Flamingo Fugitive (Supernatural Bounty Hunters 5) by E A Price Page B

good time; I don’t want you to pretend.  If you’re not happy I want to know, so that I can try harder.  If you’re not drowning in pleasure, then I want to know so that I can… can…
    “Throw me overboard?” she supplied, dryly.
    “Try harder.”
    “I don’t think you can get much harder ,” she muttered as he grabbed her hand and pulled her along. 
    Screw it!  She thought.  If he wants to exhaust himself giving her pleasure, why on earth was she standing in his way?  Hell, she was just going to go with the flow.
    They fell rather than climbed onto the bed.  He pressed her down into the mattress.  His big hands ran along her body, hungrily exploring every inch, igniting nerve endings and sending a sizzling heated path of pleasure wherever he touched.
    She pushed herself against him, but he wouldn’t be hurried.  He simply smiled and continued his determined yet gentle ministrations.  His fingertips and lips traced her thighs, her hips, and over the slight swell of her belly before cupping, kneading and suckling her breasts one at a time.  She mewled and bit her lip; electric shock waves shot straight to her sex.  Between his kisses, he murmured at her beauty, stammering words, not poetic, honeyed words, but base words about how sexy and gorgeous she was.  Fuck poetry, who needed it when you had a god of a man to make love to you?
    Francine let out a choked gasp as he licked her drenched sex.  She clutched at the covers as he suckled her clit into his mouth.  His fingers dug into his thighs as he sent heavenly sensations running through her body.  He didn’t rush; he wasn’t impatient, and he seemed to be testing her, teasing her in different ways to see which one made her coo the most.  If she was silent, he tried something else, if she squeaked in delight, he grinned and did it again.  He seemed to be trying to learn her body.  Although this involved a lot of joy on her part, it also involved a lot of frustration.  She would actually find herself coiling and reaching for release, she would move her hips against him, murmuring the word please over and over and then… he would stop.  He would chuckle every time she called him a bastard.  Through his slow and testing movements, he had her teetering on the edge repeatedly, but each time he stopped before she reached it.  Francine wondered for a moment if this was some kind of way to exert power over her, getting her close over and over – in a way few men had been able to.  But it didn’t feel that way.  And her flamingo sensed no danger.  The frisky bird was wallowing in the feelings he elicited. 
    Stone thrust his tongue in and out of her opening and pressed his thumb against her clit.  She moaned, throatily.  Her body started tensing, her toes curled, and she jerked against him.  She waited for the inevitable moment when he would draw away, but it never came.  He stroked in and out of her sex and began almost roughly pinching her nub.
    This wasn’t about him.  It was about her .  He wanted to make her feel good, and the more he delayed her climax, the better it would be.  The heat inside her spiraled until she thought she was going to explode, until finally, a violent orgasm raced through her, making every inch of her shudder and her back arch off the bed.  She and her animal gasped in unbelievable ecstasy.  She didn’t scream or cry out; she gasped.  The greatest orgasm she had ever received, and she gasped?   It felt inadequate somehow.  There should have been fireworks – well, there were, but they were all inside her.
    She lay back and accepted Stone with open arms as he crawled over her body.  He nudged between her thighs and slowly pushed inside her.  She wrapped her arms around him as he rocked in and out of her.  She couldn’t get close enough to him.  She hooked her ankles around his back and started kissing his cheek, his mouth, his neck – kissing everything she could reach.
    They made love, slowly