Page 79 of Beautiful Liar

A small frown forms because the compliment sounds almost regretful. As if a precious thing is already losing its shine.

I give a small groan when his finger slides out of me. Then my frown gives way altogether when he moves and I feel the brush of his thigh against mine for the first time.

You’re warm,” I blurt stupidly.

A low laugh. “Did you imagine me otherwise?”

“The…your voice,” I whisper.

“You’ve felt my hands. My mouth. You’re about to feel a whole lot more of me. Enough to know I’m not a robot.”

“Can I…will I see you?”

“Not yet, firecracker. Tonight I just want you to feel me.”

I wonder at the rationale behind that, but I deem it wise not to question it. He adjusts himself next to me, and I really feel him for the first time. As I imagined through all those meetings, his body is chiseled, hard from chest to thigh. In between, the thickness of his cock registers against my leg. Without sight, I can’t guess accurately at its size, but the length is enough to make me miss a breath.

One hand caresses my bound hands. My lower arms. Elbows. Armpit. When his hand trails down my side, I jerk a little. I sense him pause, file the action away, before he continues. It’s dawning on me with astonishing alarm how quickly he can take me from sensible woman to quivering mess.

His impatient hand parts my thighs, and I realize I squeezed them shut again after my second orgasm. I let my legs fall open.

“Wider,” he growls.

I comply.

He makes a rough sound beneath his breath and leaves my side. In the next instant, he’s kneeling between my legs, each ankle in his intractable hold. I’m yanked wider open, my legs pushed back at the knees. I’m bound and wide open to him and there’s nowhere to hide. I swallow and go with it because I have no choice. When the camera tracking his move whirs, I struggle not to visibly cringe.

I feel him staring at me. Between my legs. My breath grows increasingly choppy as he remains silent for an eternity.

Eventually, his breathing gruff, he releases one ankle.

The head of his cock brushes my soaked heat. Up and down a few times before he slaps his heavy girth against me. That’s the first inkling I get of Q’s size.

The second is when he pushes his head inside me.

My body tenses against the thick, hard invasion. He pauses for a handful of seconds. The hand trapping my ankle pushes my leg back further, opening me wider.

He drives once more into me. Manages to insert himself just past the head. I wince and cry out. His chest heaves and the rattle of his exhales transmits electronically.

“Motherfucker!”

Behind the blindfold, my eyes water. My nasal passage tingles with an onslaught of shocked tears as he presses himself deeper inside me. “Ah!”

“I need to be inside you, Lucky.”

“You’re too big,” I gasp when he subtly withdraws and attempts again.

“You’re too fucking tight,” he grits out. Fingers land on my clit and massage with pinpoint expertise that floods me instantly. But even the renewed wetness only affords him another couple of inches. “Jesus, relax for me, baby. That’s it. Relax.”

The combination of his voice and the massage releases some of my tension. The burn is still beyond intense, but Q’s cock progresses along my channel. Deeper. Fuller.

“Breathe, Lucky.” The instruction is terse, filled with a savage hunger that tells me one wrong move could see this thing spiral out of control.

I take a much needed breath, and he pushes in to my hilt simultaneously. I’m filled to capacity, no more room at the inn.

“Fuck!” He releases my ankle and his fingers leave my clit to trail up my body to my breasts. I feel him rock forward just before he palms them both and rolls the peaks between his fingers. “I fucking love your breasts.”

My moan ends in a hoarse gasp when he starts to fuck me. Long strokes that end in little rams, my whole body jerks with each penetration.

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