That’s her turn-on. Deep down, she yearns to be sexually dominated by a man she has feelings for while fighting him all the way.
Subconsciously, I already knew this. We’ve been playing with the power exchange since the day we met. Hearing her vocalize it, however, heats and hardens everything inside me. It’s as if her words have given my body permission to proceed.
With our hands on her breast, I press my thigh against the apex of hers, trapping her leg beneath my weight.
As much as I want to grind against her, I hold my hips still and measure my breathing. “When was the last time you gave yourself a release?”
“In the shower a few hours ago.”
A groan escapes my throat. She thought about me while touching herself. I’m certain of it. That means I affect her, and fuck me, I ache to affect her some more.
“Before that?” I lick the hollow of her throat.
She swallows against my lips. “It had been two years.”
Because she was with John.
I shove that thought away and turn my attention to our hands. Veering them downward, I use her fingers to trace the winding contours of her body.
She knows how to touch herself. This isn’t about self-pleasure. It’s about keeping her with me while I pleasure her.
It would be more effective with the shirt off, but her nudity would rage a war inside me I wouldn’t win. The impulse to sink into her soft, squeezing heat roars at me, shaking me to my core.
I breathe through it, bathing her neck in hungry gasps as I steer our exploration south.
Lying half on her with our bodies aligned, I edge my thigh away from her panties and slide our entwined fingers beneath the lace. My breath stammers at the feel of her short, coarse hair.
My gaze falls into hers as I imagine the black curls beneath my touch, the way they glisten and shine with her arousal. She’s so wet. Soaked through the lace. And I’ve only just begun.
I drive our journey lower, deeper between her thighs and slowly dip into her swollen slit.
Her legs twitch with restlessness, one trapped beneath mine, the other dragging her foot along the sleeping bag.
“Lorne…” Her plea is breathy, strangled. “Stop.”
“This is unstoppable.”
We’re unstoppable.
I attach my lips to hers, stalling her protests. As I plunge my tongue, I sink our fingers into the hot, tight clasp of her body.
With the kiss comes the flex of her thigh against my hand, the clamp and release of her inner muscles, and the loll of her tongue against mine. Just the right blend of acceptance and resistance, without a fight or a care.
She’s trying to be indifferent. Probably telling herself not to let a man know how much power he wields over her in this position. She wants to let go and feel me, but she’s terrified of falling.
So she doesn’t lean up, doesn’t try to lead my finger inside her or heighten the intensity in any way. Because that would confess her desire, her hunger to be a part of this.
I brush my lips across her jaw and move in so close she can feel my hunger stabbing against her. She can feel my strength, my breaths, and my aggressive grip on her cunt, and her mind is probably already joining us together, playing out the slap of flesh and stabbing strokes as we fuck.
I mimic the fantasy with my fingers, thrusting in and out, stretching her open, building her toward orgasm while making her wait for the peak. I can hardly bear it. My lungs slam together, my erection a steel bar of pressure. Fucking Christ, my bones and guts burn with so much need for this woman, I’m going to go up in flames.
I need to taste her, lap her up, and eat the fuck out of her.
With my mouth on her skin, I kiss every swerve and bend as I inch down her body. Our hands separate. Hers, falling to my hair. Mine, sliding aside the lace between her legs.
The sight of her wet, pink pussy reduces me to a ravenous, shaking, predatory creature of need. Hunger and elation thickens my cock. A full, hot feeling invades my prostate. My skin aches to be touched, and all thought narrows into the mindless drive to grab, thrust, fuck, and claim.
With a strangled groan, I rub a hand down my brow, my mouth, and around my neck as I fight to get a grip on my control.
I haven’t done this in so long I don’t even know if I’m good at it.
Gripping the backs of her thighs, I spread her open and lower my head. The warm, thrilling scent of her arousal waters my mouth. I run my nose through it, then my lips, reveling in the sweet, wet promise of sex. Then I devour the aroma straight from the source.