Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(121)
“Oh my god!” I muttered urgently.
My fingers clawed the edge of the sink and held on for dear life. He nuzzled and bit and nosed my covered sweet spot with fervor, then used his free hand to drag my thong to the side.
The first flick of his warm tongue along my wet furrow sent shocks through my body. Fear mixed with desire as I realized there was an excellent chance I would come, and an even better chance that it would not be quiet.
Covering my lips with his lips, Jackson sucked ardently at my pussy. His tongue flicked my tiny nub back and forth at first firmly with his tongue pointed, then softly with it flat. The variation drove me insane, and I felt the fruit of my orgasm filling quickly, growing instantly bright.
My hips bucked against his warm, urgent mouth. I wanted to come as fast as I could. As though he read my mind, he slid two fingers into me while he licked my hard nub, pulsing them forward toward my navel.
My whole body rocked as his fingers instantly found my g-spot. I held my breath, stifling a scream, and grabbed the back of his head. White fireworks shot off in succession like a blinding blitzkrieg as the dual sensations of my clit and g-spot battled for prominence. Jackson lapped at me feverishly, his fingers working like pistons that blasted my pussy with spasms of ecstasy.
The build-up threatened to overwhelm me and I worried briefly that I would cry out, but the fruit swelled and then suddenly burst. Red streamers of passion cut across my vision as I came and came, clenching in waves, releasing all the sweet juice the fruit held.
Jackson jumped up and clapped his hand across my mouth, holding me tight to him. “Hush!” he commanded, and I came to my senses enough to silence the animal that was crying in my throat.
He held me tightly as I rocked and rocked with each wave until my legs were quaking and limp.
“Margot,” he admonished me gently, grinning. “There are like nine people right behind this wall! Be quiet.”
I nodded obediently. It felt like I had sprinted up the block. “You shouldn’t make me come so hard,” I explained, shrugging. I wanted a nap.
He shook his head, the dark wave of hair sweeping across his eyebrows. I imagined him carrying me across the dining room to bed, and fucking me for a few slow hours before we went to sleep. That would be nice.
“Hey,” came his voice from far, far away. “Stay with me, baby. We have to get the wine.”
“Wine,” I sighed agreeably. Fuck the wine.
He brushed my hair back from where it had stuck to my humid forehead. “Yes, baby. Go get the wine. I’ll cover for you. See you at the table.”
Just like that, he dragged me back to standing on my rubbery legs and opened the door after checking the hallway for intruders. Suddenly I was able to focus on my mission and darted out and immediately through the cellar door, tiptoeing silently down the stairs to the wine racks.
The room seemed preternaturally bright as I scanned the reds section for a couple appropriate bottles of Malbec. As my fingers drifted along the labels, the dusty, dry paper felt almost taste-able next to my skin. I had to chuckle at that. My senses were so turned on, they didn’t even make sense anymore.
Is this what those vampires feel like? I thought vaguely as I cradled a couple bottles and reached for the light. All my senses crackled with energy, like I had just been turned on with too much power. I flipped off the switch and climbed the stairs again in the dark.
***
The conversation rose and fell with the natural rhythm of a body of water. I could feel Kevin’s eyes on me frequently but I didn’t glance back, though I loved the feeling of finally getting his attention. Every once in a while I would look at him as he was talking and think how strange and far away he seemed. Though he was just at the end of the table, he was practically a stranger now.
“So, Bridget,” Anneka called from across the table, “Kevin says you’re an art dealer?”
Bridget pursed her lips and nodded, swishing her wine around in her mouth.
“That’s very interesting,” Anneka persisted. “What kind of art?”
Bridget shrugged. “Oh, all kinds,” she said vaguely.
“And what is your favorite?”
“None of them,” Bridget drawled.
Anneka’s polite smile froze on her face and she looked around to see if she was missing another joke.
“You’re kidding,” she said gamely. “You’re, ah, pulling my legs!”
“Nope,” Bridget said. “They’re all a bunch of entitled brats making precious little squares of wallpaper. And they all expect a prime spot on the Great Refrigerator Of Art History too. No offense.”
“None taken,” I shrugged. I was feeling pretty darn easygoing.