Page 35 of Wicked Dance
“I’ll take that as a silent yes,” he says. “But first, I must admire your outfit.”
He lets go of the silks and runs a finger along the underside of my bra strap. “These are some perfectly placed Valentines.” He makes it to the cup and his thumb grazes across the opening, making my nipple pucker.
I suck in a breath. “My hearts are all yours,” I say.
“And there are so many of them.” His hand slides down my ribs to the tiny ribbon that holds the thong in place. He bends down to plant a kiss on the tiny heart at the top.
“One,” he says, then goes lower to the next heart. “Two.”
And down.
“Mmm, three.” His hand parts my thighs and his mouth is against my skin through the opening of the heart. His tongue finds its way to the bud as his hand works its way back up to the bra.
I steady myself with my hands on his shoulders as he spreads me wider, then he pulls away. “Let’s see that again.” He grasps one of the silks and slides it around my ankle.
I know what he wants. I step back and wrap my other leg around the second length of the silk. Then I twist my arms through and lift back into the splits.
“Oh, yes,” he says. “That’s what I was going for.”
He doesn’t force me to hold the position on my own, but braces my thighs with his hands as he goes back to where he was, his mouth flirting with my body.
I’m open so wide, so much more with the pressure of the silks and the support of his hands. I feel both bold and vulnerable, and the sensations as he works are fierce, sending lightning strikes through me.
His tongue delves in and he sucks on the nub, and I’m lost, barely holding on to the silks. He rocks me gently, and the intensity of this motion makes goose bumps break out across my skin.
I lose my grip and slip a few inches, and he catches me, unwinding the fabric from my ankles.
I’m on a knife’s edge, barely holding back from crashing over and beyond. Blitz lets my legs down, but instead of freeing my arms, wraps the silks more tightly around them.
“Now you’re really at my mercy,” he says, his voice gravelly and low. He tugs at the thong, pulling it down.
My arms are high in the silks, captured, tied, my back against the pillowed leather that serves as the headboard to the bed.
Blitz kneels on the mattress and puts my knees over his shoulders. Then he’s back on me, his mouth and tongue working my body, his hands pressing me hard against him.
I’m already so close that I build into a frenzy almost instantly, my hands gripping the silks, my body rocking against him. I start to go, the climax just ready to ripple through me, when Blitz grabs my legs and flips me around.
Now I face the wall, my arms still high, and he’s inside me, pressing me against the cushioned leather. Everything lets go, and I can’t control the ferocity of the orgasm, my voice almost at a scream, my muscles tight and shaking.
Blitz pushes against me again and again, his own body hard and forceful. I pull myself up by the silks and slam back down, wanting him deeper, harder, as intense as I feel.
He groans against my hair and I feel it, the hot rush of him. His body shudders and his head falls against my shoulder.
We stay this way for a moment, unable to come down from the position or the explosive high. Then he reaches up and unwinds the fabric from my wrists. We tumble down to the bed together.
Blitz lies back, his breathing still ragged. “That was a totally wicked dance, and I will never look at a silk scarf the same way again.”
I roll over to curl against him and smile to myself. That was exactly what I was hoping for.
