by Winston, Meg
She blinked fast and fluttery. "That was…perfect." She snaked her hands free, curled them around his throat to pull him in for a languid kiss to prove her point. "Yes." He beamed. "Now will there be sex?" * * * * He rolled them over in a heartbeat. Held her wrist over her head with one hand and fought with the last of her corset hooks with the other, tasting her as he went. Smacked his lips after an experimental lick of the curve of her breast, then settled in to worship properly, losing himself in the soft line of cleavage, testing the weight and give of her fleshy swells in his big, broad hands. Breasts this good really should be a religion. She whimpered when his tongue flicked over the stiff, sensitive nub of her nipple. If he called her on it, she'd deny it, of course, but he knew a whimper when he heard one, so he held the thrill of accomplishment it sparked to himself and did it again to prove his point. Wondered when he'd learn to play her body properly, where to touch, how to taste, to make her beg.
The taste of her caught him off-guard. Peaches and salt and something he didn't want to define, so he just called it Cat and moved the hell on. In his player days, he'd have gone straight for home plate because by this point, foreplay was extraneous, but it was Cat and damn it, he wanted more of the whimpering. Well, he wanted things he wasn't sure the human body could do without chiropractic assistance later, but he'd settle for the whimpering.
So he set about exploring her properly, and if it took his tongue to do it, so be it. * * * * Drew could talk her to orgasm. Hell, he could probably look her to orgasm, the way he was going, but between his wicked tongue and his knowing hands, she melted. Though how she'd ever tell anyone how he'd proposed without turning into a human cranberry was beyond her.
As was the rest of his game plan, because he avoided the standard erogenous zones and mapped out new ones. Licked and kissed and sucked and teased everywhere but where she was dying for his touch, and the more she protested, the more he evaded. Like it was funny that she'd gone pliant and needy. Someday, she swore, she'd cuff him up and return the favor. "I won't beg," she said, gritting her teeth and squirming against him to ease some of the ache between her thighs. He snickered and did something unholy to her navel. Oh, God, she was panting.
He looked up long enough to say "Sure you will," and wink, then reapplied himself to his task until he proved it. He lifted off her, which seemed like progress, so she spread her legs and clenched her quim in anticipation of his thick erection sliding inside. Found herself flipped onto her stomach instead and felt his tongue drag along her spine, his hands kneading her ass. She winced at the dough references floating through her mind, then gasped when he bit. Begged again. "Andrew, now. Please, God, now." He chuckled again, laved his tongue over the bite, then moved on to
do it again on the other side. "Every inch of you," he said. "I own you, Wild Cat. Get used to it." Then his fingers stroked the crease of her pussy lips gently, tracing the slick he'd created, spreading it like lotion, his touch reverent. Gentle. Loving, and when she spread for him, it was her way of loving him back. Submission didn't come easily but if that's what he wanted, she'd try.
He fucked her first on his fingers, curling them to stroke her G-spot with feather-light touches, his thumb angled to hit her clit while his mouth claimed her back, her spine, her sides, her hips, whatever he found in his rambling, twisting exploration. When he turned her over again, she didn't say a word, just reclined and let him have whatever access he wanted.
Before he touched her wet, aching sex again, he pressed soft kisses to her inner thighs, marking his passage. She clawed at the headboard, scrambling for purchase before his tongue made contact and she forgot to breathe. She barely managed. Whimpered again when his tongue dragged over the crease of her
lower lips, teasing and toying like intimate, mischievous kiss. Drew marked his possession there, too, with quick light laps and broad sweeps that mapped her labia. Quick flicks of blunted tongue tip working over her clit, dipping into her creamy quim.
Cat had her fingers twined in his hair, fisting it impatiently before she was even aware she'd let go of the headboard. He stopped what he was doing and looked up at her, face shiny with her juice. "Hands over your head, Catharine. Don't rush this." "Then stop playing with me." One brow hiked high on his forehead. "You're not enjoying this?" "I want you inside me," she said. "I want to feel you come." He half laughed, half choked. "Well, when you put it that way…" Then he was over her properly, his hard body covering hers, rubbing everywhere as he positioned his erection at her entrance. Pushed in a little and hissed out a breath between gritted teeth. She hooked her legs over his, stroked his calves with her feet, his thighs with hers, desperate to touch him any way she could. With her hands out of commission, that was harder than she wanted, but there wasn't much she wouldn't do for Drew Benedict, so she kissed whatever she could reach of his face, lips, chin, cheek, nose, anything just to touch. Tasted herself when she did and didn't mind. He slid in slowly, stretching her, stroking her sides, kissing her throat. Which moved him out of kissing range, but with his cock inside her at long bloody last, she could live with it. Another perfect fit, which didn't surprise her in the slightest. She gnawed her lip as he pushed deeper, held his gaze when it met hers so he'd see everything she couldn't say. How wonderful he felt, how much she wanted him in deep forever. She didn't cry over sex, not after, not during, but if he stayed this sweet, she thought she just might. Because this…this wasn't just sex.
His hands gripped her waist—had she had one—and he flexed his hips, a single hard thrust that filled her. She moved into him, urged him on, and groaned when he withdrew. Groaned again at his next thrust. "Okay?" She nodded. "More." "That I can do." He switched angles, altered pace, building the pleasure but never
enough to satisfy completely. "Clit tease," she whispered, which had him reaching down to circle his thumb over her button. She ground in and tried to ride the sensation to release, clamping down on his cock to hold him in, undulating to follow him when he pulled back. "You love it." "I'd love it more if you'd stop playing. Fuck me, Drew. Hard. Please?" Heat crept up her face at the directness, so at odds with the mood he'd set, but he'd drawn it out too much, played too long.
"Is that a complaint?" He hiked a brow. Kissed her, then grinned. Which bloody did it. She rolled them both and rode him, setting the pace she wanted. Took him deeper this way and did it just as hard and fast as she needed. When she leaned over him, hands planted on the headboard to hold herself steady, the head of his cock rubbed against the flexing walls of her pussy, bumping and teasing enough to make her wind on him to spread the stretch. "You squirt when you come, Wild Cat?"
Her breath hitched. She sped up, chased the orgasm tantalizingly out of reach, and sought his smart mouth to shut him up. Her breasts swayed with each move, the hardened tips rubbing lightly against his chest, sending shivers straight to her sex that quivered her inner muscles. She'd never felt this connected, this aware of her own body and its potential for pleasure, but it still wasn't enough. God, how frustrating. Surely if they hadn't stopped for…if he'd just…
"If you lean back, we'll find out," he said, the wildness in his eyes at odds with the calm tone.
"Son of a…" Her breath ran out before she could finish. "Drew…" Even to her own ears, his name sounded needy. Half prayer, half profanity. Her body strained for release, her pulse a rush in her ears. He snapped his hips, drove in hard and deep, unrelenting until she matched his pace. Any second, she'd come. She just knew it. Could hardly stand the wait. As it built to a peak, he slowed. Winked when she swore. "I like you this way." His smile was entirely too smug, so she grazed that sensitive spot beneath his ear with her teeth until he swore, too. "Hellcat."
Damp heat hung in the air, coated them both with the sheen of musk and sex and sweat. Everywhere they touched, they did with delicious friction, dragging animal sounds from her throat."Bloody tease."
"Patient," he corrected. Rolled her beneath him again, guided her legs up around his hips, and filled her again, his
cock rubbing over her gspot as he did. She shuddered. Panted. "There we go."
Oh, God. She was going crazy and he sounded chipper. The cuffs might limit what she did with her hands but she could grip his hair just fine, so she did. "Fuck. Me. Now."
Then he was, his thrusts at perfect rhythm for her clenching sex, triggering her. "Come for me, sweetheart." She did. Broke with the force of it, pulse skittering, breath erratic, vision graying as her orgasm pushed through the tension of her body to swamp her in burning, pulsing pleasure.
He nuzzled her, pressed light kisses and let her ride out the sensation. Eyed her speculatively while she tremored with light aftershocks. "Are you a multiples girl?" She rolled her eyes. Snuggled in to him. "I love you," she said, and this time, he laughed. Did the only thing
possible under the circumstances… He unlocked her cuffs.
About the Author
Meg Winston collects speeding tickets, coffee cups, and characters. She's single because none of the men in her life match the men in her head. She's deliriously happy. Don't tell her cat.
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