For 100 Days (100 1)
Placing my hands at my sides, he sits back and simply looks at me for a long moment. My breasts and torso are fully exposed to him, and he seems intent on taking his sweet, maddening time admiring every inch of me. I shiver, even though the night air is warm on my bare skin. Waves lap against the boat as it rocks gently in the water, lulling me into an almost trancelike state as I hang suspended in mounting anticipation, yearning for his touch. For his kiss.
For whatever this provocative man desires of me.
When he finally reaches out, brushing his fingertips along the tender undersides of my breasts, I exhale a tremulous sigh.
His voice is a dark, wicked whisper. “You see, Ms. Ross, the way this works is, your body—your pleasure—belongs to me.”
His caress grows bolder, his palms firm on me, his thumbs rolling over my beaded nipples, pinching their hyperaware tips. Arousal pours through me at his rough handling of my sensitive flesh, and I let out a soft moan of surrender, leaning my weight onto my braced hands to grant him total access to my body.
“Yes,” he murmurs thickly, approvingly. “Now, you’re getting the idea.”
His mouth covers one of my nipples, drawing it deep. I hiss in pure, unabashed need as his tongue circles slowly, flicking and suckling. Heat rushes under my skin with every delicious suction, every sharp, unexpected graze of his teeth.
I whimper and squirm where I sit, loosely cross-legged, my sex growing damp and hot inside my panties. I want Nick’s hands down there too. I want his mouth on my clit, his tongue buried in my cleft. I want it so badly, my sex clenches, the scent of my own arousal rising warm and sweet on the soft ocean breeze.
It’s all I can do not to reach for Nick and push his head down between my parted thighs. I gasp his name, arching back further on my palms, my spine bowed toward him, my breasts thrust forward as he continues his sensual assault on them. “Nick, please . . .”
His answering snarl vibrates into my bones. Lifting his gaze from my breasts, he gives me a ruthless smile. “Begging is nice, sweetheart. But tonight it’s only going to make you wait even longer for what you really want.” As he speaks, the backs of his knuckles skim down the center of my body, a slow descent that pauses as he reaches my navel. “Unless you ask me very nicely.”
“Please, sir,” I whisper, a tremor building from just that brief, teasing touch. “I want . . . Oh, God, I need to feel your hands on me. Please.”
“In that case, how can I possibly refuse?” He leans forward and kisses me. At the same time, his palm slides between my legs to cup my mound.
I cry out at the glorious pressure and powerful possession of his hand as it curves around my aching sex. My cleft is drenched, and as he caresses me, his fingers slip past the edge of my panties into my wet slit. He groans, his strong fingers flexing, stroking my naked flesh.
I want him to rub my throbbing clit. I want him to push his fingers inside me and give my empty channel something to hold on to. I want to feel his cock filling me, fucking me.
I am already panting with want, desperate for anything he’ll give me, but all too soon, his touch is gone. He ignores my protesting moan and pushes me down onto my back on the cushion.
He carefully straightens my legs, then peels off my wet panties. I lay before him, naked and trembling, my nerve endings on fire as I watch him rise up on his knees to unfasten his shorts. He takes them off, pushing his boxer briefs down along with them. His erection springs free, heavy and enormous.
My mouth waters as my gaze fixes on him, and when my tongue darts out to wet my lips in response, Nick’s smoldering expression turns molten. “The feeling is
mutual, baby. Before the night is over, I’m going to have my mouth on every delicious curve and crevice of your body.” A coarse, purely sexual growl curls up his throat as he looks at me. “And I promise you, that sweet mouth of yours is going to be all over me too.”
He sets his shorts aside and moves in close to my side. When I reach for him, he catches my hand and stretches it up above my head. Then he brings the other one up, and places one of my palms atop the other. He holds them there for a moment, before his fingers run slowly down the length of my arm, then along my rib cage.
“All of this is mine,” he says. “Every perfect inch.”
I shiver under his light caress, goose bumps racing in the wake of his touch. It’s torture keeping my hands above my head, but I know that’s what he wants. It’s what he’s demanded, even if he hasn’t said the words.
His touch descends, lingering along the buoyant curves of my breasts, then down the center of my rib cage. He strokes my belly, his finger tracing the rim of my navel, sending electric sparks into my limbs. Then his touch travels farther, over my hip bones, then along the line of trimmed blonde hair on my pubis. When his fingers sink delectably into the soaked V of my thighs, my answering sigh leaks out of me, thin and shaky with desire.
“This,” he says, his eyes locked on mine as he cleaves my slick folds. “This especially is mine. Any way I want it. Whenever and however I choose. Isn’t that right?”
I nod, all I can manage as his touch slides all along my sex, his fingertips alternating between stroking my clit and teasing the entrance of my body. I moan helplessly, yearning for him to penetrate me, to fill me.
“I need to hear you say it, baby.”
“Yes.” My answer is a threadbare gasp.
“Hmm.” He slowly shakes his head. He draws his fingers away from me and I whimper at the loss. “You know what I want to hear, Avery. Say it for me. Let me know I have your surrender.”
“Yes,” I answer breathlessly, eager in spite of my uncertainty about where he might take me tonight. “Yes, sir.”
“Very good. For that, you deserve a reward.”
He moves between my legs, then spreads them wide. His heated palms skate down my thighs and behind my knees, bending them so that the soles of my feet are flat on the cushions. His gaze rakes over me, from my fully exposed sex, to my naked torso, which glows milky pale under the moon and stars above us.