“Just right. Now—” His breath caught. “Now use your mouth on me.”
The crude command sent an erotic thrill chasing through her.
“How?”
“Start with your tongue.”
Bending her head, she gave the tip a tentative lick. “Like that?”
“Yes. Like that. All over.”
She swirled her tongue around the plum-colored head, then down the underside of his shaft. He smelled of soap and just-washed skin. She hadn’t expected him to be so soft. So soft, and so hard at the same time.
When she licked back up toward the tip, his breath caught. His hand moved to cradle the back of her head.
“Now like this.”
He nudged her open mouth over the crown, tangling his hand in her hair to guide her up and down.
Beyond that brief lesson, she didn’t need more encouragement. The lewdness of it excited her beyond anything she could have imagined. She worked to take him deeper, then a fraction deeper still—loving the fact that she’d never be able to take him all. Craving the taste of him, savoring the soft groans she pulled from his chest.
“Clio. God.”
He tightened his grip in her hair and gently pulled her away. She whimpered, disappointed.
“Stand,” he told her. “Spread your legs and straddle my lap.”
She did as he asked, working quickly. Her stocking snagged on the chair’s upholstery. She didn’t care.
“Lift your breasts,” he said, sounding impatient now. “Bring them to my mouth.”
She held them up for his attention. First one, then the other. Then both at the same time. He moved his head from one side to the other, teasing her nipples with alternating kisses and licks. His mouth fitted over one, and he suckled hard. She felt his growl vibrate all through her.
“Please,” she whispered. “I need . . . I want . . .”
“What is it you want, love? Tell me.”
“I want you.”
His hand caressed her arm. “Then you have me. I’m right here.”
“You know what I mean.” She wriggled on his lap. “I . . . I want you inside me.”
“Like this?” Reaching between them, he slid one finger into her depths. The sensation took her breath away . . . but it wasn’t quite enough.
The devil. He knew exactly what she was craving. He was only teasing her.
“More,” she panted, working against his hand. Each time her sex brushed his palm, a ripple of bliss moved through her. “I want more.”
“Then say it.” He drew her close and kissed her ear. “Tell me you want my cock.”
She froze. A thrill rocketed through her.
“Go on,” he urged, pushing his finger deep. “I can feel how wet you are. You like hearing me say these things. So say them yourself. Tell me you want my cock deep inside you. Hard and fast.”
“I . . . I can’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s already been on the tip of your tongue. And it’s just a word.”
“A wicked word.”
“You wanted to do wicked things.”
Yes, but she’d expected him to do the talking. When it came to speaking of carnality and desire, he never had any qualms. But Clio had qualms. So many qualms. Great heaps of qualms she’d amassed over a lifetime.
He teased his thumb in devious circles, right where he knew she’d feel it most. His breath caressed her hair. “You’re here. With me. It’s safe. You can say whatever you feel.”
Her whole body ached with need. He had her so excited, she would have done anything.
“I want your cock.” Her voice was breathy. “I want it inside me.”
He drew his finger from her slickness and took himself in hand, positioning the smooth, broad crown of his erection at her entrance. “This is what you want?”
“Yes.”
He put his hands on the arms of the chair. “Then take it.”
She sank down on him, a little lower each time, taking his hard fullness into her in delicious increments until her lap rested on his.
“Now look.” He turned her head toward the dressing table. “Look what you did.”
Their reflection filled the looking glass. His big, bronzed hands gripping her pale flesh. The gentle bounce of her breasts as she rode him in a lazy rhythm. The haze of desire in his expression.
“God, you’re beautiful.”
His hands sank to her waist, and he guided her into a swifter pace, driving up with his hips to fill her. She slumped forward and buried her face in his neck, surrendering to it all. The feel of his hard length dragging in and out of her, teasing her most sensitive places again and again . . .
The pleasure rose and gathered so swiftly, her climax caught her before she knew it. She went limp in his arms, sobbing faintly with pleasure, trusting him to keep up the rhythm she needed.
And he did.
When the last tremors had subsided, he tightened his arms around her, stroking her hair.
“That didn’t go as I planned,” she said, when she’d finally recovered her breath. “I was supposed to be giving you wicked pleasure.”
“Oh, you did. You most certainly did.”
He brought her mouth to his, and it was like their first kiss in the tower—a tender, languorous sweetness spread atop a chasm of need.
She marveled at his patience. He was still so big and hard inside her. He had to be desperate for release.
Bending her head, she kissed his neck. She stroked her fingers over his shoulders and through the dark hairs on his chest. He began to move inside her again. Thrusting slowly. Tenderly.