“Stop.”
My voice is thin and breathless, a whisper riding the tails of a gasp.
He cocks a brow, eyes burning across my collarbone, over my lips until they rest on mine, “Do you mean that?”
He’s looking up at me and his gaze is almost as hot as my skin feels. It’s too much and I can’t get enough. I don’t mean it, and he knows it as well as I do.
We shouldn’t be doing this, a voice screams in the back of my head, but as his dips back to my breast, teeth grazing over sensitive flesh, I slam the mental door on that voice. I turn my brain off and focus once more on him as he pulls back. The usually-vivid blue of his eyes is blazing now, dark and stormy as he watches me through sooty lashes, waiting for my answer.
Waiting for me. Wanting me.
But he’d never want me as much as I’ve wanted him for as long as I can remember wanting something. Hot disbelief floods my chest as he lowers his head again, lips brushing softly against my nipple. A soft breathless sound falls from my lips, and I shake my head because I know he’s watching me.
“Say it,” he growls against my skin, the vibration of his words setting my blood on fire.
“No. Don’t stop.”
He needs no further encouragement as he moves his hands to the curve of my waist and pushes my dress down to my hips, trailing tiny touches across my stomach like he’s mapping out my body for his memory. His mouth continues its assault on my nipple and I reach for him, one hand at his shoulder and the other in his hair, tugging at the roots with every new nip and flick of pleasure he offers.
Until I pull too hard and his head comes up, eyes so dark they’re nearly black, but a small smile ghosts across his wet mouth, “Easy,” he says in a gruff voice that tightens everything hot inside me and shoots to my core. It pools there, hot and heavy and adding to the anticipation that I’m not sure can amp up much higher because if I’m not touching more of him in the next five seconds I might lose my fucking mind.
I tell him as much and his full lips tug into a cocky grin. I’m tempted to roll my eyes, but worried he’ll stop if I do, so I swallow the words and roll my hips toward him where he’s laying on his side next to me. He has free access to my body from this angle but it’s limiting my reach of his, I realize with a wave of annoyance. I turn toward him, his mouth shifting as I do so to graze across my ribcage and stomach. I reach for him, palm flat against the planes of his stomach and heading toward his belt until he makes a sound of disapproval against my skin. My hand stills, hovering between our bodies, over his belt and the line we can’t uncross.
He’s kissing me, touching me. My top is off. But we can still stop. I close my eyes against the sudden swell of panic that grips my throat. I take a shaky breath, acutely aware of the cool air across my breasts. Then, I nod almost imperceptibly, my decision made as I drop my hand to the bulge at the front of his jeans. My touch obliterates the line we’ve skirted so carefully, and when I grip his thick cock through the layers, I know there’s no stopping this.
It has to happen. It’s happening right now, as his mouth moves lower over the swell of my hip and he catches the fabric of my leggings in his teeth, tugging them down as he moves down my body and away from my hand. Away from kisses and uncertainty until I’m naked in front of him and he’s looking at me like I’m his salvation and also maybe the devil.
I spread my legs and let him look.
He swears under his breath, voice rough and hot with desire. His eyes are glued to me and I feel both drunk with power and at his mercy. A world of contradictions balances in the space between our bodies, and it shatters when he lowers his mouth to me, tongue snaking out to catch the slickness of my folds, evidence of how much I want this. His teasing licks linger over my slit until I’m rolling my hips, mewls of pleased torture pouring from my mouth when his skillfully avoids my clit. I don’t dare grab his hair again and risk him stopping, so I fist my hands in the sheets, twisting against his mouth to get him where I want him.
Except he knows what I want, and he avoids my attempts to get it. His wordless reminder that this is his game, on his terms. When the teasing touch of his tongue threatens to undo me, I beg for more.
“Please just.. Please make me come.” I gasp, hips pressing desperately against him for more. He lifts his head, looking up at me from between my thighs and it’s so fucking sexy I think I might come right then. His mouth is wet with my desire, and he smiles devilishly at me before moving his hands from where they rest on my thighs, up to bracket my hips and hold them still against the couch we’re on.
We were supposed to be watching a movie. But when he finally relents to my ceaseless begging and his lips close around my clit, I can’t even remember my own name much less the movie we were supposed to be watching.
Fuck the movie. This is the show and he is the star.
