No White Knight

I ignore it, save for the willpower it takes to keep me contained while I tear her dress down around her hips and start finding out how she tastes everywhere else.

There’s not an inch of her I don’t mark with my tongue and my teeth.

The crests of her ribs, the dip of her waist, the swell of her belly, the indent of her navel.

Lower, dammit.

That last bit of dress skims down her body and I toss it away, leaving her in just that lacy little shell-pink bra yanked down below her breasts. Plus matching panties that barely cling to her by the thinnest of strings.

Those strings catch between my teeth.

Jerking my head sharply to the side, I snap them clean off her in a single movement.

No apologies.

I’m fucking carnivorous when I find out how wet the lace creased between her folds is.

When I also see how her hips melt into her thighs.

Those curves all flow together, and fuck, I’m out of control, biting her again, nipping that tender place that creases soft flesh down toward her pelvis, pushing her thighs open, grazing the very points of my canines down the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs.

She’s never stopped crying out even once.

Like she can’t process how she’s even feeling, writhing and helpless in my hands, holding on for dear life.

It feels good to be able to do that to her, make her completely lose herself when she’s always trying so hard to keep control.

I know how to break her chain.

I pause, waiting just long enough for her to come down enough to look me in the eye.

Then I smile slowly, dip my head, and let my tongue do the talking.

I flick it against her clit, finding that little bead of flesh against the peak of her folds. First teasing it lightly, then pressing the tip of my tongue to it and working it in a slow, deliberate circle.

It’s like someone put fire to dynamite.

Her legs fold around my shoulders, her voice rising to the rafters, back arching to thrust those beautiful tits in the air, pink nipples jutting out hard.

All while her nails sink into my shoulders.

It just turns me on more, like the scent of the hunt, salty-hot and as delicious as her taste.

She’s slick and glistening. So wet, pooling and threading on my fingers as I stroke them over her folds just to feel her clench.

Just to hear her curse and make more of those ruined sounds.

It’s fucking fascinating ravishing this woman.

And I take my time learning her, dragging my lips against her clit, against her folds, delving my tongue inside her.

I trace her from the inside out, always coming back to her clit. Drawing it into my mouth, I suck ever so gently at the tender, sensitive flesh when she least expects it, playing her body just to heighten her high.

Rhythm does the job.

Letting her get used to soft, gentle strokes, something melting and slow and easy…

…right before I shock her with the raw intensity of sucking lips and the subtle threat of teeth and a deep, deep thrust inside her.

Shit, I could get addicted to this woman.

To the taste of her, the sight of her, the smell of her.

Everything.

If this is foreplay, I damn well can’t wait to claim her pussy, too.

Still, I take my time, lingering until she’s crying out like it hurts, tasting her in swirls of my tongue until she’s drenched, listening as she calls my name over and over again in complete and utter desperation.

Holt.

Holt.

HOLT!

Hell, yeah.

There’s something special about seeing a woman as controlled as Libby completely undone.

She digs her heels into my back, her entire body convulsing with an attempt at restraint, slim limbs tensed and straining and so gorgeously graceful.

That’s when I know she’s ready.

I tease her one last time with the flat of my tongue over her clit before pushing myself up to look down at her. She’s flushed and gorgeous, sprawled under me in a mess of passion.

“Ready, honey?” I whisper.

Her eyes flutter open, blue whirlpools eager to consume me.

“I’m gonna hate you for this in the morning,” she says, her voice so throaty, so raw, and she half-smiles as she trails her fingers down my throat, right over my beating pulse. “So you better make it good.”

I grin.

Then I lean down to kiss her, sealing my mouth over hers and giving her a damn good reason to hate me for every slow, lingering kiss.

Libby moans, sliding her body against mine.

I worship her mouth, stroking my hands up her arms, caressing until I find her hands, lace our fingers together, and hold on tight.

After a moment, I reluctantly pull one hand away, moving it between us to find my jeans and drag them open. I bare myself with a snarl as some of the brutal pressure releases.

My cock practically burns my palm, agonizing to the touch, so close to driving me utterly insane that I can’t stand the contact but crave more.