Page 43 of Que Será, Syrah

“Mm-hm,” he says as his thumb strokes over my clit, again and again. My legs open wider all on their own. He’s not wrong. I’m desperate, needy, so hot for his touch that I can’t keep from moaning. There. Right there. More.

“So?” he prompts. “What’s the answer?”

I shake my head. “Stop asking questions that require me to think. Or at least save them until later. Right now, unless the answer is: yes, there, now, more, or harder—I don’t know, and I really don’t care.”

A sexy grin spreads across Clay’s face. His chuckle is deep and wicked. And his touch—deliberately missing the mark now, circling my clit with light, feathery touches that dance on the edge between frustrating and fun—reduces me to whimpers.

“So impatient,” he murmurs teasingly. “I guess some things never change.”

I glare at him through narrowed eyes. “Are you…criticizing me?”

“Oh, hell no,” he assures me, turning serious for a moment. “Absolutely not. In fact, that’s one of the things I always kinda loved about you.”

Loved? That’s a loaded word. And not one I feel like dealing with, at the moment. I do my best to disarm it by asking, “D’you know what I’d love?”

Clay stills. Maybe he’s hearing it too, now. His eyes are wary as his gaze meets mine. “No. What?”

“Less talk,” I respond, as I buck my hips and wriggle against his hand. “More action.”

“Fair enough,” he replies with a nod, as his smile comes glimmering back. “I can do that.” Then, pushing himself away from me, he moves down the bed. He slides my thong off, then clasps my thighs in those talented hands of his, spreading them wide. Then he lowers his face to my pussy and—holy mother of Merlot.

Obviously, this is not the first time I’ve had someone pay me lip service, but comparatively speaking…it might as well be. There’s already no comparison. His mouth might already have ruined me for anyone else’s. And he’s just getting started!

“Clay!” his name emerges part squeal, part squawk as his lips latch onto my clit, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, immediately siphoning off part of my brain. His tongue lashes my sensitive flesh and quickly reduces me to a babbling mess, keening all the answers I’d previously listed as acceptable, “Yes, there, now, more, harder. Pleeease!”

At some point, although honestly, I couldn’t say exactly when it happened, his fingers have joined in on the fun. They stroke inside me again and again, and it’s so, so good.

My fingers are in his hair, digging into his scalp as I writhe beneath him. Eventually however, I’m distracted by my breasts.

What started out as a tingling sensation has now become a full-on throb. But Clay’s busy elsewhere and I definitely want him to stay on task, so I take matters into my own hands, cupping and squeezing my girls, then tugging at my nipples. I twist and I pinch, increasing the pressure as the heat rises within me until I’m arching my back keening with need, drawing Clay’s attention upward. His breath hitches. His fingers tighten on me. His eyes grow wide and then he groans—long, low, heartfelt. And that little bit—just the addition of his breath, vibrating against my skin, the bite of his nails into sensitive flesh, the naked desire I can hear in his voice, and see in his gaze—that’s all it takes to send me tumbling over the edge. I cry out as I come, almost sobbing with pleasure,

Clay lingers for a moment, breathing me in, easing me through multiple aftershocks—which is nice and all, don’t get me wrong—but I’m not ready yet for slow and gentle. What I really want right now is more. More heat, more passion, more everything. I want him sliding inside me, pounding my pussy, hard and fast and mindless. I want my name on his lips as my body squeezes and tightens around him. I want a long, hot, heart racing, hard breathing, mind bending fuck.

“Stop,” I groan as I pull on his hair and tug at his shoulders, urging him upwards. “Come here.”

But when he finally slides up beside me, I can tell that he has himself firmly in control. Instead of looking half-crazed like I want him, he’s sporting a smug grin that, okay, yes, fine. He totally fucking deserves to be wearing that look. But does it have to be now? I’m not ready for this to be over. I want something to look smug about, too.

As he dips his head to kiss me, I hold him off. “Condom. Now. Hurry.”

“Shh,” he replies, still angling for a kiss. “It’s okay. There’s no rush.”

I push him back again. Harder this time. Eyes narrowing as I ask, “Hold up. You do have protection, don’t you?” Because Romeo, or not, if he thinks he can somehow manipulate me into going without a condom, he can damn well think again.

“It’s not a problem. We’re good,” he says. Denied my mouth he alters course. His lips graze my neck, causing an all-body flush to sweep over me, heating my cheeks as memories from last time rise to the surface yet again. We’ve been here before. I remember this part. Oh, God!

But I can’t let myself get distracted. “That’s not an answer!”

“Chill,” Clay says as he rolls onto his side. “Give me a little credit.” He props himself up on an elbow and smiles down at me with a somewhat exasperated expression. “You really think I can’t figure out for myself that I need a condom?”

“And yet. I’m hearing a lot of words, but none of them are yes.”

“Yes, all right? I have plenty of condoms. Promise. I just…we don’t need them yet, do we?”

“We do if we’re gonna fuck,” I point out.

Clay nods in agreement. “No cap. I just figured we could take our time, play around a little first. We have all night, don’t we?”

“Ohhh, now I get it,” I say. “You’re an edger.”

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