The Executioner (Professionals 10)

As soon as my sex stopped clenching around him, his lips sealed over mine again, but his fingers stayed inside me, unmoving.

Like he knew that as soon as my brain cleared from all the post-sex hormones, I was going to remember who he was, how I’d come to be with him, why I needed to stop letting him put his hands and mouth on me.

But by starting to kiss me again, he managed to keep those feel-good hormones surging through me, keeping all those pesky rational thoughts at bay.

His lips were soft and sweet on mine, so strange and foreign to me—someone accustomed to men who only used hard and rough lip contact as a precursor to other things, not typically as an act to be enjoyed in and of itself—but something I decided I’d been missing out on. Because a strange, floaty, fuzzy sensation started to move through me until it seemed to envelop me completely.

Before I even knew it was happening, the desire built again. More slowly this time, but maybe even more intensely than before, leaving my hips rocking against Bellamy’s palm to engage my clit as his fingers started to lazily thrust in and out of me, hinting at what I needed but not quite giving it to me.

Then his hand was sliding away completely.

His mouth swallowed my objections as his arm anchored around me as he reached for the side of the ladder. Giving me a squeeze that I took as a silent direction to hold on, he released me, pulling himself—and me—out of the water.

Before I could even fully process that, he was walking us across the dock.

I was partially aware of him opening the door to the villa, but then moving right back out again, and wasn’t sure of the reason until I felt his hand cup my ass, the square edges of the condom foil in his palm pressing against my skin.

I had no idea of his destination until I felt our bodies wobble on an uneven surface before Bellamy was dropping me back onto the over-water flat hammock bed.

Bellamy balanced on his knees over me. He reached out, placing the condom on the deck beside us as he reached down to start undoing the buttons of his lightweight linen shirt that was currently clinging to the body that I’d spent entirely too much time thinking about already, exposing little slivers until the whole thing parted before it was whipped off and discarded.

He made no move to take off his pants as his hands went down, teasing over the skin of my ankles before moving slowly upward, fingertips feather-light, making little goosebumps rise on my skin as he traced my calves, knees, then the outsides of my thighs before he hooked the waistbands of my shorts and panties and started dragging them down.

And what did I do?

Push him away like any sane woman would do?

Nope.

No, I didn’t do that.

I lifted my hips so he could slide the material down.

And so he did, pausing when he got to my knees, waiting for me to raise my legs up in the air so he could pull them off my ankles.

He discarded the soaked material before turning his face to press a kiss to the outside of my ankle before spreading my legs, placing one on each shoulder as he continued to kiss down the inside of my calf, my knee, then my thigh.

My legs fell to my sides against the ropes as his body lowered down, his tongue licking the salt water off my inner thigh for what felt like an eternity. It took an almost embarrassingly long time to realize he was waiting for me to beg for it.

At that moment, I didn’t feel above begging either, what with the way my thighs were shaking and my sex was throbbing with the need for release.

But my hands grabbed the back of his head before my mouth could form any words, grabbing a hold of his hair and pulling him over me until I felt his tongue slide up my cleft to find my clit. His lips closed around the swollen bud, letting out an Mmmm sound that had my walls clenching and my hips bucking upward into him.

Then Bellamy, well, the man went to work.

His tongue was relentless, never slowing or changing direction, never giving my orgasm a chance to ebb away.

My body worked toward a catalyst there for a long, thrilling moment.

Before Bellamy yanked away.

He smiled down at me when I cried out in objection, a cocky, wicked kind of smirk that made me want to hate him. But I needed him too much at that moment to be mad.

Instead, my arms reached outward, sliding up the outsides of his thighs, then tracing just above the waistband of his shorts, feeling a small thrill at the way his abdominal muscles twitched under my touch before my fingers worked free his button and zip.