No White Knight

I fling my shirt off, dragging my undershirt up over my head.

She’s hot perfection under me.

All radiant color, gold and silver and sky, her hair tumbled across the sheets in coils of shining yellow sweetness and her eyes so darkly dilated they’re almost all pupil.

Her gaze smolders, taking me in with a hunger that makes me want to swallow her up.

The top of her dress has come down, baring the upper curves of her cleavage and those tan lines that make my cock insane, daring it to bust right out of my jeans.

I could fucking die.

I could die fucking her.

Especially when she reaches out, running her fingers over my stomach, following the light line of hair down to my navel and then lower, skimming over the waist of my jeans.

“You just window shopping?” she teases—but I can tell now it’s a defense mechanism, the way she’s blushing like she can’t handle how I’m looking at her. “Or are you gonna buy?”

“Trying not to get greedy, honey,” I tell her. “Believe me, I want everything.”

Yeah, I’m gonna take my sweet time.

Take it slow.

Draw it out.

Keep complete control and tease her until she’s buck wild and begging. And I’ll still be denying her just for the pleasure of making her writhe.

But the second I hook my fingers in the frilly edges of her top and tug it down, baring the fullness of those tits, I’m gone.

It’s like something possesses me.

Some monstrous, obsessive thing that just wants her.

I can’t help seizing her tits with my hands, spreading my fingers, feeling everything. Their shape, her hot, smooth skin, the lace edges of her bra, the pressure of her nipples.

My tongue screams with the need to taste her.

While she makes restless whimpers and squirms under me, I roll her tits against my palms, feeling the soft flesh yield, focusing on them with such wild abandon I could drown myself.

Libby makes a hot noise in the back of her throat, lifting her hips against me, bucking hard, and it’s not doing anything to help my raging erection.

She’s got her fingers knotted up in the sheets, dragging at them, clawing like the tiger she is.

“Holt!” My name sounds like music on her lips.

When I press her breasts together and dig my fingers in, tracing my thumbs over the peaks of her nipples, dragging the lace against her skin, she throws her head back.

A cry rips out, and she grinds her hips against mine so hard it’s a damn miracle I don’t come in my pants.

I’m so hard it hurts—the best kind of pain.

I was gonna torture her, but every second I’m not in her tortures me.

Still, I keep teasing her, slowly kneading her tits, stroking her nipples, watching her twist and gasp, her face so gorgeously flushed and hot, her lips parted real sweet for me.

“Enjoying yourself?” I growl, barely able to get the words out with the way every breath scorches me.

Her eyes open, and she gives me a fierce, glaring look.

“You assho—ah!”

Libby cries out sharply as I cut her off with a flick of my thumb against one nipple—and I do the other to match as she rewards me, snarling out “Holt!”

“Goddamn, girl,” I say. “Love the way my name sounds on your lips.”

I show her how much, bending down, brushing my mouth over her searching lips like I might kiss her deep. But my mouth goes lower, finding the upper curve of her breast.

I know what I’m after.

Those tan lines.

They’re a hot fucking target.

I taste her, sucking over her skin hard enough to leave little red marks, nibbling and teasing and dragging my tongue along her swells.

It’s like I can taste the difference between pale flesh and dark, like cinnamon and sugar.

Again and again, my tongue lashes, leaving my mark all over her skin.

Finally, I catch her jostled bra with my teeth.

Tug it down.

Claim one plush nipple with my mouth.

The sound she makes is wild, raw, and suddenly I’ve got nails in my back, on my neck, digging into my hair.

She grabs me hard and holds on, arching her back, practically pushing that honey-sweet flesh into my mouth.

This girl’s demanding, wanton, and I like it.

The more she begs, the more I give.

I lavish her nipple with heat, with friction, lapping and sucking and toying, gently rolling it in my teeth before drawing it between my lips in a soft pull. Never quite doing the same thing twice.

It’s fun keeping her on her toes, keeping her guessing, always reacting to every sensation like it’s this new and shocking thing.

The whole time she’s dragging fire down my scalp, my back, her nails digging in—and the pain just makes me harder.

I’m gonna burst.

I’m gonna fucking burst, and I’ve never had problems holding back.

Too bad I’ve never met a woman who turns me on like Libby.

If this is torture, I’m enjoying the suffering, shifting my hips in agony while my dick throbs lightning.