Taming His Tutor(51)

Her breathing roughened as he rhythmically sucked on her.

“I want you inside me,” she whispered.

His cock ached, agreeing a million percent with the idea. His chest swelled, pleased with her ability to speak up and ask for what she wanted.

But then she’d always been a star pupil.

He stilled her thrusting hips with a firm hand, licking her until she was so close to coming, making her clit as red and ripe and plump as he could.

Then, before she could step back, he deftly slid on the clit clamp he’d taken from her bag of toys, taking a moment to adjust it and ensure it was going to hold.

“Joe?” she gasped.

Hell, it looked pretty. A couple of beaded strands hung from the edge, and her clit poked out between the gold metal.

Beautiful.

“What have you done?” She breathed hard.

He grabbed hold of her hands, stopping her from touching herself. From removing it. “Give it a second.”

“I can’t walk.”

“It looks amazing. Best piece of art in the place.”

“Oh…my—”

He stood and kissed her hard on the mouth. Slid his tongue between her shocked lips.

But when he drew back, she remained rigid, like she was afraid to move.

“Joe…”

“Does it hurt?” He watched her closely.

She thought about it before answering. “Not really. I don’t think.”

“How does it feel?”

“Weird. Where did you—? Oh.” She closed her eyes. “The bag by my bed.”

“I took it, remember?” He leaned in to kiss her again—framing her face in his hands, holding her so he could kiss the way he’d discovered he loved—long and deep. Who knew first base could be so damn satisfying?

Her cheeks were even rosier when he released her this time, her eyes gleaming like sapphires.

“You’re so bad.”

“Wear it.” He took her hand. “See what you think.”

…

What she thought? Abbi couldn’t think—she could barely breathe. And as for the idea of walking? Not likely. Every time she shifted the slightest little bit, pleasure shot up her body.

He grinned. “Come on, let’s go back to the party.”

“How much longer do you want to stay?”

He turned and gave her a thorough once-over, making her skin sizzle more than it already was. “Shall we see if we can make it twenty minutes?”

She’d be hoping twenty seconds. All she wanted was to walk back through the gallery and out the door, and head back to his apartment immediately. She’d never been so hot, so aware of her body. Her clit was swollen, protruding, sensitive. With every step she felt the delicious pinch of the clamp. Not painful, but so very there. She kept her eyes on him, not the artwork, as mini-orgasms rippled though her. Her head was filled with thoughts of him. Conversation with anyone was a bust. She stood silent beside him, her hand tightly held in his, and counted down the minutes until they were alone and he was on his knees before her. That’s all she wanted now.

And he knew it.

Nine minutes had passed when he slowly drew her to a freestanding sculpture in the farthest corner of the large space. She knew it was nine exactly because she was counting in her head—trying to distract herself from the waves of pleasure-pain radiating from her pussy. Vaguely she tried to notice something—anything—about the work of art. But then Joe turned to face her.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

The bastard lifted his hand and grazed the back of his knuckles lightly over her taut nipple. It shot a spasm of need straight to her clit and she gasped.

“Are you going to come?” he tormented.

Her breathing slowed. “You can’t…”

“What if I kiss you?” He pressed his mouth to hers in a quick kiss, letting his tongue stroke her lower lip as he lifted away.

That wasn’t where she wanted his tongue. His knuckles brushed back and forth over her breast again. Again. Again.

“Joe.” Her voice cracked, even as her hips circled. “I’m begging. Don’t make me.” She began to pant. “Because I will…”

She would scream with pleasure here and now if he touched her again. No matter that they were in a room full of people.

She was nothing but a pool of damp want, trying not to clench down and just let go in a loud, long orgasm. But it wasn’t what she wanted—she wanted him with her. In her. Together.

His expression softened for a second, then turned lethal. “Let’s go.”

She nodded mutely, so aroused it was painful.

She sat in the passenger seat, willing him to drive as quickly as possible. Which, thank God, he did. One hand on the steering wheel, one hand lightly tracing the skin just above her knee. Not high enough, not hard enough. He was the ultimate tease.