Personal Assistant by Cara North Page B

her gaze waiver from his. He kissed the tip
of her nose and she gasped. His lips moved quickly to her throat, her ear. He
settled his hips between her thighs and let the weight of his body press
against her. Frankie’s hands slid around his back, up to his shoulders. She
tried to kiss, lick, nip him any and everywhere possible. The taste of his
flesh delighted her tongue. The scent of his body permeated her senses, forever
marking his place.
            His
hands unclasped the bra, pulled it as he shifted lower. His fingers slid across
her skin until he caught each nipple between his thumbs and forefingers. Her
sharp intake of breath spurred him on. He rolled the taught nipples and then
let one loose as his mouth covered it. Hot. Wet. Insistent. His tongue flicked, his teeth scraped. Frankie was lifting into him, pulling
his head down to her. The switch happened quickly, he latched on to the other
one and her mind officially checked out as her clit and all things associated
with reaching orgasm checked in.
            Her
hands were everywhere. His mouth moved and more of his body shifted out of
reach as he slid even further down her body. His tongue dipped into her navel.
His fingers looped the sides of her underwear and pulled them lower.
            “Damn,
you smell good.”
            She
had to admit, no one had said that before. She wasn’t opposed to her own scent.
She never heard any complaints either, but no one had ever out right said it.
 She could not see straight in the next moment. His lips moved, kissing
her there as she had only dreamed of him kissing her actual lips. Her reasons
for not letting him began to blur in her mind. He inserted a long finger and
her back arched to improve the angle.
            He
was there, on the spot, another finger slid into her body and she was gone. His
tongue kept pace, his angle just right inside of her, rubbing everything
perfectly. He found it this easy by accident, but he had the sense to do what
was working and not try to change it up until she was done. She wasn’t sure if
she yelled, cried, stood up and danced a jig, all she knew was the tension in
her body wound until finally, it broke. She broke, her orgasm stripped her
bare, tore her apart and he slowly stitched her back together again. He didn’t
stop, he yielded, slowed down just enough to let her breathe, hear his name on
her lips, then knowing the right rhythm the right moves, he launched a new
assault and made her come all over again. Not as powerful as the first, but no less
pleasurable.
            She
needed to catch her breath, she needed to get her hands on some part of his
body, she wanted to give him a fraction of what he
just gave her. He didn’t move.
            “Jonas,”
she panted. She pushed at his head and he lifted long enough to look at her. He
wiped his mouth on her thigh, placed a kiss there. The stubble on his cheek
scraped her sensitive skin.
            “Yes?”
He looked at her pussy, not her face.
            “Don’t
you want to… ”
            “No,”
he said.
            Her
break was over. He pushed his fingers into her, settled his tongue on her
overly sensitive clit and tormented her by bringing her to the brink, easing
off, pulling her back, letting go. She was getting furious from the
frustration.
            “Oh, fuck, me.” She said it but didn’t mean it in the get
up here and actually fuck sense of the phrase. “Jonas, stop torturing me or I
swear I will get you ba …”
            He
pulled it from her body as easily as pulling a thread from a sweater. She
unraveled there around him. Boneless, tired. He must have been satisfied as he
climbed up her body and pulled at her hips motioning her to roll over.
            She
rolled and lifted to her knees.
            “Condom.” He knew she had seen the box earlier when she
fetched his glasses.
            She
reached for the drawer, her