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Is he awake and playing a game with me?
No. As far as I can tell, he’s completely out. His breathing is steady and deep, and though he’s managed to keep me securely nestled against his chest, his hold slackens if I don’t move.
I roll my eyes. So much for being a light sleeper. Stupid threat. I could probably take off my collar and strangle him with it and he wouldn’t stir.
Now there’s an appealing thought. But far too risky.
For two hours, I remain in that hell, staring toward the window, waiting for the light of day to slip between the thick curtains.
It’s easy to tell the moment he does finally wake. His dick goes from slightly hard to steel and he inhales, taking in the scent of the skin of my neck.
I shut my eyes in hopes that he’ll leave me alone, and for a moment, he does. But the moment doesn’t last.
He begins to trail small wet kisses from my ear to my shoulder, then bites me there at the same time that he moves his cock so that it slides over my ass crack and between my legs.
I can’t help the soft sigh that escapes me. It’s impossible to prevent it when he does that to my over-sensitized skin.
“You’re awake,” he says, his voice made hoarser with sleep.
“Yes,” I can barely reply as he starts to graze my nipples with his fingertips. Back and forth he goes between the two, circling them, making me pant.
“Ask me to fuck you, Skye.”
“Fuck me,” I whisper.
Laughing, he shakes his head. “Say it like you mean it.”
“I can’t.”
“Not yet. But you will.” He slides the blankets off my body and lifts himself so that he’s looking down at me. Although it’s not very bright in the room, enough sunlight is spilling through the part between the curtain panels that I’m sure he can see me clearly. In fact, he confirms it when he begins to draw lines between the freckles on my hip.
“Roll onto your back,” he says.
I do as he says but keep my arm across my breasts and my legs closed.
A smile creeps over his lips as he grabs my wrist and moves it away. Heat spreads through my chest as he touches every inch of it with his eyes, hungrily taking it all in.
With his big hands, he cups my tits, enveloping them in heat. He pushes them together and bends down to take first one nipple into his mouth, then the other, and then both. I gasp and moan, writhing beneath him.
“You’re very sensitive here, aren’t you?” he asks.
I bite my lower lip, wanting to deny it but unable to utter a word when he sucks on them again.
Theyaresensitive. Always have been. But even so, I’ve never had anyone work to drive me to the brink of insanity like this. He licks and bites, giving as much attention to the soft skin under my breast as the nipples themselves.
Just when I think I might go crazy or, worse, come from this alone, he stops. “Not yet. I want to know what you taste like when you come.”
Sitting up, he slides his hands down my ribcage and waist, then between my knees to part them. I feel my pussy part too, exposing my clit and entrance fully to him, and the way his jaw tightens, like he has to use a great deal of restraint not to pounce, has me aching.
His gaze follows his movement as he touches me softly, almost reverently, from my clit to my entrance. “You have the most beautiful cunt, Skye. Did you know that?” He lifts those intense blues to me. “So fucking beautiful.”
I suck in air when he leans in and his breath fans across my sex, moist, hot, and intense. Pushing myself up on my elbows, my eyes glued to his mouth, I watch with an almost tangible anticipation as he brings it to my pussy.
When he does, he shuts his lids and moans as if he’s never tasted anything sweeter. The sight of it, his broad shoulders against the backs of my legs, his head between them, of him sucking me, his nose buried in my pubic hair is almost too much.
Dropping back onto the bed, I dig my fingers into his thick blond hair and hold him there. An almost violent need to come overwhelms me, and I begin to thrust my hips upward aggressively. But I’m not worried about the possibility of asphyxiating him. Not when he chuckles in that low tone that rumbles through me. It annoys the shit out of me, and the desire to kick him clears away some of the lust haze that makes it so damned hard to think when he touches me.
In that moment of clarity, I recall the sobering reality that hit me the last time he made me come. The guilt of allowing it to someone who calls my father enemy, who wished revenge on him and me.
