Netherworld: Drop Dead Sexy(37)

Tristan clutched the top of my dress in his fists, and I expected him to rip it down. Instead, he gradually uncovered my breasts, the bodice slipping down to expose my rosy nipples in increments. The slow undressing made my insides roil. I didn’t think I’d ever been so turned on, and he hadn’t even done much to me yet. Heck, he hadn’t even gone Dom on me, but I was as goose-pimpled as any sub strapped to a St. Andrew’s cross and waiting for the first thud of a paddle.

He licked the index finger and thumb of one hand. His gifted mouth closed on one taut nipple while he used his spit-slicked fingers on the other. He licked and rubbed, sucked and tweaked, nipped and pinched. My happy flesh swelled and reddened under his care and something down below flexed hard. Heaven help me, I thought I might come just from the attention he bestowed on my chest. Tristan Keith wasn’t simply gifted in pleasuring a girl. He was an absolute genius.

I lost track of the time he spent playing with my breasts. He was wonderfully thorough, even taking time to lick the creases separating breasts from ribcage. My flesh pulsed and ached. One moment gentle, the next rough, he gave me every pleasure possible from the fleshy mounds. I shuddered, sighed, moaned and sobbed as he took me to heights I’d not believed possible through breast play.

Once he had me shaking all over, he continued his downward journey, baring my flat belly. He kissed the soft skin, and I discovered erogenous zones I didn’t know I had. Between each rib and the line running straight down to my belly button were gut-trembling surprises of sensation. Oh! And the cup of my navel, where his tongue dipped and swirled … who knew the electric zingies that could produce? I wriggled so hard in my chair that he had to hold my hips tight to keep me down. My reaction spurred him to keep at the sensitive spot until I cried for mercy.

“You’re killing me, Tristan,” I groaned.

“Too late for that,” he teased me. But his assault on my belly button ceased.





The bodice of my sundress was probably stretchy enough to slide over my hips, but Tristan chose to start from the bottom and work his way up. He snagged one of my ankles and slid my sandal off. He kissed the bottom of my foot, starting from my heel, licking over the arch, and gently biting just below my big toe.

I’d never been one for foot play. In fact, my feet kind of embarrassed me. They were long with perfectly straight toes and slender. They were also size 8 ½. Okay, closer to 9.

Fine. I have skinny, 9 ½ sized feet. I could go skiing without strapping skis on. Insert Bigfoot jokes here.

Tristan didn’t seem put off by my not-so dainty base. He sucked in my fire-engine red polished big toe and I swear I almost swooned from the pleasure of his warm, wet mouth. His thumbs rubbed my arch at the same time, and the pressure relaxed even as his tongue and lips excited. Good God up in heaven, I could learn to enjoy this.

He bestowed the same attention on the other foot. I’d become complete goo now. I couldn’t have stood even with the support of a bicycle kickstand attached to my rear. In Tristan’s possession, I was a complete goner.

He placed my feet on the desk behind him, splaying me wide apart. His mouth and hands moved up my calves, spent time tickling the backs of my knees, then started a slow but determined path up my inner thighs, pushing up the skirt of my dress as he went. I trembled as he traveled upwards, the fine tremors growing to near quaking. He darted a look up at my face, his expression pure deviltry that made my insides knot tight in anticipation. As he closed in on the apex of my thighs, I couldn’t contain the wavering whimper that fell from my lips.

Tristan pushed the skirt up so that my entire dress wadded at my waist. He eyed my sex like a gourmand contemplating a particularly tasty dish.

“You’re beautiful, Brandilynn,” he said. He stroked the soft skin of my hairless mound with one hand while carefully spreading me open with the other. “Every inch of you is sweeter than the last.”

I couldn’t respond. He’d left me in an agony of desire and anticipation.

He smiled and slowly lowered his face. His light kiss on my straining clit sent sizzling sparkles through me. My hands slammed down on the wooden armrests of my chair to clench in white-knuckled response. For such a light touch to bring me to the brink of climax showed just how adept Tristan was.

The tip of his tongue barely touching, he lightly traced down the lips of my sex. The pressure was as light as a butterfly’s wing, but it made me writhe. Down one side, up the other, a quick flick on the sensitive nub to make me squeal, and then doing it all over again.

Next his wicked flesh ran straight up the center, and my legs involuntarily closed to squeeze his head. With a chuckle, Tristan flattened his hands against the insides of my thighs, opening me again. “Hold still, girl, or I’ll have to tie you down.”