An Improper Deal(46)

My heart stutters, and my face gets hot. If taking food from his fork was bad…

His mouth quirks in amusement. “My finger’s clean.”

I press my lips together, then lean forward. My mouth closes around the dessert, and the sweet, decadent flavor explodes in my mouth, the chocolate strong and rich. I love chocolate, and I don’t ever remember having anything this good. There is a slight hint of something fiery and light underneath. I savor the complex contrast of taste and can’t help but lick the rest from the tip of his finger with a single, firm stroke. But it’s my clit pulsing like he’s stroked me down there.

“Wow. That’s amazing,” I whisper. “You should try it.”

“So give me one.”

My upper teeth dig into my lip. Desire pools between my legs. I know exactly what he wants, and inexplicably enough I can’t say no. I pick another chocolate up from the platter, but my hand is clumsy, and I smear some on my thumb.

He doesn’t seem to mind. His warm breath fans my skin, and he takes the chocolate…then he pulls my finger into his mouth. His tongue glides over my skin, and sharp awareness prickles over me. I shiver, feeling the heavy throbbing of my pulse at my wrist.

“Mmm,” he says, letting my finger go with a soft pop.

Chocolate streaks his lower lip. I reach over to wipe it with my hand, but he takes my wrist—gently—and pulls me onto his lap instead. He adjusts me until I’m straddling him, my slick heat pressed against his erection. My inner muscles clench, and I feel a keen aching emptiness. My entire body is throbbing, and I moan softly.

“Use your mouth,” he orders.

I cradle his cheek in my hand and lick the chocolate from his lip with just the tip of my tongue. His hands flex around my hips, and he breathes out roughly. The surprisingly plump and soft texture of his lip and his sinful taste mixed with heady sweetness is too much. I squirm on his lap, trying to relieve the tension. I’m almost scared that I won’t experience another mind-bending orgasm like he gave me before…and then scared that I will.

He leans toward me, capturing my mouth with his. He strokes me, his movements hard and possessive. I melt into him, into a kiss that seems to steal all my breath. Every caress pushes me higher, the fire in my blood heating until I feel like I’m going to combust. My thoughts scatter like a handful of marbles that have been dropped on the floor. I tunnel my fingers into his hair, pulling him closer. If this is drowning, I don’t ever want to resurface.

He slips a hand into the gap of my gown and gently squeezes my breast. The touch is electric, pleasure jolting through my body like lightning. I arch into him, and he rubs his fingers against the tight peak.

Mad pleasure streaks through me, and my toes curl. I want this so badly—the pleasure more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced before except for the orgasm he gave me at La Mer. His pants are damp with my juices and his heat.

“Fuck, you’re hot.” He rolls my nipple, then pulls at it until it pops out between his forefingers and thumb. I let out a keen cry. “So responsive.”

My world tilts as he carries me to the bedroom. He rips the robe off me before putting me on the bed, my butt resting at the edge of the mattress with the tips of my toes brushing against the floor. The cool sheet is almost a relief against my overheated skin. I’m desperate for something only he can give.

“Spread your legs,” he orders, his eyes riveted to the spot where they come together.

Heat and embarrassment flush my skin. “It’s okay. You don’t have to, you know…”

It’s awkward having a man go down on me. I rarely get much enjoyment out of it, and I hate waiting for the guy to be done or having to fake an orgasm to get him to quit.

“But I want to.” When I hesitate, he adds, “Now.”

He locks his hot, dark gaze with mine, and I can’t look away. The force of his will bears upon me, and I part my thighs.

“More,” he orders.

I separate my legs as much as I can. The cool air brushes my heated, wet core. I’m totally bared to him like this. Our power dynamic doesn’t escape my notice. He is still fully clothed, his hard, swollen cock straining against his slacks.

Despite feeling like a helpless offering, the lust in his eyes keeps me pinned to the bed in that lewd position.

Shaking, I wait for his next move.

He kneels and drags his lips over my inner thighs. “So soft.” He runs a finger along my lips. “So fucking hot.”

My hands clench the sheet. “I don’t think you should…” And I mean it. Men have tried, but it always felt like they were doing it because they thought it would get me to do other things they’d rather do—mainly plunging into me or getting me to give them head.