Page 24 of Masked Seduction
Her hands cradle the back of my head as I move lower, trailing kisses down her trembling belly while her hips squirm beneath me. When I place my thumbs under the lace waistband of her panties and peel them down, she lifts her hips in offering.
And then she’s bare. Completely, gloriously bare. Her perfect pink slit is glistening for me. I can’t wait to taste it.
I pause, drinking her in. Then I kiss the inside of her thigh. Once, twice, higher each time.
She whimpers.
I look up at her, her eyes hazy with lust. She shivers, thighs parting.
I take my time before lowering my mouth between them, my breath warm against her slick heat. She’s so wet, so ready for me. One long, slow lick, and I feel her jolt as her fingers clench the cushions, a sharp breath escaping her lips.
God, she tastes like ambrosia. Sweet, earthy, heady. I want to drown in it.
I place my arms under her thighs, holding her open, anchoring her to me as my tongue moves with unhurried precision. Every flick, every stroke, every soft suck of her clit is measured and relentless. I want to undo her.
She arches her back, unraveling while her fingers tangle in her hair. As her thighs tense and shake, I glance up to watch her. She’s flushed, eyes glazed, chest heaving. Her lips are parted in a gasp, and when I press two fingers inside her, curling them just so while I suck her clit harder, she comes undone.
Her moan rips through the quiet, ragged and beautiful.
I keep my mouth on her as she rides it out, one hand cupping her breast, thumb grazing the nipple until her body shudders and stills.
Only then do I stand, licking her from my lips, savoring her taste. She lies sprawled across the couch, flushed and glowing, chest rising and falling in uneven waves. Her curls are a halo aroundher face, and her green eyes—my God, her eyes—are hazy and full of something close to wonder.
She’s never looked more beautiful.
Never looked more mine.
She blinks slowly and asks, breathless, “What do you want now?”
I could tell her the truth: everything.
But instead I just smile and let the animal in me answer.
I grab her hips and turn her firmly, guiding her until she’s on her knees, hands braced on the back of the couch. Her ass is high in the air, full and perfect, my hands spreading over her curves with reverence and hunger.
She arches her back, her hair cascading down as she looks over her shoulder at me with those wide, lust-drunk eyes.
“Please,” she whispers, voice trembling. “I want to feel you.”
I want to give her everything. Every inch. Every filthy promise I’ve ever made in the dark.
I reach for the condom in my wallet, slipping it on with practiced ease. Even now—especially now—I won’t take a risk with her.
I line myself up, my hands settling back on her hips. She’s still fluttering from her orgasm, and when I push in, inch by aching inch, she cries out, loud and desperate.
Fuck, she’s tight. Hot. Soaked. I grit my teeth and bury myself all the way, filling her completely.
Her head drops forward with a moan and I give her a moment. My hands caress her lower back, her waist, her hips.
I begin to move, slowly at first, watching the way her body responds—arching, pushing back, welcoming me.
She feels like heaven. Sounds like it, too. Moaning, fingers clawing the cushions, her body taking everything I give her.
She’s so goddamn responsive—every moan, every tremble, every time she pushes back against me like she’s begging for more. I can barely hold on. The tight heat of her wrapped around me, her body slick and welcoming, is making it hard to think, to breathe.
I grab her hips, rolling mine in a slow, grinding thrust, deep and steady. She cries out, arching back into me. I do it again. And again.
“You feel that?” I growl, voice low, wrecked. “This cock was made for you.”
