“Christ almighty,” he breathed—prayed?—not quite sure where to look. At her beautiful face, adorned with a slightly nervous smile? Or maybe those pretty, perfectly shaped little pink-and-cream breasts? What about that delightfully dipped-in waist or that flat tummy? No, maybe his eyes should feast on the immaculately manicured V at the junction of her thighs. Yeah, that’s where his eyes wanted to be; that’s where his hands, mouth, tongue, and cock wanted to be as well. He groaned softly.
“Fuck me,” he muttered, and her smile widened.
“That’s the idea.”
“You’re fucking gorgeous.”
“And you’re a little overdressed.”
Jesus. So much for his vow not to let her dictate the pace of this relationship. He’d had no intention of making love to her tonight, but how the hell was he supposed to resist this?
“Come on, Spencer, show me some skin,” she pouted, tugging at his pajama collar, slipping her fingers between the gaps in the front to get at the skin beneath. He fought for control as he unfastened the top button and stepped back to tug it over his head and off. She gave a delighted little purr that turned into an undignified squawk when he unceremoniously pulled his top over her head and yanked her arms into the armholes before dragging it down over her hips and thighs.
He heaved a sigh of relief when she was somewhat covered and leaned in to give her shocked mouth a hot, brief kiss. She folded her arms over her chest and met his eyes defiantly. He was alarmed to see a touch of hurt beneath the bluster.
“Why’d you do that?”
“For my sanity,” he said, smoothing a thumb over one of her cheeks. “You eat?”
“I’m not here to eat. Look, Spencer, this teenage petting business is not what I signed up for. I mean, it was cute at first, but it’s beginning to get old. It’s time we get down to business, don’t you think?”
“That’s a shame, really. Since I didn’t get to pet you when we were teenagers, and I was just making up for lost time and lost opportunities.”
He could see her fighting back a smile at those words, but she tamped down her amusement.
“Well, I think you’ve more than made up for lost time. So why not just get down to the nitty-gritty?”
“Hmm.” His thumb moved from her cheek to the sensitive spot just below her earlobe. She shuddered, forgetting what else she’d been about to say, and leaned into his touch. He stroked his thumb to the hollow of her throat and lingered there while he dipped his head for another thirsty kiss. She opened her mouth and welcomed his tongue with an appreciative moan. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she strained up onto her toes, trying to get as close to him as she could, trying to dictate the pace again . . . He drew back, ignoring her frustrated sob.
“How was your day, darling?” he asked, and she glared at him.
“Are you kidding me with this?”
“With what?”
“This! Whatever the hell this is! What are you doing? This is not how it’s supposed to go.”
“How what’s supposed to go?” he asked patiently.
“You’re maddening,” she seethed. “Our no-strings sex thing.”
“I’m not too familiar with the rules of such a thing. I’m just playing it by ear.”
“It’s not that complicated! We have sex. That’s it. You’re being deliberately—humph.” He shut her up with another kiss. A long, deep, intense kiss.
Before she quite knew what was happening, they were on the sofa. She was flat on her back and he was nestled between her thighs, his hard cock grinding up against her mound.
“You feel so hot and hard, Spencer. I want to feel you naked against me. Please.” Daff had never begged a man for sex. Had never really wanted to. She’d been happy to let her previous partners control the pace, the mood, the setting . . . the genre. That probably wasn’t the right word, but that’s what came to mind: the type of sex. Rough, gentle, oral (for men only, of course, selfish bastards), missionary . . . rough. Mostly rough. Scary rough. Spencer didn’t seem like the type of guy who would take it to that place, but neither had her last partner. So Daff wanted to be the one to do the picking and choosing this time. She wanted to dictate the pace. But Spencer wasn’t playing ball. He had his own set of rules, and it was confusing and frightening.
Did he want what the others had wanted? What they had assumed she would want and had then taken without real consent? If she offered it to him, that would still be a way of maintaining control, wouldn’t it? She was mulling it over, only half-aware of him unbuttoning her top and tracing kisses down her chest. It was only when his hot, hungry mouth latched on to her breast that she was brought back to the very pleasurable present.
She gasped and buried her fingers in his hair, loving the more forceful tugs on her nipple. In their previous encounters, he had teased and tormented with nibbles and barely there little suctioning kisses. This was more like it. Deciding to go for it, to be brave and take matters into her own hands, she grabbed one of his large, busy hands and dragged it up over her breast and then her chest.
He stopped playing with her breasts and lifted his head to watch her. She smiled, brought his hand up, and sucked the tip of each finger into her mouth, loving the way his beautiful eyes darkened with each bit of suctioning. Then she did it, the bit she dreaded the most. The bit that always seemed to turn guys all the way on. She brought that big, strong hand to her throat and left it there. He frowned slightly, wrapping his palm over her slender throat but not doing more than that.
“It’s okay,” she promised him. Sounding braver and steadier than she felt. “You can squeeze.”
She hated this part, hated how suffocating it was, how terrifying it felt to have her air cut off. Hated how much they seemed to love the discomfort it caused her. Spencer did nothing, his palm hot against her skin. He was staring intently down at her.
“Do it,” she urged, hating the tension, dreading the inevitability.
“Do you really want me to?” he finally asked, sounding almost bored. His thumb was idly stroking her wildly pulsing carotid artery, and she swallowed. His question baffled her, and she had no idea what the right answer was.
After a moment’s thought, she nodded, and his eyes narrowed before he smiled. The parting of his lips was slow and beautiful. He lowered his head and touched those lips to hers. The kiss was soft and delicate, his tongue coming out to trace the seam of her mouth. But when she parted her lips to allow him access, he retreated, lifting his head to look at her again. His hand was still at her throat, but there was no pressure yet, just that soft up-and-down sweep of his thumb. This was so much worse than usual. To follow up this tenderness with pain and humiliation would be unbearable.
“Just do it,” she urged tightly, and he looked at her for a moment longer before his lips tilted at the corner and he shook his head.
“I don’t think so.”
What?
He stroked his hand away from her throat down the front of her body, sweeping between the shallow valley of her breasts before bringing it to the cleft of her pussy.
“There are so many other, more satisfying, things I could be doing with this hand.” His voice was a rumble, and she groaned when his index finger found the swollen bundle of nerves at her center and proceeded to strum it delicately. She writhed in pleasure, completely overwhelmed.
“That’s it, darling,” he crooned. “Isn’t this much better?”
He went back to her nipples, and the brief awkwardness of the moment was swept away in a tide of overwhelming lust. She arched her back, pushing her chest closer to his mouth, while she lifted her hips to encourage that softly stroking finger. Wanting him to put more effort into it. He lifted his head to grin at her, and then he was on the move again and Daff smiled as she watched his head travel down.
“Oh yes,” she sighed when his lips closed over her clit, replacing his finger. Yes, this was definitely her new favorite thing. “Feel free to just set up camp down there,” she invited him, and he chuckled. That huff of breath felt amazing on the straining, swollen knot that was the very center of her universe right now, and she shivered deliciously. Without lifting his busy mouth, he reached for one of her hands and pushed it toward her chest.
“Play with your nipples,” he growled before going back to work.
Oh, with pleasure. She did as she was told, stroking, thumbing, and tugging at her hard nipples with both hands. He used his thumbs to part her pouting flesh, giving him unimpeded access to every sensitive bit of real estate down there, and he took full advantage, using his tongue to lave its way up the groove on one side of her clit and down the other. It traveled even farther down until she—shockingly—felt him probing for entry.
“Ohhhh my God!” she heard herself mewling. How long was his tongue? And how endlessly talented. It speared in and out of her clutching channel while his thumb took up the slack at her swollen clitoris. She felt so naïve in thinking—after the other night—that she now knew everything there was to know about cunnilingus, because she clearly knew absolutely nothing.
This was . . . it was . . . transcendent.
“Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Never stop,” she chanted, moving her hips in time with every thrust of his tongue. Her hands fell away from her breasts to yank a couple of fistfuls of his hair; she knew it had to be painful, but she was barely aware of how rough she was being. Focused only on what he was doing with his mouth. Her thighs clamped over his ears, but that barely seemed to faze him, as he never lost pace. She was close. Very, very close. She felt herself melting all over his tongue as he took her higher and higher and higher.