Page 62 of Carver
“Let me taste.”
She groans at having to remove them to obey, but as soon as I suck them into my mouth, the sounds she makes change to ones of pleasure. I lick them clean, popping them out of my mouth one at a time.
“Let me see you make yourself come on your fingers.”
She eagerly brings them back to her entrance and slowly fills herself. I have the best view, but it’s one I’m willing to sacrifice to drag my tongue up her thighs, sucking and tasting, devouring every last drop of the wetness that remains there.
I watch her ride her hand, slowly at first, but then she increases the rhythm. Her head drops back, and the other hand grasps my shoulder for support.
She rides her fingers, plunging them in and out of herself, her hips undulating as she pumps herself full over and over again.
“I love the way you look right now,” I tell her, encouraging her to keep going. “I love your scent, the sounds of you fucking yourself. I want to see you come though, Bronte.”
She doesn’t really need my permission, but my words increase her tempo. She withdraws one finger and plunges the other two inside while she works her clit. She keeps up that pace for a moment and then her body shudders. She folds in on herself, panting, riding her fingers even more furiously as she shatters. I’d love it if it was my hand she was coming on. My tongue. My cock. But soon.
Watching her make herself come right in front of my face is sexy as hell.
There’s no way that I’m not going to clean her up.
As soon as the shudders change from violent waves to softer trembling ripples, I guide her fingers to my mouth and suck them clean again. She sets her hand on my other shoulder as soon as I release it and holds on while I run my tongue over her swollen clit and then down, gathering every single bit of her come. I’m gentle and I take my time. I know how sensitive she is. She bucks against my face, arching away when even the softest touch is still too much, coming back to me when she needs more.
“Let’s go upstairs,” she whispers, her hand clenching in my hair and dragging my face away so I can stare into the burning depths of her fever bright, blown out eyes. “Now.”
It’s that urgency in her voice that gets me moving. I scramble up and take her hand, leading her up the stairs to our small room and to the bed, where I’ll make her mine all over again and I’ll surrender everything I am, gladly, to be owned by her.
Chapter 17
Bronte
Dominic just did incredible, sinful things to my body.
Apparently, he’d like to follow that up by killing me silently with the strip show of a lifetime, removing every single piece of his clothing so that it looks like an artform.
He tugs his shirt over his head, strips off his jeans, boots, and socks, and then peels his boxers away last. The whole thing is so carefully done that it almost appears that he’s doing it in slow motion.
My mouth waters when his cock bobs free, long and thick, swollen and dark at the tip, beads of precum shining in the light.
And then he just folds back the blanket and sheet and slides into the bed. He just… lays there. Cool as a freaking cucumber after freaking nearly destroying me in the best way. He pats the bed beside him while I hesitate. He lifts the blankets for me and smiles innocently. There’s not a hint or a promise of debauchery there. Nothing that gives him away.
I strip the garter belt off and my thigh high stockings and slide between the sheets, breathing too hard. It’s a wonder I can breathe at all after Dom just knocked the wind right out of me.
He tucks himself in behind me, our bodies fitted together so effortlessly. His arm bands tightly around my waist. I wriggle up against him until there’s no room between us. Nothing. Not even air.
His hard erection throbs against my lower back. Is he going to go to sleep like that? How can he be tired with a massive issue like that. Wouldn’t that be… distracting? Dangerous? Couldn’t it cause blood flow issues?
He curls around me. I’ve never felt safer or more frustrated in my life.
His body molds to mine. I feel every single one of his breaths. I can count his heartbeats. In his chest andlower.
“Dom?”
“Shh,” he sighs. “I’m drifting off.”
He has to be joking. I’m a sizzling freaking kabob over here, jammed straight on the grill. Wait. No. At least a kabob gets spitted. I’m just laying here, feeling every inch of his hard cock rhythmically throbbing against me. It’s not a nice heat that I feel. It’s an irrational, choking, sizzling, prickly heat that’s more like needles under my skin than it is a nice and friendly full body blush.
“Dom!” I lift his arm and wrench around.
Only to find him grinning at me.
