She wants me.
Fuck, yes, she wants me.
Forgetting all restraint, I eat her pussy, spurred on by the erotic cries and moans emanating from her throat. She’s as sweet as I’d imagined, her flesh silky-soft under my tongue. Her clit is swollen from my previous ministrations, and I suck on it, feeling her thigh quiver with each pull of my lips. More delicious slickness coats my tongue, and I use my free hand to penetrate her with two fingers, pressing my fingertips against the spongy G-spot on her inner wall.
Her cries escalate, her whole body shaking now, and I feel the precise moment when it happens. Her muscles clench on my fingers, and a violent tremor runs through her. I ease up on the sucking in favor of licking her gently as she shudders with the aftershocks, and then I withdraw my fingers, lower her leg, and return to a kneeling position in front of her.
She sways a little, as if weak from her orgasm, and I grip her hips to steady her as I rise to my feet, turning so that she’s back under the shower spray. The taste of her is on my lips, and my dick is so stiff it hurts. But I don’t have a condom handy, and she might be sore from our first fucking, so I force myself to release her and wrap my fingers around my cock instead.
With her watching me dazedly, I pump my fist up and down, letting my eyes roam over her curvy body.
It takes just a few quick strokes for me to come, marking her pale thigh with thick white ropes of my seed.
30
Emma
My mind is still filled with wool, my thoughts tangled from post-sex endorphins as I stare at my legs, where Marcus’s semen is slowly sliding down the front of my left thigh, mixing with the water streaming over me. I feel like I’ve somehow landed in a porn flick—a particularly long, involved one, with the hottest actor I’ve ever seen.
Marcus came on me.
On my leg.
While I watched him.
It was so dirty—and so unbelievably hot. Just like the sex dreams I’ve been having, only better, because this was my fourth orgasm. Fourth. I’ve never come four times in a row, not even with my vibrator. And I was right about his tongue being crazy skilled. God, is it skilled. The way he attacked my clit—
“You okay?” he murmurs, and I blink, flushing as I look up.
“What?”
“You okay?” he repeats, thick eyebrows arching, and I realize I completely zoned out, standing there like I’m the only one in the shower.
Like this is one of those dirty dreams of mine, instead of a real-life sexual encounter with the man I was going to send packing as soon as he turned up on my doorstep.
“The books,” I blurt out, my mind finally latching on to something other than the fact that I have his seed on me.
That he’d just been in me, so deep inside that I still feel tender from his hard possession.
“What about them?” He sounds amused as he picks up the body wash again and pours some on his palm, then proceeds to lather himself all over, his movements as casual as a jock’s in a locker room.
“I can’t…” I swallow, my eyes falling to the softening column of his sex as he washes it thoroughly. Even like this, he’s impressively sized, bigger than either of my two exes. With effort, I force myself to look up. “I can’t accept them.”
His expression darkens. “Why not? You like books, don’t you?”
“Of course. But those are first editions. They must cost more than my apartment. And the scarf—I can’t accept it either. It’s too much.”
There, I’ve said it. I feel bizarrely proud of myself—at least until he steps closer, getting under the spray with me, and I recall that I was going to tell him that before something like this happened.
The whole point was to chase him away so I wouldn’t give in to this dangerous attraction.
He must be thinking the same thing because one corner of his mouth curves up sardonically as he angles the showerhead to have the water hit him more directly. “They’re gifts, kitten. You’re familiar with the concept, right?”
He’s so close now that my nipples are grazing his hair-roughened chest, and my breath catches as he reaches down with that unsettling casualness and wipes the remnants of his seed off my thigh, lightly brushing over my sex in the process.
“There,” he says huskily. “All clean now.”
Turning, he swiftly rinses the remaining lather off his body and steps out of the shower, leaving me to stand under the spray and gather the tattered shreds of my composure.
* * *
I half-expect Marcus to be gone when I come out of the bathroom—after all, he got what he wanted—but he’s there, sitting on my bed in his business attire, looking as if nothing’s happened.