“If it were up to me, you’d never wear underwear again. I could slink my fingers inside you whenever I damn well pleased.”
I suffered a full-body convulsion. “Consider it done.”
With a harsh growl, he tossed the tattered lace away. It was a beast of a sound, not from a man, but a lusty male who was past the point of reason.
His eyes dropped, feasting on my exposed, glistening sex.
Soaring upright, I grabbed his biceps, digging my fingernails into his flesh. “Please … Arthur.” His flesh was on fire. “Come here.” My skin missed his skin. My lips wanted his lips.
He pounced on me, mouth crushing mine. I tasted urgency on his tongue, the metallic tint of desperation. He needed this as much as I did. Something drove us. Something primitive.
It was my turn to fumble with his boxer briefs. Spearing my fingers through the waistband, I pulled them with no finesse. The tip of him escaped, then his girth, until finally his tight and drawn up balls were revealed.
Without moving away, he shoved the tight material farther down his legs and kicked them away.
Naked, I spread my legs wider, beyond ready for him to take me.
But Arthur had other ideas.
Bending over me, he scooped me from the unforgiving marble and carried me from the kitchen. My legs wrapped around him, pressing my core directly against his erection.
We both gasped. Arthur paused in his stumble to kiss me—savage and swift. Then we were moving again, swaying with sexual need and lurching with lust.
I rode him. I didn’t care. I rubbed against him like a cat in heat. I had to find some relief from the bonfire in my blood. The flames that’d marked me now lived inside, whipping around until I boiled with desire.
“Arthur, I have to have you inside me.” Sinking my teeth into his shoulder, he groaned as I bit harder than I ever had before.
We’d passed soft caresses and tender touches. I wanted to be bruised and to bruise. I wanted to mark him while seeking beatific pleasure.
“God, Cleo. You’ve poisoned me. Your lips are fucking venom. I’ll never get enough of you.” His voice was thick as he stumbled toward the couch. The sliding doors were wide open, the dark evening hiding onlookers and witnesses.
Before I could worry about being watched, Arthur dropped me. I sailed through the air, then hissed as my back connected with the sofa. The ache from being thrown was nothing to the way it amplified the fire inside. I loved that he was so far gone to be gentle with me. I loved that he felt the same way I did—dangerous with desire.
The moment I was horizontal, he climbed on top of me, smothering me into the cushions. He gave me no time to adjust to his weight or heat.
“Oh, God!” I cried out as one long finger disappeared into my heat.
“I want to crawl inside you and never fucking leave.” His voice and the way he hooked his digit inside hurtled me toward a searing orgasm.
My back arched; all reasoning shot out of my head. Holy sex on fire, his finger was amazing. Slow and firm, curving and stroking. He pushed another finger deep. I bit his shoulder, piercing his skin, my nails scrabbling at his back.
I had to have him. Now.
Reaching between us, I squeezed his cock. With my other hand, I grabbed his ass, trying to guide him inside me. I shivered as his butt clenched beneath my touch, his hips pulsing with need just as strong as mine.
He didn’t stop touching or kissing me. It was as if his new mission in life was to make me insane. “Now,” I demanded.
He laughed, shaking his frame, causing unique sensations with his fingers inside me. “Always so bossy.”
“Do it.”
“What if I want to lick you first? What if I want your taste on my tongue?”
“Later. Please, God, later.”
He chuckled, loving my unraveled behavior. “Do you need something, Buttercup?”
“You know I do!” Frustration wobbled my voice.
My skin blazed as he kissed my neck. He cupped my core, grinding the heel of his palm over my clit.
Shit.
“You can have me, then, woman.” The animalistic lust on his face tore a moan from my lips. I pumped his cock, working him so his eyes snapped closed. He shuddered in my grasp.
I wiggled closer, guiding him with my hand. My world ceased to spin as I pushed his tip inside me.
His eyes flew open.
He swallowed a curse.
Then he gave up and thrust into my heat.
I cried out.
I welcomed completely.
My skin enveloped him, sucking him deeper until there was no space between us.
Arthur froze as I moved my hips.
He felt so good. So thick, so long, so mind-shatteringly good. My entire being was full, every nerve ending sparking. Frustration built. I needed a release. Why isn’t he moving?
“Art—take me. Fuck me. I’m begging you.”
His breathing turned heavy and noisy, his face scrunched up.
He’s in pain.
From holding back his orgasm?
I didn’t care if he spurted inside me with no other movement than a quick rock. I could come. My release would obey my summons to explode the next second he thrust. I was achingly sensitive.
But … he didn’t.
He didn’t open his eyes or thrust.
I scratched his back, bit his ear, yet he stayed frozen. His biceps bunched as he clutched the cushion behind my head.
“Arthur?” I raked my nails down his back. “I’m begging you to fuck me, President Kill.”
He gave a half chuckle, half choke. “I … I can’t. I’m on the edge as it is.” His hand stilled my hips, stopping me. “Give me a second.”