A frustrated sob escaped me, and then Malcolm flicked his tongue against my clit, driving it into his teeth, and my quaking, aching legs nearly gave out as a warm, delicious orgasm spread out from my pussy across my entire body.
My skin dissolved into shivers, my knees buckled, and I cried out as I came around his tongue, my inner passage twisting and squeezing nothingness in a sweet release. I collapsed as wave after wave lapped gently over me, and he dragged it out with his mouth, until I knew I could take no more and begged him to stop.
When he did, he drew away from me and I collapsed gracelessly to the floor, my legs askew, my brow sweaty, my mouth gaping open as I tried to catch my breath. My bare, slick pussy pressed into the wood floor. Malcolm stared at me, almost tenderly, and licked his fingers and lips clean.
"Your taste is delectable," he said. "I could lick you all day."
I had to give an exhausted laugh at that. "Please don't," I said. "Give me a little time to recover first."
He smiled at that as he lowered himself to the ground, reaching out and pulling me into his lap. I let him, because I was feeling pretty boneless, though the reminder that he was a man who wanted to fuck me rather than just a pussy-eating machine came crashing into me when I felt the rock-hard swell of his cock against my ass. I tried not to let it impinge on my afterglow, but already it was making me think of other things I wanted to do with him—and to him. We could have a jolly good time in that bed across the room...
His hand stroked my hair and I leaned against his shoulder, fantasizing for a moment that we were intimate lovers rather than almost total strangers. It felt nice to be held. I couldn't remember the last time I'd let someone hold me.
Then a low growling sound scraped across my ears, and I frowned.
"Did... did your stomach just rumble?" I asked, pulling back and frowning at him. I mean, some growling is sexy, but that was kind of... not.
To his credit, he looked faintly embarrassed. "Yes," he admitted. "I'm afraid I've been forgetting to eat."
I stared at him in disbelief. "Seriously?" I said. It was barely lunchtime. "How long have you been forgetting to eat?"
He shrugged. "Since those hors d'ouvres at the auction?" he said, and the way he said it made me think that he was only guessing.
I gave him a scowl. "Really? I mean... really?"
He tilted his head. "What's so shocking about that?" he asked me. "I've been working on my art since then."
"Artists eat, too," I told him.
"What about starving artists?"
"That's a bug, not a feature of being an artist." I blew a sweaty strand of hair out of my face. "Okay, you need to eat something. Before we do anything else, you have to eat."
"I just did."
I gave him a hard look, but his face was entirely innocent. He was fucking with me, right? He had to be. "Man cannot live by pussy alone," I said, hauling myself gracelessly out of his lap and standing up. Reaching under my skirt I readjusted my panties, getting my own slick juices all over my fingers as I did so. I took my hand out and held it up, glancing around for a tissue or something, but then Malcolm stood up as well, reached out, and took my wrist in his hand, drawing my fingers to his mouth.
With a slow, sensuous suck he cleaned my fingers for me.
I stared into his dark cherry wood eyes, my cheeks burning, before I found the strength to pull away. The second growl from his stomach might have helped me make that decision.
"Food first," I said. "Art and sex later."
He reached down and adjusted his cock in his pants, but I'm pretty sure his hunger was cutting through his arousal, because it was already shrinking from its previously large size. "Very well," he said. "If you insist."
Chapter Five
I waited on the sidewalk for Malcolm to come downstairs, trying to collect myself. The icy wind and gray sky were going a long way towards helping me get centered and alert. Mostly I was reeling from our sexual encounter and trying to maintain my customary ironic distance. It was rather difficult, however, since my legs still shook with the aftermath of his ministrations.
What was going on with me? I wondered. I'd been really into guys before, but this didn't feel quite the same. The way I fell into his embrace, welcoming the pleasure he gave me... it truly did feel as though we'd known each other before. Bound by the red thread of fate? Was that what he'd said the other day? We'd known each other in another life?
The idea freaked me right the fuck out, and by the time he exited the door of his mansion, impeccably dressed, I was well on my way toward my much loved ironic distance.
But when he reached me, he pulled my hand into the crook of his arm and began to lead me down the sidewalk, just like a Victorian gentleman, and my distance was halved. At least.