Taming His Tutor(56)

Then she looked at the length of him for a long, long time.

“That’s it?” he joked. “You’re just going to look?”

“Patience,” she chided. “I’m building the sexual tension.” And in just looking, she’d discovered, there was a lot of tension to be had. Maybe that worked both ways?

Testing, she swept her hands down her body and back up to cup her breasts, offering them to him. Knowing full well he couldn’t reach. “Anticipation, remember?”

His eyes locked on her nipples; they were still tight and rosy from his gloriously attentive mouth.

“Smarty-pants.” He drew in a deep breath. “Trust me, I’m all anticipation.”

So was she.

Abbi got onto the bed and crawled up his body, her arms and legs straddling him.

“What now?” he asked, lifting his hips nearer to her, so not quite patient.

She smiled, reveling in the newfound confidence she’d gained under his tutelage. Reveling in making love to a man she actually…loved.

And this one time, she was going to savor every inch of him. Every second of this time.

“I’m surprised you’re letting me do this,” she said softly. “When you’re the master of escape.”

“Am I?”

She nodded. “You never want to be tied down.”

His eyes darkened.

“Too bad,” she whispered and pressed an openmouthed kiss to the pulse beating on the side of his neck. “This time you can’t get away.”

“Abbi.”

“Shut it.”

She kissed him, stroked him, explored all his body—seeking out the sensitive spots, what made him stiffen or chuckle or tremble. She loved his body with tender licks, kisses, caresses until he started to speak. A low, rough voice trying to instruct. To demand.

She shut him up by making love to his mouth. This was her moment. Her choice over the pacing.

Only when she was finally ready, when he’d broken into a sweat and had sworn at her to hurry, only then did she so slowly lower herself onto him. She breathed in deeply as she let him fill her, breathed out as she flexed her hips and then forced herself down to his hilt.

“Abbi,” he growled, almost hoarse.

His hips bucked.

“No.” She clenched on him. “My turn.”

He stilled. “Please.”

She bent and caught his mouth, kissed him with all her passion. Pulling back, she rose a little on her knees, then rocked down to take every inch of him again.

He stared up at her, the emerald of his eyes almost obliterated by the huge dark pupils. “I want to touch you.”

She smiled. “Here?” she asked, running her hand down her neck and to her breast. “Or here?” She slid her fingers down over her belly, to just above the point where they were joined.

She circled her clit, and instinctively clamped tighter on him as the delicious sensation shook her.

“Oh, fuck.”

Confidence, lust, pleasure surged through her. She lifted her hips, pushing the rhythm, lifted her hand away.

“Don’t stop,” he groaned. “Touch.”

She licked her lips, then licked the tips of her fingers. Slowly, she stroked down her body again, touching her breasts with both her hands, teasing her nipples. She watched his mouth part and his groan sound. She went back to her clit, rubbing herself as she rocked on him. Not thinking anymore, just touching in a way that felt so damn good. She firmly swept her other hand up his abs, grounding herself to him.

No, she wasn’t stopping. She wanted to give him what he wanted. She wanted to give him more than that.

She didn’t just want to receive. She wanted to give. And to take.

She drank him in as she moved, sliding up and down, rubbing, feeling the oncoming rush of orgasm. She smiled at him, just a little smile. Utterly honest. To her surprise saw something break in him—something naked and vulnerable flashed in his eyes.

And another part of her heart was lost. “Joe.”

“More,” he begged. “Ride me harder.”

She tossed her hair out of her face and pressed her hand hard on his chest, keeping her balance, drawing her strength from him. She rode him and rubbed herself. A hunger built in her, the burning need to beat him at this. To beat this raging heat between them.

She moved to thrust her hands into his hair, stretched forward to suck his lower lip into her mouth, to nip it with her teeth. To brand him. He grunted as she squeezed him tight, then slid up and down him again.

She rode him harder, slipped her hand down her sternum and resumed flicking her clit, pleasuring herself as much as she was him. Through half-shut, glazed eyes she saw him watching her actions, his face reddening, the sweat starting to trickle down his forehead. Damn he was strong—so controlled, as he held back from orgasm. She rocked faster, up and down his cock.