Page 44 of Light in the Dark
"Not yet." He hooks his fingers in the string sitting low on my waist. "Wanna rip this thing off."
"Don't," I whisper. "I haven’t done laundry in a while. I don't have any more clean underwear." His growl is so frustrated that I can't help but laugh. "What if I promise to let you rip my thong off me another time?"
"Fine," he mutters.
His hands are busy, petting, caressing, kneading, squeezing—worshipping. He spends as much time just appreciating and exploring my ass as he did my tits, and all the while, my core is boiling with need, desire pooling low in my belly, heat building more with every minute I'm denied the release I need.
Because I'm starting to understand that the orgasm he gave me was just the beginning—for as much as it provided relief, it also only served to underline the true depths of my need.
Which is…borderline rabid.
I don’t know myself.
This is so utterly unlike me that I don't know what to do, how to behave, and I have no control over myself, over my words, my hands, my thoughts—all I can do is hold the shield around my emotions in place and let my body take over.
"Felix," I murmur, wriggling impatiently. "Please."
He rumbles wordlessly. "Tell me what you want, Ember." He kisses the small of my back. "Tell me what you need."
The kiss slips down, hopping the line of my thong to touch the upper swell of my ass. Lower, lower. Everywhere. His hands scratch my back in soothing circles, at odds with the fiery kisses he presses to my bottom. He rakes his fingers, splayed out, down my back, and this time he doesn’t stop, but keeps them sliding down, taking my thong with them. I tip my hips up, and the thong pulls free, slipping out from the catch-point of my touching thighs with a snap. He drags it down to my knees, and I lift my feet to let him pull it off; I'm naked with a man for the first time in nearly a year.
His palms rake up my thighs, burn over the backs of them to sear against my ass cheeks, and then up my back to my shoulders, and now his weight is above me, hovering over me, and he's nuzzling my ear. "What do you need, Ember?"
"I need to come again, Fee," I whisper, the truth tumbling out of me, bold as you please.
He flips me to my back as if I'm no more than a porcelain doll, and I land with a bounce that has my tits rolling side to side; his gaze follows their movement hungrily, and he bends to kiss one, lick the other. I gasp, catch at his hair.
He suckles at my nipple, and a line of lightning sizzles from nipple to clit, forcing a whimper from me. That sound I make, the helpless whimper—it makes him crazy. He snarls like a lion, teeth nipping my aching, rigid nipple until I whimper again, and now his hand skates down the outside of my hip to my knee and slides back up between my thighs. Willingly, greedily, wantonly, I part my legs for his touch.
But he doesn't give it to me right away.
Anticipating it, needing it, I pant, waiting, wanting. When it doesn’t come, when his hand carves up my hipbone to my belly, I growl in frustration. Tip my hips, indicating what I need.
His finger trails down my belly, over my mons pubis—My lungs seize, my eyes shut. He trails his touch over my seam, a delicate, tender quest of his index fingertip, barely touching. I gasp.
"Fee!" I whimper. "More. Please."
"Look at me, Ember." His voice holds a note of command.
In another extraordinarily unlikely turn of events, I find myself obeying. "What?" I whisper.
"I want you to look at me when I make you come." He fits his hand between my thighs, an inch or so down from my sex.
"Felix," I whisper, my riot of emotions noisy and demanding behind the shield. "Please." I can't put any of it into words.
I can only shut my eyes, shake my head.
He slips his finger down my seam again. "Ember."
I shake my head. "Don't make me."
Once more, his finger teases down my seam, trails down my lips, leaving a burning line on my skin. "Ember…"
I shake my head, swallowing hard. Build up the shield, push the emotions away. "Don’t make me, Fee, please. I fuckingcan’t.” I put my hand over his. "Please, Fee. Please. Just…touch me, please. Make me feel. Make my body feel." I whimper as his finger ghosts down again, this time delving in between my plump lips a tiny bit. "I can't bring my heart into it, Fee. Not yet. Don't make me. Please."
"Okay," he whispers. "I get you. I hear you."
Tears burn behind my eyes, guilt at feeling like I'm using him searing through me. "Fee, I…I want to. But I can't."
