yes.”
He returns his full attention to teaching my pussy who’s boss, and I surrender with an abandon that isn’t like me. But hell, I’ve never felt anything like this. Memories of every other lover who’s tried and failed to deliver the kind of pleasure Darcy effortlessly demands from my body zip through my head only to be burned away in the heat. The fire building between us.
“I’m close,” I pant. “So close.”
He presses even tighter to the wet skin between my legs, moaning and sucking and tunneling his tongue deep into my entrance with a thinly controlled violence that’s hot as hell. His fingers bite into my thighs and his tongue strokes inside me one last time. Then that perfectly placed fang grinds against my clit, and I ignite.
I cry out something—maybe his name, maybe some primal halleluiah—as I come so hard, I lose all sense of space and time. I lose language and reason and the feeling in my left foot, which seems to have twisted itself into a muscle cramp from all the excitement.
But who needs a left foot?
Not me. I just need that thick, glorious length in Darcy’s pants inside me—five minutes ago.
As his lips crash into mine, leaving the salty sweetness of my sex on my tongue, I reach for the close of his pants. “No, mine,” I mumble against his mouth as I swat his hands away. “I get to take this cock out. I—”
My words end in a sharp inhale as voices sound from the hall.
My hands freeze on Darcy’s belt and my wide eyes meet his as the door to the gym creaks open.
There’s just enough time for Darcy to jerk my dress back up over my bare breasts and poof us both into mist before two men in tuxedos stumble into the room, kissing hard as they tear at each other’s clothes.
I want to ask Darcy if the gym is always a hotbed of hook-ups, but I can’t speak while misty. I can see much better this time, however, and actually enjoy the float through the open window on the other side of the room and down to the grass at the fringes of the party.
But not as much as I’m going to enjoy getting Darcy back to his place and out of those clothes—ASAP.
The moment we materialize, my lips part to ask for “more, please,” like a shameless, starving orphan from a Dickens novel.
But before I can speak, Annie calls out from behind me, “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.”
