I nod enthusiastically. I can’t even find the breath to plead anymore.
“Ready to come for me again?”
Beyond. I give him another jerky nod.
“Beg me one more time,” he demands.
Are you serious? I want to screech the question, but I don’t. First, my brain is too scrambled to speak a complete sentence. Second, instinct tells me he’ll delay giving me the ecstasy I’m dying for if I don’t comply.
And the way he’s bending me to his will is a shockingly huge turn-on.
“Please,” I pant. “Please…”
He rewards my compliance with another lash of my clit with his tongue, then slowly sucks me into his mouth.
Maybe I’m crazy or just beyond rational thought, but I’d swear every move he makes is calculated to dismantle my self-control. I’ve never felt anything like the ecstasy he’s giving me. I don’t have any way of fighting it. I don’t want to. All I want is the pleasure he alone seems capable of showering on me.
“There it is,” he praises as he licks his way up my center again. “That’s what I wanted. Come, angel. Let me watch.”
The sensations he heaped on me were enough to send me over the edge, but his command is like kindling to my restraint. Knowing he’s watching me? That’s the gasoline on top.
The pleasure coursing through my system converges between my legs and explodes. I wail; there’s no other way to describe my sobbing cries that echo off the walls. I writhe. I buck. I don’t even control my body anymore. This man does. A stranger. He holds my next breath and my sanity in his hands. He balances them on his tongue. I feel his eyes all over me and I know that he’s completely aware of his power over me.
It’s both heady and terrifying.
My body hurtles over the pinnacle, then slowly eases back down as I fight for breath and coherence. Slowly, I open my eyes. He’s still between my legs, easing my float to the ground with his tongue, his black stare still on me.
Finally, he backs away with one last kiss to my mound. “That might be the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
He makes me blush. I both love it and hate it. I’m hardly a girl, and I’m not a virgin. But somehow he strips away my disillusionment and wipes the jaded side of me clean, leaving me shiny and new and frighteningly naked.
I have to do something to balance the power between us. At least that’s what I tell myself. But I’m aware that I’m trembling with the need to make him feel good, too.
Sitting up, I splay my hands on his thighs, wishing he wasn’t half-hidden by his zipper. “That was amazing. Do I get to finish what I started and return the favor now?”
He shakes his head and stands, towering over me, as if he wants me to understand who’s in control. “Later. I want inside you now.”
I’ve just had the orgasm of my life. How is it possible his words renew my spark of desire?
He doesn’t answer verbally, simply pulls a foil square from his pocket, drops his pants, and kicks them aside with his shoes.
My eyes bulge. His sculpted torso alone was stunning—all muscles, bronzed skin, and the tribal tattoo I now see bisecting his ribs along one side. But seeing him head-to-toe naked? I swallow. He’s big, hard, and ready. And tonight, he’s mine.
I don’t say another word. I simply lie back and spread my legs. Without being told, I know that’s what he wants. His silent approval moments later fills me with a pleasure that’s distinctly different from the arousal he lavished on me minutes ago.
“Such a good girl,” he praises as he slips the condom over his cock and leans above me, palms flat on either side of my head. Then he covers me with his body and uses his knees to spread my legs farther apart. “Keep them wide. I want to enjoy every second I’m inside you.”
I want him to enjoy it, too, but I can’t find the words, so I just nod.
“God, the way you’re looking at me…” His eyes darken as he grips my hips and fits his fat crest against my opening. Then he swallows like he’s every bit as turned inside out as I am. “We just met and this makes no sense, but this is more than a fuck.” He nudges my opening. “Right?”
“Yes.” I feel myself tighten on him, trying to suck him in deeper.
Nothing about this makes any sense, but I don’t argue. I can’t. Something’s happening between us. It isn’t just that he makes my body sing—but oh, hell, he does. It’s as if he stares into my eyes and, as he’s penetrating my body, he penetrates my soul.
I gasp as he stretches me, filling me, seeming to complete me. Which makes no sense, but I can’t escape the feeling that all other men have left me cold because I was meant for this one.