Midnight's Kiss(55)

When she closed her fingers around his cock, the pleasure of her touch was almost unbearable. He jerked in her grasp, hissing, and nearly spilled himself all over her inner thigh. Grabbing her by the wrist, he pulled her hand away.

“I can’t take it,” he muttered. “Right now I’ve got to get inside you.”

He’d had so long to acquire finesse, literally centuries to discover how lovemaking can become a slow and sensual art. But she had reduced him to the most basic, and primal, of urges — the need to cover, protect and penetrate. To rut.

She lifted her head to hiss at him, “Get inside me now.”

He had to pause for a moment to stare at her. Melly was not just photogenic. She was simply pretty, and her feminine looks were enhanced by a normally even temperament and easygoing nature.

Right now, her features were clenched and sharp. She looked as driven as he felt.

She reached again for his cock and urged him down to her. Bracing himself on one forearm, he drove his mouth over hers again, plunging his tongue deep to fuck her mouth while she rubbed the head of his penis against her velvety-soft, fluted opening.

As soon as he felt that he was slick enough with her arousal so that he wouldn’t cause her discomfort, he pushed into her. She made an incoherent noise of pleasure and need. Panting, she kissed him back jerkily.

Melly knew how to finesse too. She knew how to make languid love, focusing on each pleasure point for its own sake, until the act of sex became like a voluptuous banquet. The knowledge of that, along with her urgency and lack of control, made him crazy.

Crazy.

Without fully intending to, he plunged all the way into her, and oh my God, she was so slick and welcoming. He felt as massive as an oak tree, and when she clenched on him, her inner muscles were tight as a fist.

He groaned, “Goddamn, you’re so hot.”

“I know,” she whimpered as she moved restlessly under his weight. “I’m burning up.”

At that, he had to lift his head and grin down at her. Her gaze was glazed with passion as she blinked up at him. “No, baby,” he said gently, rocking his hips to begin moving in her. “That wasn’t what I meant. I meant, you’re so hot.”

Her eyebrows quirked, and dimples appeared in her cheeks as she suppressed a grin. “Yeah, I knew that.”

He grinned back briefly, then they both lost their smiles.

They were dirty. The cell was abysmal, and the thin mattress from the cot was terrible. They hadn’t even gotten fully undressed, but what drove them to couple overrode all of that.

She gripped him at the back of his head. He pinned her down, flexing to get deeper into her, moving faster and harder until he was pistoning into her. The pleasure was exquisite, the buildup of pressure intolerable.

She cried out something breathlessly as she dug her fingers into his bicep.

He needed to take all of her. Covering her mouth with his again, he mimicked the penetration of his penis with his tongue, thrusting into her with the same rhythm he used with his hips. She lifted up for each thrust, flexing as he flexed, matching his rhythm.

As he did so, belatedly, his mind caught up with what she had said.

That bitch better not blow her goddamn whistle.

A sharp convulsive wave of laughter shook through him again and was lost in a storm of sensation. His awareness splintered into fragments, each piece impossibly vivid and compelling.

The lean line of her thighs hugging his hips. The grit of dirt underneath the heel of his hand as he propped himself on one arm to stare down at her. The moisture glistening on her full lower lip. She was wet from his kisses, her mouth swollen.

The way she tightened on his cock as he slid back and forth in her passage. Holy shit, it was magnificent. She was his full partner in every way.

In a classic feline move, she clawed his back and ground against him. For a moment he held utterly still as he remembered another deeply intimate detail of their lovemaking from before.

Most of her climaxes came from her clitoris. They had laughed about it together whenever Julian went “deep sea diving” in the hopes of trying to coax her into a vaginal orgasm, or even more rare, an orgasm that blended both.

The memory jolted him out of his preoccupation with his own needs. Sliding one hand between their joined bodies, he located her stiff, delicate little bud and massaged it with the ball of his thumb.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered, watching her face as he rocked into her.

Moving restlessly underneath him, she shook her head and gasped, “I — I don’t know if I can. I need to, but…” She made a quick, frustrated gesture.

“Of course you can,” he told her.

He was never above doing whatever it took to achieve his objective, including breaking his own rules.