Page 9 of Fitting the Financier
The tremble that rocks my body is born from anticipation and need. I’m desperate to have his warm mouth on my slick pussy.
“Did you miss me?”
I don’t answer. How can I when I’m so close to shattering and the man has barely touched me?
Mason retreats a fraction to nibble the length of my inner thigh.
“No!” I protest, though his tongue on my overheated skin makes me even wetter. His touch sends conflicting and arousing sensations coursing through my body as his hands run the length of my outer thighs in lazy strokes and his mouth inch tantalizingly close to my core only to back away. He’s teasing me when I haven’t had him in months.
I try to hold out, starve him as much as he’d denied me, but the throbbing in my clit, the clenching and unclenching deep inside, is almost too painful to bear.
“Yes, I’ve missed you!”
He moans. The sound is an animalistic growl of satisfaction that only turns me on more.
“Do you want me, Charity? Want my tongue deep in your pussy?”
“Oh, God. Yes!” He’s making me say these words, I remind myself, though the confession easily falls from my lips.
Then his tongue is on me, in me, and the world fades to bright red. My thighs fall open to his skillful devouring and my heart hammers in my chest.
I moan. Both loving and hating the hold he has on me.
My concerns fade, replaced by hot arousal pushing me closer to bliss. I belong to him as much as he belongs to me. The idea sets off new panic. What if we can’t get past the biggest obstacle of all?
“Flood my mouth, wildcat.”
Those words loosen the chains to the last of my restraint. They’re all the permission I need to come.
“You belong to me and no one else,” he says as my legs tremble.
A tear leaks from my eyes at the intensity of impending orgasm. My back arches even as his mouth chases my core and I scream my release, burying my hands in his hair. As with everything with Mason, he’s through.
I don’t know how long I stay on the table panting or when my vision finally clears, but when I come to, Mason is kissing me. Feeding me remnants of my explosive orgasm. And for a moment, I kiss him back with passion before easing away.
Knowing he’ll walk away again is too painful. I’m not ready.
“This means nothing,” I say, closing my legs.
“You’re wrong.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You’ve proven exactly what I mean to you.” I hop off the table he just tongue-fucked me on as the doorbell chimes. “A quick fuck whenever you’re in town.” Saying aloud what I’ve been thinking and feeling for weeks hammers home a fresh wave of embarrassment and hurt.
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak. It’s all the confirmation I need.
“Now that you’ve proven you can get me wet, get the hell out.” He grabs my arm as I pass and for a wishful second my treacherous body hopes he punishes me for telling him to fuck-off.
“Wildcat…”
I tremble.
“Let’s be clear,” he growls above my ear. “My absence was me giving you time to consider the bomb we’re about to drop. Once ignited, there’s no taking that explosion back.”
I jerk. But his powerful hold only tightens. My mind races back to our late night on the beach and how easily he’d overpowers me. The thought sends a needy shiver down my spine.
“Staying away was nevermegiving you permission to end us.”
I clamp down the hopeful spark before it erupts, and I tug my arm again. This time, he lets me go. Allows my freedom.
