When she pulled away, he nearly protested. She’d meant now? What happened to doing it a second time?
Or maybe… she’d meant she planned to take really dirty photographs. Not a terrible plan. He went hard instantly.
Lilah pulled out her camera without getting dressed, and that worked for him because her arms framed her breasts gorgeously when she raised the camera to her eye.
“Roll toward me,” she instructed, and he did because she was telling him what she wanted and it sizzled. Confident and in-command Lilah? His favorite. It showed.
His erection thickened as she watched him through the lens.
“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, and her nipples went taut. So erect that his mouth watered.
The shutter snapped and snapped again. God, it was like an aphrodisiac. So hot.
“Would you… stroke yourself? Like you did… before?” she asked, her voice breaking up so much he shouldn’t have understood her, but he ached do exactly that so the translation came through loud and clear.
She’d liked that, had she?
He took himself in hand, wrapping his fingers tight around his shaft, and gave it a good yank. Still sensitized from earlier, but minus the condom, even his own palm felt unbelievable, despite having done this a hundred times or more.
But never with a girl observing from behind a camera, poised to capture his every nuance.
“I’ve never watched a man, you know. Come,” she murmured. “Tell me what it feels like.”
“Like my body is a volcano.” Faster and faster he stroked, totally unable to stop himself. This was the most stimulating thing he’d ever done. “The pressure and heat builds and builds.”
Click. Click. She was taking pictures of him jerking off like a teenager, and he couldn’t make himself quit. There was something so wicked about doing it on camera… in front of her… while talking about it.
“Does it feel different if you’re with someone?”
“You mean if I’m buried deep inside you?” he clarified through gritted teeth as he imagined exactly that. Her. Clenched tight around him. Hot. Slick. Amazing. “Completely different. Better. But no orgasm is bad.”
And this one might prove to be the most epic of his life.
Click.
“What if you’re with someone you love?” she asked.
“I’ve never done that.”
Emotions of that sort weren’t a part of the trident. He couldn’t open himself up like that, nor could he let someone else sit at home and worry about him, wondering if he’d come home in a box with a flag draped over it.
Plus he understood his body. Very well. All of the things he felt now, the lust, the fire, the need to come… that he got, trusted. Same as when he sensed where to train his surveillance equipment, whether the intel funneling to his brain was critical or not, when to get more because he didn’t have all the facts yet. All of that made sense.
Emotions did not. Giving in to something so nebulous was the surest way to get himself and a lot of other people killed.
But since he thrived on information, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering. What would it feel like to have every fiber of his body gathering for an imminent explosion of pleasure, then look down into the gaze of a women who had love and tenderness shining from her depths?
It would be good. So much better.
Click. Click, click.
All at once, he felt exposed. Stripped bare in a way that letting a women take pictures of him as he stroked himself to a climax never could. It was… strange. But not terrible. He’d learned something about himself.
That’s when she put her camera down and crawled to him on all fours. Her unhidden face held a thousand nuances, but more than anything, he could tell that taking those pictures had stirred her up.
Yeah. Same goes.
He watched her approach, his hand going still. A tropical breeze stirred her hair, flipping thick chunks into her face. Sexy. And then the temperature shot up to about a thousand degrees as she removed his hand and replaced it with hers.
“I want to watch you,” she said simply. “But more than that, I want to be the one to make you feel good.”
Hell if he was going to argue with that. Speechless, he stared at her as she stroked, her hand an inferno as she swallowed his tip. Her palm curled inward as she explored his entire length. Balls too, which was holy crap hot. And when she bit her lip in concentration, he groaned.
“I like it when you make noises.”
“Me too,” he said huskily. “It means you’re doing it right.”
So right that he went straight to the edge and over before he could catch himself, warn her, mention that it was going to be messy. She didn’t care, letting him jet all over her hand with unveiled fascination, but she wasn’t an expert at catching it, so a lot of it hit her breasts. She rubbed at it with her other hand, and the sight of his juice all over her body clenched him up in a way that was so good it was almost painful.