Page 76 of Played
His head lifts, and when he stares down at me, I try not to allow the shadows of defeat in his eyes to steal the light trickle of joy in my chest, and instead focus on the arousal in them. Center on the need deepening his already deep, sensual voice. Focus on the possessive hold on me.
“I’m lying to myself,” he continues. “That’s become a bad habit of mine since meeting you. Because no way in hell will this”—he squeezes his hand around my neck, brushes a kiss up the column—“be enough. It won’t be enough time. Not to do every nasty thing I want to do to you. I look in those pretty, soulful eyes, and the innocence there is like waving a fucking red flag in front of my face.”
God, I can turn a blind eye with the best of them.
I can pretend that his plan to fuck me out of his head and his system has transformed into something more. Something more emotional and affectionate.
Something that has a chance of maybe, just maybe, lasting longer than our expiration date.
“Kiss me,” I whisper. Demand.
And he does.
But not my lips.
The breath explodes from my chest as he cups my breasts, molding his hands to them, plumping them. My hands fly up to clutch his thick forearms, and his low, dark chuckle has a spear of lust arrowing straight to my pussy. My already slick walls clench as if begging for the same treatment my titties are receiving.
“Perfect,” he mutters a second before he closes his lips around my nipple, sucking it hard, raking the edge of his teeth across it.
Pleasure capsizes me, and I arch into his touch, feeling as utterly and completelyperfectas he called me. Is it wrong of me to seek that kind of affirmation? To hold it close? I know I’m pretty and have a tight, thick body honed by years of hard work and training. But hearing that word in his rough voice, feeling that praise ghost across my skin?
I don’t think it’s wrong. Nothing that feels thisgoodcan be.
My head tips back on my shoulders, my belly tugging tight with each pull of his mouth on my breast. He switches up—tweaking, pinching, licking. And when he switches to the other, neglected breast, I whine in relief, in pleasure.
“Gimme that, ma,” he orders, his mouth a little rougher, more demanding. His touch on the wet tip a little harder. “Goddamn, I’ve missed that.”
He returns to my flesh, alternating between the mounds. Cupping them and bringing them together so the tips nearly touch. I stare down at him, trapped in the erotic torture he’s wielding on my body like a sadist. I’m willingly helpless as he sucks on both nipples at the same time, lashing them in a wicked rhythm that has moisture leaking from me, wetting my panties and probably my dress.
I squirm on the sink, grasping his head, holding him close, refusing to let him go. Frustration careens through me as the tight skirt of my dress prevents me from spreading my legs so I can wrap them around his waist. Get that thick, hard dick pressed against my pussy.
“Fuck, Solomon.” I whimper as a telltale tingle starts low in my back and stomach. “Solomon, I—”
“Do it.”
I can’t. Not just from him sucking on my nipples. Right?
But as he curls his tongue over and around the tips, then pulling and sucking so hard, so deep ...
Fuuuuck.
I release a cry as shock and pleasure burst in my pussy. The orgasm is tight, damn near painful, without his fingers, tongue, or cock enabling it to fully bloom. But shit. It steals my breath, my body trembling, aching. Seriously, aching. Like I’ve been both satisfied and left starving.
“That’s the fuck I’m talking ’bout,” he snarls, then rears up, capturing my mouth in a searing kiss. I claw at his shirt-covered shoulders, desperate for more of what only he can give me. I’m ready to shamelessly beg for it.
He grips my waist, lifting me from the counter and setting me on my feet. My impatience doesn’t seem one-sided as he reaches for the hem of my dress and jerks it up until it forms a band just above my hips. Slipping his hand between my thighs, he unerringly finds my clit and rubs his finger over it, tracing the nub over the insubstantial material of my thong.
I clutch his arms, depending on him to keep me standing.
“Fuck you so wet for?” He dips between my folds, stirring, and the sound of my soaked flesh should embarrass me. But it doesn’t. It only enflames the lust marching through me like a marauding army set on seizing and conquering. “This for me, ma. All for me.”
I can’t answer. And my response isn’t necessary, since it literally coats his skin, glistening under the soft lighting of the bathroom. He slips his fingers between his sensual lips, sucking them clean. My pussy throbs, yelling “Gimme some of that!”
He thrusts his hand back between my legs, cupping my flesh, grinding the heel of his palm against my clit, and my thighs shake, my knees tremble as I impossibly hover on the crumbling edge of another orgasm.
“Oh shit,” I whine, plead. “Oh shit, please.”
“This, li’l mama? You want this?” He shoves his fingers inside me, and there’s no way in hell anyone standing on the other side of the bathroom door can’t hear my scream. One of his big hands moves to the nape of my neck, cupping it while he drives deeper, higher in my sex. “Wet me up one more time before I dig in this pussy, lose myself in it.” He crushes a hard, hot kiss to my cheek. “Die in it.”
