by Kallysten
The sheer power of it made me giddy, made me want to go fast, to make him come in moments, when seconds ago I’d been ready to take my sweet time and make it last. There’d be other times, other occasions to make it last—to tease him until he was begging for me to let him come.
Wouldn’t there?
I gave up on finesse and might even have been a little sloppy, but honestly I doubt he minded. I bobbed my head up and down, hollowing my cheeks, taking as much of his cock into my mouth as I could and stroking the rest with my hand.
In seconds, one of his hands flew to the back of my head. I was ready to shake it off. I hate it when guys try to push me; I usually end up gagging and having to pull back. But he didn’t force me forward. He just rested his hand there, his fingers tangled in my hair, accompanying my movements without trying to guide them. I rewarded him by redoubling my efforts, inexorably pushing him to the end.
He tasted… Well, okay, if it was a choice between his come and another slice of that sinful chocolate cake, the cake would win. But the margin would be pretty narrow. I’d never tasted semen before; I didn’t know if this was him or all guys. But I won’t lie, I enjoyed the taste of him enough that I sucked and licked until I was sure I had taken every last drop he had to offer.
When I pulled back and opened my eyes again—I didn’t remember when I’d closed them—I looked up and found him shaking, his lips parted on harsh pants, his free hand, the one that wasn’t holding my hair so carefully, fisted in the sheet.
The torn sheet.
He hadn’t said a word the entire time, but now he did. Just one. My name.
Before a shiver finished coursing through me, he’d pulled me up and pressed me onto the bed, quickly enough to startle me. His mouth was already on mine, and he swallowed my gasp of surprise. He devoured my mouth as though trying to reclaim every bit of flavor I’d stolen from him. His hands were flying over me, barely touching here, kneading there, pinching and stroking and caressing. Worshipping.
I tried to emulate him, but somehow my hands couldn’t leave his arms and shoulders. I might—just might, mind—have a thing for a nice, strong set of arms and thick shoulders. And Morgan definitely had those.
When I broke our kiss to gulp for air, he didn’t lose a beat. His mouth pressed against my cheek, licking my earlobe, then drifting down to my breast to suck on a nipple until I cried out and grabbed his head to force him away. He gave me a wicked grin before plunging down again, and this time lavished one areola then the other with broad swipes of his tongue. I closed my eyes and arched up against his mouth.
And froze, my eyes snapping open again, when his teeth raked over the swell of my breast. A flash of sheer, animal fear tore through me, and there was nothing I could have done to control it. As it was, I only realized why warning bells were ringing so loudly in my head when Morgan rose again.
Teeth. Vampire. That couldn’t be good, right?
“Hey.” When he lay down alongside me, his expression was pained. “Don’t be scared of me, please. I’m not going to hurt you. Or bite you. I swear.”
“Not unless I wanted it,” I said shakily. “Isn’t that what you said earlier?”
A shadow darkened his eyes, and he looked away.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he breathed.
I laid a hand on his cheek and led his gaze back to me.
“Because you didn’t mean it?” I asked. “Or because you did?”
He covered my hand with his own. “Honestly? I don’t know.”
I kissed him, and this time it was only a peck, as brief as it was chaste
“Thank you,” I murmured.
He frowned and shook his head. “For what?”
“For being honest. For talking to me. For trying to answer my questions even when you don’t know what the answer is. You could just… I don’t know, shut me out and refuse to explain. But you don’t.” Somehow, I could imagine all too well how lonely, how scary it would have been if he had tried to keep more distance between us. “It makes things easier.”
He pulled back and broke eye contact with me. He looked troubled for some reason.
“Angelina…” He sat up a little straighter and took my hand in his. “What we’re doing here… You’re not… You don’t believe you have to do any of it, right? You’re stuck in this house, but that doesn’t mean… I wouldn’t want you to think… And I certainly don’t want to take advantage—”
I shut him up the best way I knew how: with another kiss, brief but deep.
“All right,” I said when I pulled back, “stop before you say something I will misconstrue in a wrong, insulting way.”
He remained quiet, but from the way he looked at me, I knew he was still wondering. And still worried. On one hand, it was sweet that he’d worry about it; given the situation, I suppose it was a legitimate concern. On the other hand, the simple fact that he believed I’d have sex with him despite not really wanting to only proved that he didn’t know me. Not yet. I intended to remedy that fact, starting right now.
“No, I’m not here because I feel I owe you anything. All I owed you was a thank you for the shoes, and I gave you that this afternoon. Anything else…”
I could feel a blush spreading over my face and neck. As though attracted by the heat, Morgan touched my cheek, cupping it.
“Anything else?” he repeated in a lulling voice.
I pushed into his fingers like a cat butting her head into a petting hand.
“I told you last night,” I murmured. “I feel like there’s… something between us. Even knowing what Miss Delilah did, I still feel it. She has nothing to do with it. And you have everything to do with how I feel.”
His thumb ran underneath my eye, brushing along my eyelashes. “So when you kiss me, it’s just because you want to kiss me.”
“Yes.” I tried not to smile but couldn’t help it. “And because you’re a very good kisser, too.”
He grinned. “Why, thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” I said, matching his prim tone.
We shared a quiet laugh, then a slow, toe-curling kiss that proved my claim about his kissing abilities. Too soon he pulled back again.
“And when you let me do this?” he asked in a whisper.
The very tip of his fingers caressed down my neck, over my collarbone, then down the swell of one breast. He flattened his hand so that every inch of it, from his fingertips to the heel of his palm, pressed against my tight nipple. Sparks of sensations flared through me, and my breath hitched in my throat.
“It’s… It’s because you have gorgeous hands, and… and I love feeling them on me.”
His hand continued downward over my stomach, slow enough to be torture as well as a caress. I squirmed a little, goose bumps rising all over my body.
“I don’t know about gorgeous,” he said, still as quiet, “but they’re definitely cold. I’m sorry about that.”
Truth be told, I hadn’t noticed until now, but yes, his hands were cooler than my skin. It hadn’t been obvious on the balcony because I’d been cold myself, and in the sun room the fabric of my dress had been between us, but now I could feel the temperature difference. Vampire, my mind whispered, but this time no fear came with that warning.
“Not cold,” I said with a little hum, shifting under his touch. “Perfect. It makes everything… more… intense.”
I finished with a sigh when his hand slipped right where I wanted it between my legs. He traced my folds with his fingertips, gathering wetness before sliding back up to my clit and pinching it between two fingers.
I canted my hips to press into his fingers, but he sat up and rested his free hand on my stomach, pressing softly.
“Let me,” he asked.
I tried to relax—hard when he was teasing the entrance to my body with a slick finger—and reached for him, touching his side and leg before moving up his chest, but he captured my hand, kissed it, and said again, “Let me.”
He led my hand back to
my side and leaned closer against his forearm, touching me with nothing more than those clever fingers. He wasn’t watching what he was doing, letting his fingers do the exploring. His gaze was on my face, deeply intense.
“What…” The word came out like a whimper. I started over, but couldn’t steady my voice, not when he was playing my body like he was learning a new musical instrument. “What are you doing?”
Amusement touched his lips but did not stop his fingers. They continued to alternately flick my clit back and forth and tease my entrance until he finally pushed in a single long, thick finger.
“I thought it was obvious. I’m trying to make you come. Maybe I need to try harder.”
As he spoke, he pressed his thumb hard against my clit and slipped a second talented finger inside me. My hips arched up of their own accord to meet his touch. I realized I was clutching the sheet and made myself let go to reach for his cock instead. I’d already forgotten his request.
“Maybe you could try with this,” I said, giving it a few fast strokes.
So soon after coming, he was already hard and ready for more. And yet, he clucked his tongue and sat up so he could pull my fingers off him.
“Not yet,” he said, and I didn’t hear the promise in his words, only the denial.
“Why not?”
I was losing my breath, and the question was buried in a moan, but Morgan heard it anyway.
“I want to watch you come,” he murmured.
I closed my eyes, back to clinging to the sheets. Pleasure was close, so very close, and as delightfully sinful as his fingers were, dancing on me, inside me, I knew all it would take was a thrust of his hips, that beautiful cock back where it belonged, and I’d come.
“A—again? You did. Las… Last night.”
His rhythm never faltered as he asked, slightly bemused, “Are you saying you don’t want me to make you come, Angelina?”
The way he said my name… That small lilt in his voice… The sound that felt like a caress…
I shook, a full body shudder that lifted my hips off the bed and into his hand.
A slow, sensual grin curled his lips. “I think,” he said in a tone of deep confidence, “that you like it when I say your name. You like it very much. Don’t you, Angelina?”
I shook harder this time, too hard to even manage a coherent word. All I could offer was a breathless moan. I was poised on the edge, ready to fall into that gleaming abyss of pleasure I could see opening in front of me. I only needed a few more strokes of his fingers. Or maybe only another word.
He leaned in close, and our eyes met when he murmured, “Come for me, Angelina.”
And I did.
His fingers never stopped moving, intensifying the pleasure that was flashing through my entire body. Before long, it became too much, and I closed my thighs over his fingers, trying to stop their maddening dance. At the same time, my hands flew to his wrist, and I tried to push his hand away from me.
“Let me,” he whispered yet again, resisting my efforts.
“It’s too much!” I gasped, squirming against him.
“Angelina… Let me, please. Show me just once more.”
My ears were buzzing, and I barely heard his last words. I wanted to protest again, tell him I couldn’t bear more, my clit was oversensitive almost to the point of pain and, surely, if he didn’t stop, I would break apart into a million pieces.
I didn’t manage to say any of it. I didn’t force his hand off me, either. I let him push me further and further, beyond that point I had thought was the limit of what I could take—beyond what I’d ever felt before.
I think I remember crying out. Or maybe I only wanted to cry out? It all became kind of blurry and… I almost said dark, but that’s not the word. There were lights in my head, colors, shapes, but none of it was anything I could put a name to. It was like flying in a maelstrom of sheer sensation.
I had to blink a few times before my vision cleared again. When it did, I found that Morgan had moved to kneel between my legs. He was stroking his cock with a lazy hand—the same hand that had brought me so much pleasure—and watching me with eyes darker than the deepest recesses of space.
“May I?” he asked, his voice low and husky.
A slow, contented smile spread over my face. I felt too languid to even lift a hand and pull him closer. “Well, since you ask so politely…”
Before I finished, he grabbed my hips with both hands and drew me toward him. I gasped. It only took him a second to line his cock up to my entrance; half a second later, he was deep inside me and reigniting my body.
My inner walls, my labia, and clit were all still hypersensitive, pulsing with blood and pleasure from my last orgasm. The simple act of Morgan entering me, my flesh yielding to his thick cock, pressing tight all around him, sent another small, quicksilver orgasm flashing through me.
Moaning, I gripped his biceps with both hands, telling him by touch what I couldn’t say in words: wait, slow down, let me cool off a little. He must have understood because, while he did start moving on top of me, it was slowly, gently, just enough to draw moans from him.
I didn’t need to say a word when I was ready. His eyes met mine, he dipped his head for a quick kiss, and then he picked up the pace of his thrusts. I clung to his arms, moved with him, and before long I was moaning continuously, a breathless, low-pitched ‘Oh’ that spurred him onward.
It started to become too much again, too intense, and I opened my mouth to tell him—and again he seemed to read my mind. He slowed down, gentle enough that I could catch my breath while he caressed my sides, breasts, and neck with his hands and lips. It was his cue to accelerate again.
I don’t know how many times we repeated the cycle. I just know that every time I thought this was it, it was too much, too intense, and still he managed to push me a little higher yet. I almost wanted him to stop, but if he had, I might have screamed and fallen apart.
I realized something then. Something so obvious that I didn’t know how I had failed to notice before: he was holding back.
From his thrusts to the way he gripped my hips, each of his movements screamed of his restraint. I had the fleeting thought of asking him to let go, to give me all he had, but I couldn’t manage a word. How could I say anything, how could I ask for more when he was already breaking my mind apart with pleasure and putting it back together with each slip and slide of his cock?
No, this was quite enough for me.
Or at least, it was enough for this time. Next time, however…
Yes, I was already hoping for a next time. How could I not when we fit so well together, when he made me feel so sexy, so special, just so damn good?
Both my hands slipped from his shoulders to the back of his head, and I pulled him down at the same time as I raised myself up. Fire burned in his eyes. Our mouths met, our tongues entwined, and that one touch was what pushed us both into a chasm of pleasure.
I had to wrench my mouth off his to cry out my joy and my orgasm—and his name. I clung to him, though, drew him tight against me, and I felt each of his quiet moans, buried against the crook of my neck, and the last of his jerky, uncoordinated thrusts as his body took over and he came inside me. His chest was still against mine, but my heart beat fast enough for the two of us.
Too soon, he rolled off me, and I made some inarticulate sounds of protest as I tried to hold on to him.
“Shh…” His voice came from a little higher on the pillows. I could feel his body alongside mine. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want to crush you.”
Being crushed was the very least of my worries right then. I half turned toward him, rubbing my cheek against his shoulder and enjoying the coolness of it.
“In a bed is a lot better,” I babbled. I knew I was babbling. I couldn’t summon enough brain cells to care. I’d just shared great sex with him. I was allowed to babble. “Not that the balcony wasn’t fun,” I continued, pressing a hand to the center of his chest where the skin was silky
smooth and pale. “It’s definitely more practical than… I don’t know. The back of a car.”
“The back of a car, hmm?” he repeated, brushing his fingers through my hair. “Are you speaking from personal experience?”
I pressed a grin against his shoulder. “I might be. Don’t tell me you’ve never had sex somewhere stranger than a balcony. I absolutely would not believe you.”
So, yes, I admit, it was a lame attempt at getting him to share about his past. It didn’t work. At all. His fingers stilled in my hair for a second before starting to comb through it again. He didn’t say anything, and I was afraid to look up to see his expression.
“Just…” I went back to safer subjects. “You’ve got to admit, a bed is a lot more comfortable.”
“It really is,” he said in a tone that conveyed that he both agreed and was humoring me.
“And you know what else?” I said, hiding a yawn behind my hand before resting it on his chest again.
“Hmm?”
“We can just… lie here. No fear of anyone walking in on us or anything.”
He caressed my forehead with his lips. “True.”
“I could even… sleep here. I mean, unless you—”
Unless he didn’t want me to, but I knew, a certainty as deep and powerful as his eyes, that he wanted me to sleep right here, next to him. And I wanted it just as much. I even felt like I needed to or something bad might happen. What a silly idea!
“Do you sleep at night?” I said instead. “You don’t, do you? I mean, vampires—”
This time, my voice didn’t shake quite as hard when I said the word. But I didn’t get to finish the thought. He shifted lower on the pillow and brushed a kiss against my lips.
“No,” he murmured, “I’m not going to sleep now. But that doesn’t mean you can’t.”
I felt his grin against my mouth more than saw it.
“Or at least,” he continued, “you could rest for a little while, until you’re ready for more. The night is still young.”
I was smiling when I closed my eyes. As light as feathers, his fingers settled on my cheek, cupping, caressing ever so gently. I drifted into sleep with that touch anchoring me to him.