"No," I told him.
Ian lifted his gaze from my breasts, confused. He stiffened his spine, probably wondering if indeed I was frigid after all. "Nay?"
I shook my head as I bit my lip, worried it between my teeth. "I want you to touch me."
As I ran a finger down his cheek, his whiskers prickly, yet soft beneath the tip, his pupils dilated, his chocolaty eyes almost black. His jaw clenched.
"Everywhere," I added breathlessly, dreamily thinking about his hands on my body.
His smile returned, even broader than before, and I felt his breath quicken. His heart beat, solid and real, beneath my palm. Ian's large hands quickly covered my breasts, sizing them, weighing them in his palms, as if he'd been dying to do so for a long time. The first touch was rough, his fingers brushed over my heated skin above the cut of my dress before yanking the fabric down. My nipples sprang free.
"Holy mother of God," Ian whispered, his voice deep, like a tumble of rocks. "I've dreamt about what your nipples would look like. What color they'd be. I didn't know twould be like this."
"Like what?" I gasped, my eyes falling shut at the rough feel of his calloused palms against my sensitive skin.
Instead of saying more, he tilted my upper body over his arm and feasted. He suckled at one turgid tip, pulling it into the wet heat of his mouth. His hand circled the globe and kneaded it.
"Ian!" I cried. It was aggressive and desperate and hot and God, everything I wanted.
My head fell back, lost in the swirling sensations caused by the rough rasp of his tongue. Round and round it went, laving, licking, nipping with his teeth. I heard a moan and realized it was my own. Between my legs, my pussy wept, my thighs slick. Ian continued to suckle at one breast until the peak was so tight I thought it might shatter. My other breast, lonely as it was without Ian's attentions, ached. Just thinking about his mouth moving to the other straining nipple made me cry out. "Please!"
He glanced up at me. "This one need some attention, too?"
I nodded, frantic.
He kissed his way across the deep valley between my breasts to climb to the other peak. His day's growth of beard rasped my sensitive skin, leaving a tingling, burning sensation in his wake. With the crackling fire at my back and Ian's mouth on me, it was possible I might burst into flames.
After what felt like hours of being licked, sucked, tortured, Ian's head moved up to place wet kisses on my collarbone, nipped at the sensitive tendon at my neck, my jaw. Finally, oh, finally, his lips descended on mine. Dizzy with desire, I opened my mouth to Ian's onslaught. His invasion. His tongue darted in and out to mate with mine, his head angling to kiss me even deeper. His tongue fucked my mouth in a way I hoped his cock would my pussy.
In. Out. Swirling. Plunging deep.
I could die happy at this moment. No one had kissed me like this before. Ever. This wasn't something I would forget. Maybe the ability to kiss faded through the generations just as chivalry had. Ian took the blue ribbon in the make-out contest. I couldn't do anything but kiss him back, run my fingers through his tousled hair and hang on for dear life. The feel of the silky strands between my fingers was… spectacular. The act simple, yet intimate. Yet, it wasn't enough.
Raggedly, Ian drew in a deep breath and lifted his head. His piercing eyes met mine beneath half closed lids. From the feel of his erection beneath me and his thumbs brushing over my nipples in a mindless sort of way, I knew Ian was as ready as I was for more.
I'd wanted foreplay only a few minutes earlier, but now, screw foreplay. It was way overrated. I wanted it all. Everything. Ian clearly did too because before I could let out a squeal of surprise, I was lifted off of his lap, tossed over his very brawny shoulder and carried across the room. It was such a caveman move, yet I loved it. He lowered me gently onto a heavy wood dining table I'd made no notice of before. Did he plan on making a feast of me? I squirmed on the hard surface at the idea. One large hand pushed me back onto my elbows, Ian's hard thighs nudged mine apart. Wide. I could only look up at the man dominating me, controlling me in so many ways. Ian was going to use me as he saw fit, and I could do nothing about it.
Thank fucking God.
Physically, he had at least eighty pounds on me, maybe more. Sexually, his prowess left me panting, my skin damp with a sheen of sweat, my pussy pulsing and desperate for his cock and the orgasm I knew he would give me.
I wasn't going anywhere. Except over the abyss, and I planned on taking him with me.
Slowly, Ian's rough palms ran up my legs, starting at my ankles. He took off my shoes, one then the other, all the time his dark eyes never leaving my face. Maybe just a little bit to look at my breasts, which, in their current position, pointed straight up at the ceiling, nipples like tight pink beacons.