Reborn by Nicole Camden Page A

and upset to last him a lifetime. He figured it was best to just let them know early that he intended to get off and get out, though half the time that didn’t stop them from coming around the pub.
    She moved her panties aside with two fingers and all thoughts of other women floated out of Max’s head. She was pink and wet and glistening, with just a small landing strip of hair right at the top of her pussy; he wanted to taste her on his tongue.
    He did, using just the tip at first to trace her sensitive little folds. He licked deeper, using the flat of his tongue only when she moaned and shuddered. He pressed on her clit, holding his tongue hard against her until he felt her throb, then he lapped and swirled his tongue around that sweet clit until she was crying out, holding herself for his ministrations, her thighs trembling as she reached higher and ever higher for that peak.
    Just when he thought she was about to come, he pulled away and demanded, “Ride me now.”
    Her eyes flashed, just a little, and those gorgeous tits were heaving, but she did, sliding back and moving him into position. He was so hard he didn’t think he would last long; the pressure of the cock ring squeezing him, keeping him hard, had made his shaft so sensitive that the first push of her wet flesh had him gasping. He looked down, watching as she lowered herself onto him, feeling it at the same time. Her tight, wet flesh was a revelation; he’d never felt anything quite so good; she was a hot, squeezing madness, almost like the first—
    “Shit. Condom.”
    She froze. “Fuck.”
    She sat up, reaching back to the end of the bed and grabbing one of the foil packets, ripping it open with her teeth and tossing the wrapper aside.
    She was in a hurry, rolling it onto him while he cursed in about-to-come distress, and then she was on him again, and he was pressing deep inside her, and it wasn’t quite as good, but still, the sight of his dick disappearing inside her, knowing that this goddess was riding his cock, feeling the growing pressure along his shaft as he slid deeper and deeper inside her, had him cursing.
    “Fuck, ye better come now,” he demanded, “because I’m about to.”
    She ignored him, putting one hand on his chest to hold him down while she slid up and down, up . . . and then down . . . grinding herself at the end, working her tight, wet flesh with his dick, until he was chanting, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” and then she was coming, crying out and shuddering, her muscles squeezing him, making him come in an abrupt spasm of pleasure that was so intense it hurt, not ending for several moments, moments in which his chest felt as if it had seized up, as if from a fall, stunning and dismaying him as he lay beneath her.
    They were both breathing hard, bodies stuck together, when Lille started laughing.
    Max eyed her; confident that she wasn’t laughing at him and feeling amiable enough that he didn’t find her—quite—as annoying as usual. He used his hips to roll her off him. She lay on her side with her head in her hand and looked at him.
    He rattled the handcuffs impatiently and she sighed and got up to fetch the key from the nightstand, unlocking the handcuffs and setting them on the nightstand drawer. She climbed back on the bed and lay down, watching him with one hand, propping up her head.
    He rubbed his wrists and sat up, using one hand to efficiently remove his condom and drop it in the trash can next to his nightstand. He was more careful removing the cock ring. His balls felt sore and a little abused. He checked everything, very carefully, and massaged himself a little. He looked over his shoulder and glared at her, just a little.
    “I’m sore as fuck.” And he needed to piss.
    She smiled at him.
    “What?” God, he needed a damn cigarette. A piss and a cigarette and probably his head examined.
    She shrugged. “For someone who just got laid, you sure are bitchy.”
    “Bitchy.”
    “Yeah.” She wiggled her