“How?” I twisted her nipples between my thumbs and fingers, and she swayed forward.
“With your tongue. I want you to make me come with your tongue.”
“Good girl.” I put my mouth on her over the damp lace, kissing her lightly, stroking her with my tongue—soft, slow, leisurely strokes that made her body vibrate with impatience.
“Quinn, please,” she begged. “Tell me what to say.”
“Say you want more.”
“I want more.”
I took my hands off her breasts and moved the drenched swath of lace covering her pussy aside. “Like this?” I slipped my tongue low between her legs and dragged it up to the top in one firm sweep.
“Yes,” she said, relief flooding her voice. “Yes.”
I did it again, and this time I lingered at the top, teasing her open and fluttering the tip of my tongue across her swollen clit.
“More,” she begged. “I still want more.”
I gave her a little more pressure, then a little less. A little steadier rhythm, then slowed again. I changed my angle, fucked her with my tongue, but never stayed with one thing for too long. When I felt her legs begin to shake, I backed off.
“Please, Quinn. Don’t stop,” she panted. “You have me so crazy right now, I can’t even see.”
“Always in such a rush,” I scolded. “I told you I wanted to taste you. Let me get my fill.”
“Fuck yes,” she said as I took her clit into my mouth and flicked it with my tongue. “Oh my God.”
I slid two fingers inside her easily, pushing deep, and she moved against my hand, her cries high-pitched and plaintive. I felt her insides tightening around my fingers as the tension in her body reached the apex, and then she screamed my name as her legs buckled.
I caught her around her hips, feeling her clit throb inside my mouth as my cock surged with renewed vigor.
I have to get inside her.
The need was intense, almost violent, and disturbingly possessive. She wasn’t mine by any means and didn’t even want to be mine, but something in me demanded her, compelled me to claim her.
Jumping to my feet, I pulled her loose-limbed body over to the side of the couch and bent her forward over the arm. I undid my pants and shoved them to my knees, kicked her feet farther apart, and moved the black lace aside.
“Fuck,” I growled. “I need a—”
“Just do it,” she said, out of breath. “I need to feel you. Now.”
I wasn’t going to ask again. Guiding the tip of my cock to her entrance, I pushed inside her, both of us moaning at the slick, hot friction. I’m fucking her without a condom. We’re breaking a rule. The realization that I’d scaled one of her walls made me crazy with lust for her, not like I needed any more motivation. But it felt like such a victory in this primal, testosterone-fueled way—like a prehistoric man taking out a wooly fucking mammoth.
Not that Jaime was a wooly mammoth, of course. (And I probably won’t mention the analogy to her.)
On the contrary, her back was pale and smooth, and I put my hands on her shoulder blades as I drove into her, her skin warm and sticky.
Her perfume mixed with the scent of sex and filled my head, made my blood run even hotter. Her bound hands at the small of her back reminded me that I’d intended to torture her tonight with slow sex, punish her a little for the way she refused to give me a chance, show her that sex wasn’t always about the finish line and didn’t have to be such a straight line. It was fun to take time to enjoy one another, play around, trade roles, exchange power. We were new together, but we were good together—I felt it, and I knew she did too. Her willingness to play along with these games told me that, sexually, we were totally compatible.
But the plan for a slow fuck?
Yeah, that went the way of the pterodactyl.
I grabbed her hair with one hand and wrapped my fingers around her crossed wrists with the other, aroused beyond my control by every sense—the sight of my cock pounding into her, the sound of her high-pitched cries and my caveman grunts, her smell, her taste in my mouth, the feel of her tight, wet pussy sliding over my dick—it was too much to bear.
I came so hard I felt the ground shaking beneath me, and I pulled her hair so hard she screamed—or maybe that was her own climax rocketing through her, rattling her bones, jarring her teeth.
I want you I want you I want you.