I need to feel him, to connect—to be us.
His shoulders are firm, and tense under my hands as I circle his neck and lean up for a kiss. Our lips connect and the room vanishes into a blur of inconsequential information that I have no need to focus on right now. It’s him, it’s me, and it’s how we talk best—without words.
Malice nips at my bottom lip, and I take a step back to coax him to the bed. He grumbles as I pull away, but having him dressed simply won’t cut it. My fingers make quick work of his belt, and our mouths reconnect as I push the denim of his jeans over his hips and down his legs. He steps from foot to foot, kicking them free without breaking our kiss.
I lift his shirt, and he grumbles again as he breaks away to yank it over his head. He pitches it across the room, and drops his boxers. I can’t stop myself—it would be rude not to look.
My mouth waters.
Taking things slow becomes a ludicrous request made at a time when I wasn’t faced with the fine man before me. Did I seriously think I’d be able to wait? Still certifiable.
My hands fly to my bra, and I discard my underwear in record time. Malice takes a slow sweep of me, and with a gentle shove to my shoulder, urges me onto the bed.
“Spread them, babe.”
I widen my legs, and close my eyes in anticipation. Inhibitions, be damned—I want to take hold of his hair and pull him in.
His breath tickles my sensitive flesh, and I hiss at the tingles that fire through my core. The man is going to have me come from the power of his stare alone. I bite my lip, on the verge of complaining when his tongue takes a wide sweep of my swollen flesh. Something akin to a groan mixed with a squeal slips out, and I bite down once again as he begins to lap, and taste the arousal that builds within me.
The small moans and sighs he makes as he feasts drive me crazy. All I can think of is having his taste on my tongue.
“Malice . . .” I whine. When the hell did I get so needy?
“Babe,” he utters between laps.
“I want to taste you.”
“Fuck,” he hisses, and quickly changes position so that he can continue to drink like a dying man as I take his erection in my mouth.
My tongue swirls over the head, and I draw my breath in to pull tight along the soft skin of his shaft. His rhythm breaks, and his focus on the task at hand wanes as I get to work on him.
“Jesus, Jane.”
I hum as I bob my head, enjoying the groan of pleasure from him that vibrates through my pussy. Desperate to bring him over the edge, I wrap my right hand around him, and use my left to rub my clit while he plunges his tongue inside of me.
I’m fucking close.
And the pressure still builds.
Jesus.
Malice pulls free, and kneels back on the bed. I run the back of my hand over my mouth, and smile at him.
“What’s up?”
“I think you know,” he says, and nods down at his thick erection. “Tuck your knees to your chest.”
I do as told, and lie on my back, legs up. Malice positions himself at my entrance, and then takes both of my ankles in his hand, pushing my legs over my head. The resulting action lifts my ass off the bed, and he groans in pleasure at the sight of my swollen center on display for him.
Slowly, he pushes inside, and to say the angle he gets is amazing would be an understatement. Every thrust nudges the sweet spot, and within seconds I’m panting, and whining beneath him as he pushes harder with every stroke. I eye-fuck him, watching his muscles move. The sight of his forearm and bicep hard at work to push my legs over my head is the most intense turn-on. A man at work is sexy enough, but this man, at work on me is ecstasy.
“Malice,” I cry out as his pace brings me to the precipice. “Don’t stop.”
He responds with shorter, harder thrusts.
We crash together, a tangle of sweaty, desperate bodies, clawing for more from an already incredible high.
Spent, he flops down beside me, and grins. I stretch out my tight legs, and grin back. “I hate to eat and run, but I need to go clean up.”
He laughs. “No problem, babe. I don’t think I could move if I tried.” His sharp eyes meet mine, and a delicious shiver works down my spine. “Was that gentle enough?”
“Gentle is over-rated,” I reply, and hobble to the adjacent bathroom to the sound of his laughter.
“HAVE YOU spoken to your dad yet?” I place a mug of coffee down before Malice, and join him on the couch.
He shakes his head. “He tried calling, but I’ve been busy with things, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. Has he told you why he rang, now? I mean, you said it’s been ages since you last spoke.”
“He reckons he’s changed. Said he wants to see me face to face.”