but the tenderness doesn’t discount the fact that I’m marking her. Leaving a trail on her breasts, on her body, that even a blind man could see.
The trail stops at the waistband of her skirt and suddenly even that small scrap of material is too much of a barrier. I want to see all of her—her stomach, her ass, her gorgeous sex, wet with desire. With need. For me and what we’re doing together.
I shove her skirt down, help her lift her legs through it, one at a time. And then it’s off and she’s standing there in front of me, wearing nothing but a pair of black peep-toe stilettos, fishnet stockings, and the line of bruises that I gave her.
She’s the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.
Her eyes are still closed, her head turned so that her hot cheek is resting against the cool glass. Her hands are pressed flat against the window but her back is arched, her breasts on erotic display.
I drop to my knees in front of her, press hot, open-mouthed kisses down her stomach and over her abdomen until I come to her sex. I want to bury my face there again, to breathe the spicy-sweet scent of her into my lungs, into my soul. To lick her to orgasm a second time. A third time.
It’s too tempting a thought to resist, and I lean forward, lick a stripe up the center of her sex.
Her eyes open for a moment, just a moment, and I can see her sinking even further into the abyss. It’s a gorgeous sight, one I don’t even try to resist. Instead I turn my head, bite sharply at the inside of her thigh.
This time she doesn’t cry out. She doesn’t jolt, doesn’t jump, doesn’t do anything but spread her legs a little more.
I take instant advantage of the access, thrusting my tongue deep inside her once again. And then I’m circling, stroking, sliding in and out of her sex as I relish each strangled cry, each shiver she can’t control.
It doesn’t take long before she’s balanced on the edge again. I know it won’t take much, a flick of my tongue, a press of my thumb, a slow, hot breath against her clit, to send her over.
And so I pull away, sit back on my heels. And wait several, long excruciating seconds for her to come down from the edge.
“Sebastian?” she asks after a minute or so, her voice husky, broken and so, so hot.
“I’m here, baby.” I stroke over her hip, down her thigh, then slip a hand between her and the window so that I can cup her ass. She relaxes at my touch, melting into it even as fine tremors continue to shake her body.
Her response shakes me, ratchets up my already unbearable need right to the breaking point. My own hands are trembling, my heart pumping like a piston and for too long, all I can think about is lifting her up, wrapping her legs around my waist and slamming into her. Slamming home.
But there’s more I want to do to her, more I need to do before I’ll let either of us come.
It’s that thought that grounds me, that helps me regain the control I’m so desperately close to losing.
And then I’m sliding my hand down the curve of her ass, slipping my thumb between her cheeks to rest against her anus. She gasps a little, but doesn’t pull away, and so I begin to stroke her gently, firmly. My other hand is on her breast now, squeezing her nipple between my thumb and forefinger.
I lean forward, bury my face in her sex and just breathe her in for long moments. But she’s restless, tense, her whole body stretched taut on the razor’s edge between desperation and satisfaction. I know I should send her over, should put her out of her misery, but I’m not ready for it to end yet. Not when she looks so good, feels so good. And not when I want to see how much higher I can take her.
I lick my way along her labia, relishing the way she presses her hips forward in a silent plea for more. In answer, I thrust my tongue and my thumb inside her at the same time.
She gasps, starts to fall forward, but I hold her in place with the hand I have resting on her breastbone. Hold her still so
The trail stops at the waistband of her skirt and suddenly even that small scrap of material is too much of a barrier. I want to see all of her—her stomach, her ass, her gorgeous sex, wet with desire. With need. For me and what we’re doing together.
I shove her skirt down, help her lift her legs through it, one at a time. And then it’s off and she’s standing there in front of me, wearing nothing but a pair of black peep-toe stilettos, fishnet stockings, and the line of bruises that I gave her.
She’s the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.
Her eyes are still closed, her head turned so that her hot cheek is resting against the cool glass. Her hands are pressed flat against the window but her back is arched, her breasts on erotic display.
I drop to my knees in front of her, press hot, open-mouthed kisses down her stomach and over her abdomen until I come to her sex. I want to bury my face there again, to breathe the spicy-sweet scent of her into my lungs, into my soul. To lick her to orgasm a second time. A third time.
It’s too tempting a thought to resist, and I lean forward, lick a stripe up the center of her sex.
Her eyes open for a moment, just a moment, and I can see her sinking even further into the abyss. It’s a gorgeous sight, one I don’t even try to resist. Instead I turn my head, bite sharply at the inside of her thigh.
This time she doesn’t cry out. She doesn’t jolt, doesn’t jump, doesn’t do anything but spread her legs a little more.
I take instant advantage of the access, thrusting my tongue deep inside her once again. And then I’m circling, stroking, sliding in and out of her sex as I relish each strangled cry, each shiver she can’t control.
It doesn’t take long before she’s balanced on the edge again. I know it won’t take much, a flick of my tongue, a press of my thumb, a slow, hot breath against her clit, to send her over.
And so I pull away, sit back on my heels. And wait several, long excruciating seconds for her to come down from the edge.
“Sebastian?” she asks after a minute or so, her voice husky, broken and so, so hot.
“I’m here, baby.” I stroke over her hip, down her thigh, then slip a hand between her and the window so that I can cup her ass. She relaxes at my touch, melting into it even as fine tremors continue to shake her body.
Her response shakes me, ratchets up my already unbearable need right to the breaking point. My own hands are trembling, my heart pumping like a piston and for too long, all I can think about is lifting her up, wrapping her legs around my waist and slamming into her. Slamming home.
But there’s more I want to do to her, more I need to do before I’ll let either of us come.
It’s that thought that grounds me, that helps me regain the control I’m so desperately close to losing.
And then I’m sliding my hand down the curve of her ass, slipping my thumb between her cheeks to rest against her anus. She gasps a little, but doesn’t pull away, and so I begin to stroke her gently, firmly. My other hand is on her breast now, squeezing her nipple between my thumb and forefinger.
I lean forward, bury my face in her sex and just breathe her in for long moments. But she’s restless, tense, her whole body stretched taut on the razor’s edge between desperation and satisfaction. I know I should send her over, should put her out of her misery, but I’m not ready for it to end yet. Not when she looks so good, feels so good. And not when I want to see how much higher I can take her.
I lick my way along her labia, relishing the way she presses her hips forward in a silent plea for more. In answer, I thrust my tongue and my thumb inside her at the same time.
She gasps, starts to fall forward, but I hold her in place with the hand I have resting on her breastbone. Hold her still so
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