Page 89 of Down Knot Out
Heat pools between my thighs as his voicedrops, becoming rough with remembered desire. “What did you imagine when I did that?”
“Me licking every trace of frosting from your body.” The confession falls from his lips without hesitation, the raw honesty sending electricity racing along my nerves. “When you licked your fingers, you made this little sound of pleasure that went straight to my cock. I spent the rest of the night imagining what other sounds I could draw from your mouth.”
My breathing shallows, my chest rising and falling rapidly. “What’s stopping you now?”
A rumble rises from his chest as he leans forward, tongue darting out to trace the path of melting cream across my skin. Pleasure streaks through me, and my back arches, offering myself to him. Wet heat follows the sticky trail from my collarbone to the edge of my tank top. His hands bracket my ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through thin cotton.
“Off,” he growls without lifting his mouth from my skin.
My hands shake as I help him peel the onesie down my arms, the fabric pooling around my waist in soft green folds. The tank top follows, lifted over my head and discarded to the floor.
Cool air kisses my bare skin, drawing mynipples into tight peaks that ache for attention. Holden’s breathing hitches at the sight. “Beautiful.”
I reach over to the ceramic bowl on the counter beside me, dip two fingers into the cream, and spread it across my left nipple, the cold drawing a sharp gasp from my throat. The white peak contrasts sharply with flushed pink skin, resembling one of Holden’s desserts.
His mouth follows, tongue flattening to capture every trace of sweetness from my skin. The dual sensations of cold cream and hot mouth send shockwaves through my nervous system, pleasure shooting straight to my core.
“More,” he demands as he nuzzles my breast.
I eagerly comply, coating my other nipple with cream as his teeth close gently around the first. The careful bite draws a moan from me, and my thighs tighten around his waist as heat coils tighter in my belly.
He lavishes the same attention on my right breast, his touch rougher now, more demanding. Teeth scrape my delicate skin while his tongue paints patterns that pull more moans from my throat. His fingers find my left nipple, pinching and rolling the sensitive peak between his thumb and forefinger until I cry out his name.
Holden drops to his knees before me, hungerdarkening his face as he reaches for the remaining fabric of my onesie. I lift my hips far enough for him to slide the rest of the onesie down my legs. The soft green material whispers to the floor as cool air kisses my skin, raising goose bumps along my thighs.
His heated palms smooth up from my knees to the crease where legs meets torso, chasing away the chill. His fingers hook into the elastic at my hips, and he peels my underwear away, leaving me bare to his hungry stare.
Pulse racing, I spread my legs wider, offering myself to his touch.
“So pink,” he breathes, his exhale ghosting across my sensitive flesh.
His hands slide up my inner thighs, thumbs brushing close to where I ache for him most. But instead of giving me what I crave, he reaches past me for one of the diced strawberries scattered across the cutting board.
Cool and slick, the fruit glides along my swollen folds, leaving a trail of sweet juice from my entrance to the sensitive bundle of nerves at the height of my sex. The unexpected sensation draws a sharp gasp from my throat, my hips jerking forward to seek more pressure.
“Stay still,” he commands softly, the Alphaauthority in his voice leaves me trembling with desire.
The strawberry disappears, replaced by his thumb spreading the juice with deliberate slowness. Each stroke sends sparks shooting up my spine, but the touch remains frustratingly light, designed to tease rather than satisfy.
Just as I think I might combust from the gentle torment, shocking cold hits my overheated skin. The whipped cream lands on my most sensitive spots, the temperature contrast so intense I cry out and try to close my legs reflexively.
But his shoulders prevent the motion, his broad frame keeping me spread open for whatever wicked plans he has in mind. More cream follows, covering my folds in white sweetness already melting from my body heat.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, the reverence in the single word tightening my chest.
Then his mouth descends, and all coherent thought evaporates in a rush of sensation so intense it threatens to overwhelm me. His tongue starts with broad, flat strokes, gathering both cream and the evidence of my arousal. He groans with appreciation.
A keening sound escapes my throat as pleasure crashes through my nervous system. His handsgrip my thighs, holding me steady as his tongue explores every fold and crease with thorough determination, each stroke building pressure, and threatening to tear me apart.
His technique shifts without warning, tongue flattening to deliver firm pressure to my clit. The sudden intensity draws a strangled moan from deep inside me, and my hands fist in his golden-brown curls as my hips buck against his mouth.
“Yes,” I breathe, the word lost to another boom of thunder outside. “Don’t stop.”
He seals his lips around the swollen bundle of nerves and sucking hard, the pressure so exquisite that stars burst behind my closed eyelids.
My thighs begin to tremble, muscles quivering with the effort of holding myself open as his tongue and lips work in perfect harmony to drive me higher with each passing second. He alternates between broad strokes to tease my entrance and focused attention on my clit, never letting me adjust to one sensation before switching to another.
His arms hook under my thighs, hands splaying across my hip bones to hold me completely open and still. The new position changes the angle slightly, allowing his tongue to delve deeper while maintaining devastating pressure on my clit.
