I don’t ask what he means. Honestly, I don’t care as long as he doesn’t stop touching me. Today has been torture without him, the memories of his touch enough to drive me mad with desire. I’ve never needed someone’s touch this way. But I need Tag. I need to feel him inside me. I need to feel him wrapped around me. I just need Tag.
Gently, Tag turns me to face him. He bends down in front of me and hooks his arms through and around the backs of my thighs. I gasp when he pulls me off my feet. I feel like I’m going to fall backward; I wasn’t prepared for him to pick me up. But I don’t fall. Tag turns as he stands and presses my back into the cool shower wall, pinning me there with my legs wrapped around his head.
I don’t have time to question what he’s doing, because the moment I feel his tongue spear into my crease and circle my clit, my climax rolls through me like thunder. All I can do is hold on, my fingers fisting rhythmically in Tag’s silky black hair. He works his mouth over me, his tongue, his teeth, prolonging my orgasm until I’m breathless and the room is spinning every time I open my eyes.
Before the spasms have subsided, Tag pulls my wet back down the wet wall, readjusting me in his grip until my legs are wrapped around his waist and his face is mere inches from mine.
“I hope you saved some for me,” he says softly just before he takes my mouth and slams his cock into me.
He swallows the loud moan that escapes my throat upon his penetration. Never has anything felt so good as Tag buried so deeply inside me. There is only a flash of discomfort as I still stretch to accommodate him, but it’s gone as quickly as it came, leaving only intense pleasure behind.
My body wrings his length with his every thrust, and with every thrust he triggers more wringing. It’s an endless cycle of orgasmic delight that ends with Tag’s desperate whispers in my ear, whispers that promise he’s going to come and that he’s thought all day about coming inside me again.
His words thrill me. The idea that he wants to pour himself into me this way, the idea that I hold a piece of him deep inside my body is so intimate, so erotic I wonder if I’ll be able to think of anything else for the rest of the night.
When Tag finally releases me and lets my legs slowly straighten, he cups my cheek in his big palm and kisses the corner of my mouth.
“All through dinner, I want you to think about me, about how my warm come is still way up inside you. And I,” he says, tracing my upper lip with the tip of his tongue, “I will be thinking about this shower, about how you came on my face with your back pressed to the wall.”
I’m already getting breathless again when he takes my lips. His kiss is a mixture of satisfaction and promise and something fierce, like he wants to mark me as his own before I leave this room. It reminds me of what he said about seeing his muddy handprints on my body. He’s possessive, and for some reason, as antiquated as the thought is, I like it. I want to be possessed by him. I want to be his and no one else’s. And I love that he seems to want that, too.
Yes, I needed this. I needed him.
FOURTEEN
Tag
I hadn’t planned on joining Weatherly, her father and her would-be fiancé for dinner. I figured there would be enough of a blowup without my help. In fact, Weatherly and I didn’t even discuss it. We didn’t exactly have food on our minds as much as we did other delicious edibles. But after I left, and the more I thought about that cool shower and her come in my mouth, the less appealing dinner without her became. Turns out that my idea of torturing her with thoughts of us ended up torturing me just as much. Besides, as far as they’re concerned, she’s my fiancée. My place is at her side, whether they like it or not. And until she calls off this charade, she’s mine and Stromberg better damn well get used to it.
Now I find myself dressed in a silk shirt and slacks, headed toward the dining room for a fashionably late arrival to a dinner I wasn’t invited to attend. My smile is one of anticipation, both to get under Stromberg’s skin, but also to sit beside Weatherly and touch her oh-so-casually with fingers that were buried inside her only a short time before. That thought alone gives me much satisfaction.
When I stop in the doorway, all three people at the table glance up at me. William looks perplexed, Michael looks aggravated and Weatherly looks nervous yet deliciously flushed. I don’t have to be a mind reader to know what she’s thinking. In fact, if I think about her thoughts too long, I’ll probably end up having to excuse myself. My dick seems to have lost its head when it comes to Weatherly. She can make me hard faster than a cowboy can say “spit.” Damn the woman!