“Spread your thighs,” he ordered through a throat that felt as if hands were wrapped around it, squeezing. He knelt between her opened legs. He reached, his hands encountering the satiny smooth, warm flesh of her hips. Her subtle scent reached his nostrils. His cock throbbed viciously next to his thigh. He hadn’t bothered to put on underwear after his shower, but had merely thrown on his jeans and partially buttoned them before he’d come up the stairs to do this deed. As a result, his cock was trapped down his left pant leg. It felt like a hot poker burning the skin of his thigh, stretching the fabric of his jeans tight.
He lowered his head, a bee drawn to honey. He placed his lips on soft pubic hair and inhaled her scent. She whimpered. She was aroused. The cream on her labia moistened his mouth before his tongue gathered it.
He went rigid with need, like he was an animal that had just caught the hint of prey in the wind. She stiffened, too. He used his hand to open her labia wider, exposing the sensitive kernel of flesh hidden within the folds.
She gasped his name when he plunged his tongue into that forbidden fruit. When her taste fully registered in his brain, he was lost. He closed his eyes and ate her with savage abandon. Some part of his brain was exquisitely attuned to the sounds she made, to every nuance of tension in her sleek body. He sucked gently and stabbed at her clit without mercy with his tongue, but when her cries became desperate, he softened to a caress, gliding his tongue over that swollen flesh until she quivered like a leaf held fast to a branch during a wild storm.
He ran his hands from hip to belly to ribs, relishing every shiver, coaxing more out of her. It was intoxicating. Not just the taste of her sweet juices running down his throat, the entire idea of possessing Katie, of evoking those sexy little cries from her throat, of creating the uncontrollable quaking in her muscles, of tempting her pussy to give him more of her addicting cream. He twisted his face slightly, stimulating her sensitive tissues, glorying in how wet she was.
He wanted to thrust his finger into her slit. She’d be tight and warm . . . all creamed up for him. The thought made his cock jerk in his jeans, demanding freedom, demanding its due. But he knew if he slid his finger into that welcoming little clasp, all control would be gone.
If it wasn’t already.
Katie was like a wildfire. She’d snatch him with her delicious heat, pull him in like a moth to the leaping flames. She was a thousand times more addictive than whiskey. It was the reason he’d insisted upon tying her up. This was an ordeal as it was, to give in at least partially to his raging lust. If he had to endure her hands all over him at this stage of the game, he’d forsake everything. He needed to set some ground rules. He needed to stick to those rules.
He was not a slave to lust. He may share his mother’s and his uncles’ and a whole shitload of other Pierce ancestors’ wastrel genes, but he was different.
Instead of allowing himself to experience the delicious core of her heat, he turned his face and sucked her clit between his lips and teeth. Gently, he bit, determined to show her that even though he’d been too weak to resist her potent allure, he would be master of this situation.
But when he felt her body go rigid, when she screamed as pleasure gushed through nerve and muscle . . . when he felt her warm juices surge from her slit against his chin, Rill doubted he’d mastered much of anything.
Her climax was delicious, not just the taste of her flooding his senses, her catchy, surprised gasps and whimpers, the delicate convulsions that wracked her taut body. He couldn’t stop himself. He lowered his face and plunged his tongue into her pussy again and again, drowning in that sweet font, anointing himself with the essence of Katie.
Her trembling muscles sagged into the mattress and her climactic cries segued to anguished groans. He realized he was still drinking from her thirstily, exploring the narrow confines of her drenched slit with avarice.
When he recognized his greediness, he lifted his head, panting heavily. His face was slick with her juices. He wanted to slide his cock into her and ride her into submission. A feral need to utterly possess her, to even make her hurt a little, to force her to share in some of his sharp anguish, overwhelmed him.
He stood clumsily next to the bed.
“Rill?” she asked between pants for air.
He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t think of what to say. So he yanked at the knot restraining her wrists, turned and walked out of the room. If she said his name again, and he heard the vulnerability and disorientation in her voice, he wouldn’t be able to control what he might do.
Downstairs, he rushed into the bathroom and shut the door. Without turning on the light, he put his
back to the door and fumbled with his jeans. His cock felt leaden. He jerked at it, his actions nearly as violent and desperate as Rill felt at that moment.
He’d held her hips in his hands and served her pussy to his marauding mouth. She’d jerked like a plucked harp string when he’d bitten her clit gently. Then she’d been shaking beneath him, helpless and beautiful.
He groaned in agony when he started to come. It hurt. All of it. It hurt that he’d crossed this line with a friend because of his innate degeneracy, but it hurt being alone in the world, too. Hurt like hell. He couldn’t decide what felt worse, the numbness or this sharp pain of need.
It hurt the most shooting his seed onto the cold tile floor instead of in Katie Hughes’s furthest reaches.
Nine
When Katie woke up the next morning the house was empty. Rill’s bedroom door was wide-open, a sure sign of his absence, since he religiously kept it closed when he was in there.
She wandered into the sun-dappled kitchen, feeling grouchy and exhausted after having slept a total of three hours. A bit difficult to sleep after the man of your dreams plays your flesh like a maestro and then turns around and walks out of the room.
What did it mean? Had he been unsatisfied with her?
Stupid question. He must have been. How else did his behavior make any sense? If she’d pleased him, he would have taken his own satisfaction. He would have wanted more of her, just like Katie thirsted for more of him . . . the feeling of his skin sliding beneath her palms, the sensation of his mouth moving over hers, the experience of holding him in her arms while he shuddered in pleasure.
He’d denied her all that, although he’d given her a pure, distilled blast of bliss.
Rill was trying to make it abundantly clear that the only thing he could give her was pleasure. He was highlighting the unnaturalness of them becoming sexually involved by walking away after sharing something so intimate.
If that was what he was trying to prove to her, he’d failed. Katie couldn’t imagine anything more total and natural than her body’s response to his touch.