Page 81 of The Black Table
Oh.
“Here?” I ask. He looks around, over either shoulder; shrugs.
We’re alone.
I can only nod.
He bites his lip and grabs for me.
I kiss him—familiar, practiced, hot. Shuddering as soon as our mouths meet. He rips at my lamé, prying the covering from my chest and skating his hands over bare skin. I gasp a little, and he edges me backwards, gentle but firm, until the backs of my knees hit the bench and he’s pushed me to sitting. Lips and teeth nip their way down from my shoulder to my waist, and I clench in anticipation, for him to surge up, straddle me.
He doesn’t, though.
Instead, he eases my legs wide with his own.
Then drops to his knees.
I sit up straighter, realizing. That’s…not what we usually do.
Not that we’ve discussed it. Who’s into what and everything. On some level weshould, I guess. But we haven’t. Just went with what felt right.
Maybe I’m just a natural giver.
“Hold on.Hold—” I shudder as his lips brush the top of my fencing knickers, the low waistband the only thing between him and my sensitive skin. “Stop.”
I push him back by the shoulders, hold him firm, pinning him there on his knees. He raises his head, soft confusion written on his face, and?—
And his eyes. Those eyes.
I’ve always loved those eyes.
They’re the first thing I noticed about him. That bright blue.
But here, with him kneeling before me like this, they strike me again. Anew. Looking at me not directly, not eye-to-literal-eye, but from below.
In supplication.
Begging.
And giving me no way to say no.
My cock goes iron-hard.
“I just…you don’t have to,” I murmur. “Let me?—”
“I’m good.” Lanz shakes his head. “I want to.”
“But—”
“Don’t argue,” he bites out. “You need this.”
And presses a kiss to the cusp of fabric right under my hip.
A moan floods out of me. He isn’t wrong.
“Good boy.”
Oh, God.
