At Any Price(47)

“Are you willing to make it worth my while?” he breathed.

His hands slid down my shoulders, slipping over my dress to cup my breasts, rubbing his palms over the ready nipples again and again until I wanted to scream with pent-up frustration.

I moaned, my eyes squeezing tight, losing myself in the sensation. “Yes,” I murmured. His hands glided into my bodice, under my dress, and he rolled my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. My body glowed hot as if on fire. I arched my back against him. God, his hands were magic on my body.

The fucking chime went off again. I stiffened and he hesitated. Would he pick it up again? It was almost nine o’clock on a Friday night, for God’s sake. Couldn’t it wait?

He reached for the phone but instead of answering the text, he clicked the red button and the phone obediently powered down.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice gruff, husky.

“I want you.”

That seemed to cause something in him to snap because suddenly he flipped me in his arms and we were facing each other. I straddled him as his mouth pressed to mine in a ferocious kiss. His hand wandered up my skirt. Between kisses, his dark eyes glittered in the low light. “Oh Emilia, I want you, too.”

Our mouths came together again in tangled abandon and his hand caressed my inner thigh, higher and higher until it rested atop my panties. When he stroked me there, my mind seemed to unhinge for a moment and everything swirled around me.

“Soaking wet,” he said in a hoarse voice and without another word, a finger hooked up over the hip of my underwear and he yanked. The delicate lace shredded and the panties were off. My level of arousal shot through the roof. I suddenly imagined him tearing off my dress in the same manner, laying me down underneath him on the sand—

“Fuck. You are making it impossible to resist you,” he said.

He lowered his head and his mouth landed on my nipple, suckling at it through the thin fabric of the dress before pulling it aside with growl and landing on bare skin. I arched into him again. The bulge of his erection pressed against my thigh and his hand was beginning to do wicked things to me.

His thumb stroked softly against the most sensitive parts of my flesh. I couldn’t breathe for the longest moment, everything in me tensing.

“Deep breaths, Emilia, enjoy this.”

And I did breathe in deeply as he increased the pressure against the bundle of nerves, each touch sending shocks of pure pleasure to every corner of my awareness. My head crushed against his shoulder and I let out a long, low moan. His mouth descended on my neck. “I’m going to make you come.”

“Yes,” I agreed. And it wouldn’t be long, as far as I could tell.

And he stopped rubbing just long enough to slip a finger inside of me. First tentatively, and then deeper. Then he slid it in and out while I gasped in the rhythm his hand had set.

I was so close. So close. And delirious with pleasure as I was, I hardly had time to realize where his hand was or whether or not I should be embarrassed or self-conscious. “I’m going to come,” I finally said.

He did not reply, speeding up the rhythm of his touch. It was just enough to push me up and over the top. I threw my head back and gasped, feeling the convulsions of release wash over me like raindrops in a high desert storm.

But he continued stroking and stroking against my too-sensitive flesh. “I’m going to do it again. And you are going to say my name. And if you don’t, I’ll keep doing it until you do.”

The pleasure was so intense it almost hurt. I tried to push him away. “No, it’s too much.”

“You’re going to come and my name is going to be on your lips,” he uttered fiercely against my ear. “Come on, Emilia.”

And it was building again and lord, I couldn’t believe it but I wanted it so badly—again. I never knew it could happen again so fast.

But I was still resisting him and his hand, my body stiffening. He pressed his mouth to my ear. “Surrender to me,” he commanded as he entered me once again, his finger sliding into me—and then there were two fingers and I fell slack against him, deciding, ultimately, to allow myself to go where he would take me.

“You’re so tight,” he muttered. “So innocent.”

And I was close again, biting into his jacket at the shoulder to keep from screaming. “Come for me, Emilia.”

And it was so intense—so much more intense. The previous orgasm—as good as it was—was nothing to this one that was approaching like a monstrous wave from far offshore, about to crash down on the rocks. I could barely remember my own name, let alone his, as he pushed me toward a higher climax than I’d ever known.