Before I can capture another thought, his mouth is on mine and his hand is pushing aside the lace of my soaked panties. I’m moaning from both the feel of his thick tongue inside of my mouth and the sensation of one and then two of his fingers thrusting inside me. Sucking hard on his tongue, I lift my hips to grind against his hand.
His free hand spears my hair and tugs my head back as if he can’t get his tongue deep enough inside me. He tastes of spearmint and earthiness, of true desire. My whole body is alive and it’s straining toward him, toward completion. I brace my feet against the mattress, seeking more pressure. Breaking away from his mouth, I pant, “Harder. Fuck me harder with your fingers.”
He shoves a third finger in and I cry out in surprise, but it ends in a deep groan as he begins thrusting relentlessly. “Oh, I’m going to fuck you hard. I’m going to shove my thick cock inside you, and you’ll be feeling it for days after. Is that what you want?”
“God, yes,” I cry.
“Your greedy pussy needs me, doesn’t it?” he demands.
“Yes.” It’s the only answer I can give.
“Next time, it won’t be my fingers inside you. Next time, you’ll be riding my cock, squeezing your tight pussy around me and coming all over me like you’ve never come before.”
Instinctively I know that this man, for all his faults, can bring me to higher plateaus than I’ve ever visited. And I want to go there. Right now. I grab his wrist and squeeze my thighs around his hand so tight I can feel the bones in his wrist between my legs. “Make me come, Ian,” I order. He’s not the only one who can demand things.
He gives a hoarse, dark laugh and bends down to bite my nipple, right through my T-shirt and the cotton of my bra, and that’s apparently all I need because the first tremors of my release start shaking my body. He sucks harder until I swear half my breast is in his mouth. The left breast is being squeezed and tormented while his other hand continues its relentless fucking of my pussy. He doesn’t stop the sharp, hard movements of his hand even after my thighs fall open and I collapse, shuddering on the coverlet. No. He continues to work me. He’s covering me with his body, and his mouth is over mine again.
“You’ve another one in you,” he growls against my lips.
“No,” I say weakly and try to push him away. “I’m done.”
He’s immovable. “You’re done when I say so. Your pussy still wants me.” His long fingers are still stroking my post-climactic nerve endings, more gently now but still firm. His thumb caresses my clit lightly, and I shudder with each pass. “You’re so wet and hot and fucking beautiful right now and I want you to come. Now.”
And somehow he’s right. I come again as he commands. The white heat of my second orgasm overtakes me, and my body bows against the mattress. My toes curl as the power of my release draws all my attention inward, coiling my spring and then exploding outward.
He slips his fingers out of me but presses them flat and tight against my sex to soothe the ache left there. In my ear he whispers how beautiful I looked and how sweet I sounded and how he can’t wait to taste me—all the while, I’m trying to gather myself.
“I’m still mad at you,” I mumble as I lie like a beached starfish.
He chuckles and leans down to pull off my panties and leggings that are still attached to one leg.
“What’re you doing?”
“Cleaning you up, bunny. Stay here.”
“I’m only staying because I want to,” I call after his disappearing back. “Not because you tell me to.”
“That works.”
I hear the sound of a faucet running. Moments later, he returns with a washcloth in one hand and a towel in the other. He ignores the massive hard-on that is tenting his wool pants as he tenderly cleans me down with one and then dries me with the other.
“You confuse me,” I whisper as he ministers to me, but I can’t deny how good it feels to be taken care of instead of the other way around.
“I’m pretty simple.” He tosses the towel and rag aside and then begins to pull up my bike leggings.
“Yeah right, and the Eiffel Tower was built in a day. Hey, what about my underwear?” I protest, finally sitting up and taking over for him.
“They’re damp. You sure you want them?” He dangles them from one finger, and when I move to grab them, he closes his fist around the pink lace and tucks them into his pocket.
“Fine,” I huff. “Be a pervert. Keep them.” Pulling up my pants, I notice the time on his wristwatch—a big thick black leather banded one this time. “Shit, I’m going to be late.”