Wild Dirty Secret(69)

He kissed my breasts with reverence, and a few seconds of false worship had my hips lifting up to him. Restless, I moved my legs, allowing him to fall between me, his hardness nudging against the fabric of the boxers I wore. He pulled back, though not enough to tear our clothes off and complete the act. No, he settled himself above me, content to touch and lick and tease. He was teasing me, I realized through my haze. Pulling back when I reached for him, stoking the fires so that I wanted more and more, helpless in his thrall until he decided to grant me release. I knew this trick. I had performed it so often from the other side.

“Don’t,” I murmured.

He paused, panting, then rested his forehead beneath my breasts. “Do you need me to stop?”

“Stop playing. Give me what I want. What you want.”

I expected him to deny it, to say that was what he had been doing all along. Instead he shook his head. “I can’t let go. It would be too much.”

He added as an afterthought, “For you,” and I wondered whether it meant the opposite. Whether it would be too much for him.

Stroking his hair, I felt a rush of longing. “I don’t want the watered-down version of you. I don’t want some experience you think I should have—the careful boyfriend, the gentle lover. I want you.”

He placed openmouthed kisses on my skin. “You deserve all of that.”

I groaned in lust and apprehension as he reached the crease below my belly. “I don’t know.”

“Say no if you don’t want it. I’ll stop.” Though it didn’t feel like he would when he pulled off my shorts and spread my thighs, his hands like iron bands holding me open. It didn’t feel like he was capable of stopping or hearing me at all, when he licked and sucked at my cunt as if he were starving, dying, and could think of no better way to go. I bucked into his mouth, my body confused, caught between sensitivity and arousal, between overexposure and never having enough.

Rough groans escaped me, animalistic sounds of pain and pleasure, nothing like the sexy moans I could make on command. I grabbed at the sheets, searching for something to anchor me. There was no seduction from either one of us, only desire. There was no teasing, only taking. I took pleasure from his mouth, and he took all my reserve, all my fear and loneliness, leaving only wild abandon and a sense of pure acceptance.

His fingers pushed inside me, rocking, working their way between tender flesh, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of anything but the sharp ache he drew forth. Then his mouth was over my clit, and his hands rough and insistent, and I tumbled off the cliff, crying out in wordless relief. I could feel my inner muscles clench around his fingers, pulling at them in an attempt to bring him deeper. Even as my body floated in blissful stupor, I wanted him inside me.

He rested his cheek against my hip for a moment before sliding off beside me. Rolling to my side, I examined him. My orgasm softened my vision, as if I were seeing him in a dream. His eyes were closed, the angles of his face more distinct from the darkness and his arousal.

I peeled the clothes from his body with a foreign sense of wonder. I had done this so many times but never with him. He stayed passive for my perusal, taut with arousal but too conscious to rush me, too kind to force me. His body was corded with bands of muscle, a sinewy sculpture dusted with light brown hair. As I tugged his briefs down his hips, his erection hung heavy over his lean stomach, thick and dark.

I reached over and stroked a finger from tip to base.

“Don’t,” he gasped.

I smiled lazily, echoing his words. “Do you need me to stop?”

“God, no. Just go slow. I’m so fucking close.”

I fisted his cock, relishing the burn of his hot, silky skin against my palm. He sucked in a breath. I stroked him with the same rhythm he had used on himself. He bucked and moaned, delirious in a matter of seconds.

His hand enclosed mine for two strokes and then fell back onto the bed. His head fell back too as he ceded control to me. I could see the struggle in the lines of his neck, in his teeth, in his lip, in the grunts that matched each downward stroke of my hand. But he must have thought it was important to give me this power, and so I resolved to use it well.

Leaning over, I flicked my tongue over the tip of his cock, tasting saltiness and sex as he pushed up into my fist. I let him linger there, the head of his cock glistening and begging for more. I gave another quick lap at the slit to match another downward thrust. Again and again, I exacted sweet revenge for some nameless slight. For bringing me to this point where I wanted his arousal more than his release. Where I wanted to hold him at the brink for eternity, if only to see his eyes saturated with lust and desire and need.