My mouth waters when I see his nude body illuminated by the night sky. Skylights, two of them, dot the ceiling.
“You’re so beautiful,” I say reverently as he stands fully nude, his magnificent c**k arrowing directly upward.
“That’s my line.” He pulls the thick length so that it’s perpendicular to his body and begins to stroke it. My mouth waters in response and I get onto my knees to reach for him. He has other ideas. He pushes me backward until I’m lying on my back crossways on the bed. His eyes burn into me as he stands like a conqueror ready to avail himself of the spoils of war. But he doesn’t fall on me with hurried roughness. Oh no. He decides to take his time.
One hand wraps around an ankle and he carefully unbuckles the shoe before tossing it aside. The position of my leg in the air exposes my core and he takes a moment to stare at my center with undisguised lust. “Yes, you’re the beautiful one,” he says and reaches out a long arm to swipe two fingers up the outside of my pu**y.
I jerk toward him, wanting a deeper, firmer, stronger touch, but he draws back. Resting my now bare foot on his shoulder he kisses up my ankle. Whatever rush he was in before has passed. The time has allowed him to gather his vaunted self-control. I have none. Nor do I want to have any. Why would I want control here?
His deft fingers unbuckle the other shoe. He lifts my foot to his mouth and runs his tongue along the top, stopping to suck on the ball of my ankle and then the tender Achilles tendon. I cry out, not realizing I even had an erogenous zone there. He chuckles and repeats the action on my other ankle. Is it possible to come from having your ankle sucked?
He trails kisses up my legs, behind my knees and then pulls me to the edge of the bed and kneels between my thighs. With my legs dangling over his shoulders, he places both hands under my ass and lifts me to his mouth like I’m a buffet of sexual delight. He begins tonguing me languorously. Over and over, he places the broad flat of his tongue against my pu**y and licks from front to back. Anxiously, I try to get him to penetrate me with his tongue or fingers or anything. I need him inside me.
“Please, Ian, don’t torture me. It’s been so long.” I tug at his silky hair and he raises his head, his face wet from my arousal. For a heart-stopping moment, I think he’ll refuse me but this plea—perhaps the confession that I’ve been without for a period of time—moves him.
“I could eat you all night and be a happy man.” With a firm squeeze of my inner thigh, Ian reaches over to the nightstand and pulls out a condom. With one hand on his sheathed c**k and the other grasping my left hip, he rubs the thick head against me. He enters me slowly, giving me time to adjust to his generous width.
He groans as my walls open to accept him. “I’ve dreamt of being inside you. Fantasized about it. Jerked off to it. But nothing feels as goddamned good as reality.” When he is completely seated so far inside me I feel like I’m overflowing, I can’t help but release a sigh of pleasure. I rock against him because my need is too strong to allow him to remain still. I want him to pound me hard and fast until we are one sweaty—and replete—mess of bliss.
“Stop,” Ian grunts. “Stop moving or this will be over far too soon.” He reaches between us and I feel his knuckles against my tender flesh as he squeezes the base of his cock. I try not to move but it’s so hard.
He retreats, sliding back until he’s nearly left me, and then drills me hard against the bed.
“Oh God, yes, f**k me,” I cry out.
My eyeballs roll back into my head as his balls slap my body as he plunges inside me. My back is almost entirely off the bed as he uses both hands to pull me against him. His feet are braced wide apart, and the force of his propulsion would have driven me across to the other side of the bed if it weren’t for his hands clamped hard around my hips. I drum the heels of my feet against his back, trying to urge him closer. He lifts one knee onto the bed and braces an elbow by my arm, still pistoning his hips against me in a relentless rhythm. My blood is roaring in my ears, and I can’t hear a thing but the harshness of our breaths and the slick sound of our sexes battering against one another.
I’ve never felt so full.
Need. Want. Desire. Passion.
They are all one.
It is flesh against flesh.
He is steel with an iron resolve, a man who is intent on delivering one thing: pleasure.
The rapturous feeling of my climax hits almost unexpectedly, and as I convulse around him I feel his body tremble beneath my hands as he follows me down into the well of ecstasy. Our mutual pleasure shakes the bed and the very foundation of my life. I bite my tongue to keep the words of love and devotion from spilling out of me.
Collapsing against me, his chest heaving with his exertion, his next words echo in my heart. “I’ll never have enough of you.”
Chapter 22
HE KISSES ME GENTLY, AND his wicked hands provide comfort instead of stimulation as he cradles me tenderly against him. One hand slides slowly over my back to palm my butt, but the touch isn’t provocative. It’s sweet and pulls at me with as much emotion as the vigorous bed play we’d shared.
When my shudders die off, my brain starts working again and all my questions resurface. I can’t go on without knowing more about everything. Pulling away from his seductive mouth, I sweep a finger across his dark brows and trace down the side of his face and along his strong jaw. I avoid his gaze even though I feel the weight of it, preferring to watch my finger as it marks a path along Ian’s skin.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” His voice is lower than usual and the rough, gravely sound makes me clench my legs together. In response, he squeezes my bottom.
“I’m trying to sort everything out.” It’s a vague but truthful answer. He leans forward to place a light kiss on my nose before rolling off the bed.
“Hold that thought,” he says. His ass muscles clench as he walks toward an adjoining bathroom, and I prop my head up so I can fully enjoy the show. He returns only moments later and slides into bed, pulling me into his arms. “What is it that you need sorted? Us? The project?”
“All of it,” I say. His arm is tucked under my neck, and I rest my head on one well-defined pectoral muscle. He tugs me closer so that I’m pressed up against his side with nowhere for my limbs to go but on top of his.
“It’s pretty simple.” I feel him shrug lightly beneath me. “You’re becoming very important to me. Maybe even vital.”