My gaze wanders to the crook of her neck, and as she breathes, a lock of hair falls right where I’m looking.
Leaning forward, I brush it to the side and bring my lips closer to her ear. Intent on whispering, intent on sharing a part of me I haven’t shared with anyone.
I want to run my lips along her neck, kissing and sucking and confessing all my sins, begging for forgiveness.
Her chest heaves as if she knows I want to kiss her.
None of that happens though, because she turns her head just as I start to make my move, and she steals the kiss from me.
Her lips brush against mine at first, soft and hesitant. Yet she nips my bottom lip before I can deepen it. The gentleness of her touch is at odds with how my hands reach up to her hair, gripping it at the base of her neck and pulling her head back to expose more of her throat.
With my breath stolen, once again caught off guard, and with the desire running rampant in my blood, I stare down at her. Her eyes half lidded, her breaths coming in short pants as if I’d just devoured her and it wasn’t at all a tempting taste of a kiss.
I’m drunk off her.
Breathing in her lust and not breaking her gaze, I lower my fingers to her swollen nub, spreading her arousal up to it, and then circling it. “What was that for?” I ask her and she tells me, “I wanted to take it first. I deserve that much at least.” Her last word skips in the air, like a flat rock thrown across a summer lake. Her speech moves from a higher pitch to a whisper as I move my fingers lower, playing with her and watching every reaction she gives me.
“How many lovers have you had?” I ask and my question catches her off guard as she struggles to hold back her gasps.
“Few,” she answers in a strained voice as I circle her clit again.
“Not since college.”
“Did they touch you like this?” I ask her, imagining a younger version of her under the sheets in a dorm room, letting some dumb fuck put his hands on her.
“Yes,” she breathes with her eyes closed and I gently press down on her clit and then smack it.
She sits up and when she does I aim for another kiss, but she bites down hard on my mouth. Her teeth plunge into my bottom lip, the bite sending a pain shooting through my body. It’s hard enough to draw blood and I swear to God it does nothing but make me that much harder for her.
She releases me all too soon, sucking in a deep breath with her mouth still open, her chest heaving and her eyes pinned on me.
Lifting my fingers from her heat, I bring them to my throbbing lip.
“No blood,” she murmurs and a soft smirk plays on that pouty mouth of hers. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Mr. Cross. Even if the thought of you getting me off makes me all hot and bothered, I still hate your fucking guts.”
My dick responds, getting harder by the second as she utters the threatening words so sensually, words that would get others killed.
Her anger’s at war with her desire, but it’s losing the battle. Maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the exhaustion, but I can give her desire the upper hand.
I watch her every move. The way she clenches her hands and struggles to keep them motionless above her head. The way her skin flushes and goosebumps run up her chest, then down her arms. She’s fucking gorgeous like this. Bared to me without reluctance. Without a single hint suggesting she’s hiding a damn thing.
She’s lost in the lust.
I spread her arousal around her swollen nub before bringing my middle finger back to her opening. With a gentle press, her lips part, and the word stop is there, just behind her clenched teeth. The hiss of an S was coming.
I push her, barely sliding the tip of my finger into her hot entrance, and her jaw drops open, the word lost somewhere and remaining unspoken.
Bringing my fingers back to her clit, I let her come down from the high, simply toying with her as she regains her composure.
“That’s your limit?” I ask her, bringing my fingers back up to her clit, watching as her eyes go half lidded and she exhales with pleasure. My fingers drift back down and press against her slick entrance slightly before she nods a yes to my question.
Her control is as surprising as my restraint. If I hadn’t decided I wasn’t going to fuck her tonight, not until she truly begs for it, she’d be screaming my name as I ravaged her on the carpet beneath me. Maybe bent over the coffee table to leave bruises on her hips as a reminder. Making sure she’d feel it tomorrow, so it would be all she could think about.