Dirty Desires

It’s too much to take, watching him between my legs. It pushes me too far to the edge. Overwhelms me with sensation.

The soft, wet pressure of his mouth. The tension winding tighter and tighter. The need racing through my hips.

To watch him. To watch us.

Fuck.

I have to close my eyes. To focus on the new sensations. The soft pressure of his tongue. Everywhere. Then in one place. Firmer and faster. Up and down. Left and right. Circles and zigzags.

Then the soft suction of his mouth around my clit.

More and more. Until I can barely take it.

I have to groan. I have to reach for the sheets. I have to dig my heels into his back.

All the fabric in the way—he’s always in his fucking suit—but I can still feel the pressure of his skin.

And, fuck, seeing myself halfway out of my clothes, still in my boots—

His motions change. Back to soft flicks of his tongue. Pressure and pleasure everywhere. Then more. Higher. Left.

There.

“Fuck, Ian.” I reach for him. Find the tie binding me. Keeping my arms over my head. Keeping me at his mercy.

He focuses on that perfect spot. Again and again. Until I’m brimming with sensation. Pleasure and pressure and deep, pure need.

He pushes me to the edge.

I let my eyes open. Let my gaze shift to the reflection. Focus on the hard scrape of his fingernails. The sound of his groan dissolving into my flesh. The smell of his skin.

Every sense, all at once.

Too much.

Not enough.

How can it be both?

How can I want more when I can barely take this?

My thoughts disappear with the next flick of his tongue.

He winds me tighter and tighter. Until it’s too much to take.

But I do take it.

More and more tension.

More and more pleasure.

More and more.

With the next flick of his tongue, I unravel. Pleasure spills through my limbs as I come.

I groan his name, bucking my hips, desperate for every bit of him I can get.

He works me through my orgasm, but he doesn’t release me. He keeps that same perfect pressure. So much it aches. It’s too much. More pain than pleasure. But I need that too.

Then it’s all pressure. So much I ache. So much I’m desperate for release.

I come fast this time. And hard. So hard I see white.

The room disappears. Only the sound of my groan and his breath and his name on my lips.

He releases me. Places a kiss on my thigh. Pulls my dress down my legs.

No underwear.

And no bra either—I don’t need one in this.

I’m naked under here. Still his, to claim, whenever he wants, however he wants.

How can I feel so desperate and satisfied at the same time? My body is humming with bliss. With relief. With an ache for more of him.

Him inside of me.

I want that so badly. To touch him, taste him, feel his cock stretching my walls.

My eyes blink open. The window this time. Too bright for our reflection. That perfect white light.

The sun bouncing off the water. The sand. The ocean. The wide open sky.

Paradise.

One idea of it.

I’m a New Yorker, through and through. I’ll take the city any day. But here, in his bed, his hands on my wrists, his lips on my neck—

Fuck.

“Ian.” I dig my nails into his neck. “Please.” I don’t know what I’m asking. I never know what I’m asking him. Only that I need it right now.

He undoes the knot. Tosses away the tie. Brings my wrists to his lips. Plants a kiss on each. “After I feed you.”

“What if I’m not hungry?”

He lowers my hands to my sides. Wraps his arms around me. “You’re going to need your strength. Trust me, vixen. I’m going to drain every drop of your energy.”

Chapter Forty-One

Ian

Eve places her feet on the footrest of a kitchen stool. Presses her knees together. Smooths her frock.

“This is insane.” She takes in the wide, open room. The windows looking out on the beach. The others looking out on the garden.

The barest hint of sunset. A soft glow. A faint orange hue.

I’m not sure how long we’ve been here. Only that it’s something out of a dream.

Eve in my bed. Lazing on the couch with her Kindle. Scribbling in that notebook she brings everywhere.

In my space, my house, my life.

Though it’s not my space. It’s not my house.

And it’s not my life.

This is a vacation, a daydream, a fantasy.

Maybe that’s better. Maybe that’s where she belongs. Some fantasy of a life where I’m capable of loving her fully, letting her in, catching her when she falls.

She’s there too. In a daydream. Looking at the house like it’s something out of a film.

It is.

Marble countertops, glossy tile floor, turquoise stools around the kitchen island.

The entire place is shades of blue and green. Aquatic colors. Subtle beach imagery.

Cerulean towels, soft blue leather couch, tile in a shade of sand.