Caught for Christmas (Stripped 3.50)

No, he’s infinitely gentle as he runs the side of his finger along my temple and trails a lock of my hair. He’s shaking with need, but he doesn’t force my head or thrust up into me. He pushes the strands between his thumb and forefinger. “So fucking soft,” he mutters.

I lean forward to finish what I started, but he stops me. “What’s wrong?”

He swallows audibly. “I need to come, baby. I need you so bad.”

But when I press forward again, his hands hold me back.

“Not like that,” he murmurs.

Then I’m twisting, falling, lying flat on my back where he used to be, his leftover heat rising up to meet me while his body bears me down.

Chapter Fifteen

I expect him to push inside of me, to start fucking me and take what he deserves. I don’t have much of anything to offer him. Only my body.

He helps himself to my body but not how I expect. Instead he kisses his way over my breasts and down my stomach. They’re mere brushes of his lips that tease more than they pleasure. Then he bends his head between my legs, and I can’t help but spread them wider. I don’t deserve what he’s going to do to me, but I crave it.

“You don’t…” I manage to gasp out. “You don’t have to.”

He groans, dark eyes meeting mine. His voice is pure gravel. “You think I’m doing this just for you? You think I haven’t fucking dreamed about this every night since I first saw you dance?”

He seems to be waiting for answer. “I…don’t know?”

“I’ve been dreaming of how you’ll taste. And after having you, I’m fucking addicted. Even down in that basement, I couldn’t wait to have you again. Somewhere warm and soft, where I know you’ll be comfortable for a long, long time.”

“Oh.” I feel faint, just thinking about how long he might be planning on licking me. What happened in that basement is already the longest I’ve ever imagined a man’s mouth on me—and it drove me insane with pleasure. What could he do to me with all the time in the world?

He doesn’t seem to want to discuss it anymore.

No, he clearly intends to show me.

He doesn’t start off soft like he did before. Not testing or tasting. He plunges his tongue into my slit as fiercely as I thought he’d do with his cock—as if he’s dying to feel my heat, my softness. He gathers up all my juices on his tongue, and then he forces me to make more.

I reach back and hold on to the sofa as if it can anchor me, but the force of his will is too strong. One lick on my clit, then two. When he presses his lips around my clit and sucks, I push off the couch and climax in long, draining pulses that leave me sated.

He’s not done with me.

His mouth never leaves my flesh. He drinks my orgasm down, then immediately starts pushing me toward another one.

“No,” I gasp. “Too much.” I’m too sensitive, feeling too much pleasure. Who would have known it could feel like pain? I’ve never had anyone give me enough to find out.

Large hands press my legs down, and he feasts on me.

I’m trembling and crying out by the time I come again, bucking against him, fucking his mouth.

My body collapses on the couch, still shaking from the aftershocks. And he doesn’t let up. I look down and see the wicked glint in his eyes. He loves tasting me, loves making me come so hard my muscles turn to jelly. Over and over again. This is why I needed to be somewhere warm—because I’m shivering when I’m not in the middle of climax. This is why I needed to be somewhere soft. I sink into the cushions and let them carry me away, pleasure like waves lapping at my skin.

I can’t keep track of how many times he makes me come. At some point I think they aren’t even separate times, but one long stretch of bliss. I feel incandescent, glowing from the inside, the heat from my climaxes visible through my skin.

His hands press down on the inside of my thighs, tighter as he fights for control, and I know he’ll leave bruises. He’s hurting me, and he’s hurting himself. It’s part of the game he plays with us, taking us both higher.

Just when I think I can’t take any more—that he can’t take any more—he kneels between my legs.

With one hand he notches his cock against my slick entrance. With his other hand, he grabs my hip, steadying me. Only then do I realize my hips are moving on their own, fucking the air—I’m that far gone to this, to sex. To him.

He presses inside me. When he’s all the way inside, he groans. It sounds like agony. “No condom.”

“Don’t stop.” I’m not even sure I’ve formed the words correctly. I may have just made an urgent sound, a desperate sound, but he seems to understand.