“Do you want to see me come?”
23
Kenan
The brazen question falls from her lips with the impact of a landslide, pelting me with a hundred responses and questions at once. She licks her bottom lip, flicking a glance at me through long, thick lashes.
“I thought you weren’t ready for—”
“I’m not, but last I checked you can come without having sex.” Her laugh is hollow. “I do it all the time.”
A deep breath expands my chest. Even the thought of seeing Lotus touch herself—of seeing her unravel that way under my hands . . . I’m seized by lust, in its grip. And I don’t need anything from her. I want her to take and take and take, and not even think about what would make me feel good. I’ve never wanted someone’s pleasure this way. To see it. To taste it. To make it.
“Are you sure, Lotus?”
“I’m sure I’d like to try,” she says softly. “The bleakness I’ve felt the last few times I had sex, the emptiness and meaninglessness, I don’t ever want to associate that with you.” She frames my face between her hands. She presses her lips to mine in a barely-there caress. “Touch me, Kenan.”
We open our mouths to each other at the same time, inviting each other in, prompted by an invisible harmony of need. I’m drawn into the heat and sweetness of her mouth—how she gasps and moans for me. She pulls back, holds my gaze, and tugs the top of her strapless dress down.
I swallow deeply at my first sight of her. The photo is gorgeous, but it can’t compare to this closeness—to the potential of touching and watching her body respond. Her warm, naked flesh stuns me, distended nipples begging for my touch and my kisses. Watching her face, making sure she’s fine, I brush my thumbs over her nipples. The breath whooshes from her, sharp and startled.
I flatten my palms against her breasts, rotating in circles that slowly build, faster until her nipples furl tight and round. Her head drops back, her hair a spill of platinum curls around copper shoulders. I caress her back, my hands meeting, overlapping at her spine. She feels so fragile. Not just the delicate bones, but the dark eyes aglow with trust as she waits for me to do what I’m longing to do. I take the pierced nipple into my mouth tenderly. God, reverently.
“Yes.” Lotus’s hands at my head urge me forward. “Please, Kenan.”
I don’t need any more encouragement. I suck, softly at first, but the taste of her, the feel of her budding and tightening in my mouth, overwhelms my good intentions. I pull her breast deeper in. I want her closer. I pull her up until she’s off the table, and I’m holding her suspended in my hands while I feed, running my tongue along the bar piercing her nipple. The texture of her in my mouth—the cool metal of the bar, the warm, turgid nipple, the silky surrounding skin—it’s almost too much. I take the other in my mouth and groan. It’s just as sweet. Just as round and responsive between my lips. Her cries grow more urgent—her hands at my head, tighter.
I set her back on the table and caress her thigh, my hand venturing up to the inked lace. She takes my hand and twines our fingers. I look up, and her eyes burn bright. Never looking away, she pushes our linked hands into her panties.
“Fuck,” I mutter. She’s warm, wet silk under my fingers. Under our fingers. The two of us together explore and stroke until her hips jerk and she bites her lip, her eyes drifting closed. She takes her hand from her panties and reaches up, running her fingers over my mouth. I lap at the wetness she’s gifted me, and groan at her flavor, addicted from one taste. I drop my head until our temples touch, my fingers still working her, and her hips still rocking a desperate, reaching rhythm.
“Let me taste,” I groan into her ear. “Can I taste you?”
Her nod is quick. She’s quiet except for little muffled cries she swallows every time they threaten to escape.
I drop to my knees and press her legs wide. I pull the black silk down and over her legs and then open my mouth over her, wanting it all at once, greedy. She goes still for a second and lets out a sharp cry before she rocks harder into me. I drag her to the edge of the table and slip my finger inside, still sucking the mound of nerves. She’s so tight and my finger is so large, she contracts around me.
“Another,” she groans. “Add a finger, Kenan.”
I don’t want to hurt her, but I want her even tighter around me, so I slip another finger in and pump slower, building to match the rolling cadence of her hips.
“Shit. Yes. Oh, my God, yes, Kenan. That’s it. I’m . . . oh.”
She palms her breasts, squeezing and pinching them roughly, her face twisting as she bucks against me, her leg lifting and landing against my back. Her heel digs into my shoulder.
“I’m coming,” she breathes. “Watch. If you want to see, watch.”
And I do. While steadily caressing and touching and licking and laving her pussy, I pin my gaze to her face. Her head is angled slightly to the side, and her lip is caught between her teeth. Her brows are knitted, and long lashes kiss the tops of her cheeks. Her mouth drops open and she unburdens herself, a wail of pleasure coming as she does.I’m obsessed with her wet heat, working my fingers between her legs. I stand, never losing touch, but I need to see.
Her head tips back. Tears roll over her cheeks and down her chin. I dip to lick them. I drink them like a queen’s cupbearer, taking the first taste. I rain kisses over her face and down her throat, over her breasts. She curls into me, riding the final waves, her hand fisted in my shirt, her eyes opening wide, showing me the desire, the desperation, and finally, the satisfaction in her gaze.
I did that. We did that together, her showing me how she likes it and me giving her exactly what she wanted. An exchange of passion and patience and
longing and trust. She’s the one trembling, whimpering, but my knees are weak. She says she’s never known true intimacy. If this is what it’s like between us—this undiscovered passion like nothing I thought possible—then I have to admit it at least to myself.
Neither have I.
As her body quiets and stills, I shift to sit on the table and pull her onto my lap.