Page 24 of Blood Orange Christmas
“You taste the same,” I growl against her throat. “Like lemon and fire.”
“You always did talk too much,” she mutters, but her fingers are in my hair, pulling me closer.
I peel her shirt up inch by inch, kissing every strip of new skin as it’s revealed. Her belly tightens when my tongue circles her navel, her thighs trembling around my hips. She smells like citrus and heat and want. When I mouth her through the lace of her bra, her nails dig into my scalp, sharp enough that I welcome the pain. She arches into me, shameless, whispering, “More.”
“Patience,” I tell her, though my own patience is gone. I tug the lace down and suck her nipple into my mouth, biting just enough to hear her choke out my name. I palm the other breast, rough, my thumb rolling over the hard peak until she squirms.
Her jeans are in my way. I undo the button with one hand, keeping my mouth on her, dragging the zipper down slow just to hear her curse. She lifts her hips and I shove the denim down, fingers catching on damp lace. Her pussy is already wet enough that it stains my knuckles through the thin fabric when I press.
“Fuck, Dante,” she gasps, hips rocking into my hand.
“Say it again,” I order, sliding the lace aside to feel her bare. My fingers stroke the slick seam, parting her folds, circling her clit until she trembles. “Say my name when I touch you.”
“Dante,” she moans, sharper this time, head tipping back as I push a finger inside, then another. Her walls clench around me, greedy, hot, taking everything I give. I fuck her with my fingers, deep and steady, curling them just right, while my mouth claims her breast, her throat, her mouth again when she pulls me up.
She kisses like she’s starving. Wet, desperate, biting my lower lip until I groan into her. Her thighs lock around my hips, dragging me closer, grinding against my hand until she’s panting into my mouth.
“You’re already shaking for me,” I murmur against her lips. “You remember how I made you come. Don’t pretend you forgot.”
Her answer is a whimper, her hips jerking as I thumb her clit harder, faster, my fingers driving into her. She breaks the kiss, gasping against my cheek. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
I don’t. I curl my fingers deeper, press my thumb harder, and watch her unravel on the stone table under the stars. Her body goes rigid first—hips arching, nails biting into my shoulders. Then the sound comes, sharp and raw, my name spilling out of her mouth like she’s confessing it. She clamps down around my fingers, shuddering hard, the wet heat of her pulsing against my hand. I keep working her clit, relentless, until she’s shaking and gasping, her orgasm tearing through her while I bite her throat to keep from losing my own control.
“Fuck,” she pants, voice broken. Her thighs tremble, juice dripping down my hand, and I slow only when she whimpers at the sensitivity.
I ease my fingers out, slick and shining, and bring them to my mouth. I lick them clean in front of her, groaning low. “Still so sweet.”
Her eyes flash at that—half fury, half hunger—and before I can say another word, she grabs my belt and yanks me closer. “My turn,” she says, voice rough, lips already at my stomach.
“Serena—”
She doesn’t let me finish. She drops to her knees in the courtyard, stone biting under her but not enough to stop her. Her fingers make quick work of my belt, tugging it free, unzipping me with the kind of impatience that leaves no space for thought. My cock springs free, already hard, throbbing, the cool night air hitting it before her warm hand does.
“Christ…” The word grinds out of me as her fingers wrap around me, stroking once, twice, slow and deliberate. Her eyes flick up, catching mine, daring me to look away. I don’t. I couldn’t if I tried.
She licks the head first, tasting me like she wants me to know she’s in charge now. Her tongue swirls, teasing, then slides down the length of me in one slow stroke that makes my knees threaten to buckle. She pulls back with a filthy little smile, lips glistening. “Missed this,” she whispers, before taking me deep into her mouth.
“Fuck, Serena…” My hand fists in her hair, not to guide, just to hold on. Her mouth is hot, wet, greedy, sucking me down until the head hits the back of her throat and I groan loud enough the guards at the edge of the courtyard probably heard. She moans around me, the vibration shooting straight through my cock.
She works me with her mouth like she remembers every way I love it—hollowing her cheeks, tongue stroking under the length, pulling back slow so the air hits the slick she’s left on me before sinking down again, deeper. My hips jerk, betraying me, and she hums like she likes it, her free hand cupping my balls, squeezing just enough to make me curse her name.
“You’re trying to kill me,” I growl, voice ragged, watching my cock disappear between her lips.
She pulls back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes burning up at me. “No. Just trying to remind you.” Then she takes me in again, harder, faster, until I can barely breathe.
I grip the edge of the stone table behind me, fighting to keep control, because if she keeps this up, I’ll be spilling down her throat before I’ve even gotten her back on the table. And that, I won’t allow.
Her mouth is hell and heaven all at once. Wet heat, perfect suction, her tongue teasing the underside of my cock until every muscle in my body is strung tight. I fist her hair, not to force her, just to hold on, because if I let go, I might lose it right here under the stars. She moans around me like she’s savoring every twitch, every pulse, the sound vibrating through me until I’m choking out her name like a prayer.
“Serena, fuck—” My voice breaks. I’m close, too close, and she knows it. Her pace quickens, cheeks hollowing, saliva running down her chin as she takes me as deep as she can, gagging once and then doing it again on purpose. My hips buck, betraying me, and she moans in victory.
I’m seconds from spilling down her throat, but that’s not how this ends. Not tonight. Not with her back here, spread for me on the stone table under the sky. I drag her head back, cock slipping free of her lips with a slick, filthy sound. She gasps, spit shining her chin, eyes wide and furious and gorgeous.
“Oh, no,” I growl, pulling her up to her feet and crushing my mouth against hers. I taste myself on her tongue, bitter and raw, and it only makes me harder. My hands grip her ass, hauling her back onto the table where she belongs. “I’m not finishing in your mouth tonight. You’re going to take every inch of me where you’re already dripping for it.”
She claws at my shirt, dragging it open, buttons scattering to the stone, and then she’s kissing me back, messy, biting, grinding her soaked pussy against the length of my cock as I press against her. The thin lace is nothing now. I shove it aside, drag the head of my cock through her slick folds, coating myself in her heat until we’re both shaking.
“Dante,” she gasps, clutching my shoulders, legs spreading wider for me, daring me.
