Everywhere. “I don’t know…”
“Here?” He swept his thumb along the vulnerable curve of one butt cheek.
“I…” Her eyes fluttered closed as his lips bestowed a gentle kiss.
“And here?” He doled out the same treatment to the opposite cheek. She pressed her face into the pillow and nodded.
“How about here?” He ran his tongue along the path heretofore used exclusively for her thong.
“Oh my God!” Head up, both hands fisted in the sheets, she instinctively tried to roll over, but found a strong arm resting across her lower back. A second, “Oh my God,” burst from her on an explosive exhale as his tongue suddenly delved.
“Oh…oh.” The quick retreat left her reeling, then… “Ohhh. Oh lord, not again…” But yes, again. And again. And she couldn’t help it, she squirmed. She writhed. She came. Hard and sudden, with her eyes squeezed shut and a high-pitched scream stifled by the pillow. Not deeply enough to relieve the hollow ache at her core, but the kind of blissful release of pressure a woman who hadn’t had a two-person, in-the-flesh orgasm in over a year could really treasure. When the haze of pleasure cleared, she registered those wicked, wicked lips kissing their way up her spine.
They stopped at her shoulder. A head nestled in to share her pillow, fingers combed her hair back from her face, and a low, smug voice said, “What do you say, city girl. Wild enough for you here in Captivity?”
She managed to open her eyes and confirm his expression matched the tone of his voice. She managed to part her lips, too, but the only response she actually pushed from her throat was a weak moan.
That earned her the off-center smile. “No, you’re right. I withdraw the question on the grounds it’s premature. I’m not done yet kissing everything better yet.”
…
Slumberous eyes went wide and round. Dewy cheeks turned pink as rose petals. An unsteady voice panted, “Y-You’re not?”
He’d underestimated by entire universes how gratifying it would be to scratch Izzy’s itches. He could do it all day. Every day. For as long as she’d let him.
Or until the deal closes, an annoying voice in the back of his brain reminded him.
Maybe longer. Maybe after the sale, while he was serving out the transition period, he could sneak in a few trips to Los Angeles. Maybe after she made partner, she could schedule a getaway to go wild in Captivity again. Maybe once he was fully free and clear, they could split the difference and meet up in Seattle to…what? Scratch each other’s itches?
Maybe that was too much effort to ask her to expend to get an itch scratched? Maybe not, if he showed her how well he could get the job done?
A lot of maybes right there. Or possibilities, if one preferred. But he could ponder them later. Right here, right now, the woman he’d been lusting after since the moment he’d seen her come down an escalator in Anchorage was in his bed, and hell no, he wasn’t done yet. He had a pretty powerful itch as well, though he could afford to be patient. A man his size learned the value of extended foreplay early on.
Speaking of which… “I’m definitely not done yet, Izzy. Have I kissed everything better?”
Eyes still wide, and locked on him, she very purposefully rolled onto her back. He almost laughed out loud, even before she said, “I think you were more than thorough.”
Note to self—one tongue-flirting-with-her-backdoor orgasm was enough ass play for Isabelle Marcano. “I have to disagree, I’m afraid. If I followed your entertaining and inventive scenario last night correctly, I think there’s one more very important place that might need some special attention.”
Awareness darkened her eyes, made her body go lax. She licked her lips. “You don’t have to—”
“Oh, but I do.” Laughing, he kissed her argumentative mouth, delivered a preview of what he had in store for her, before continuing. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Izzy. I’ve been aching to taste your pussy since the first night I slept over in your room. And I’m willing to bet you’ve been aching to let me. Have you?” Before she could answer, he went on, “Have you been parting your legs and using that little toy you brought to get yourself off while imagining it was me down there, using my mouth?”
She colored again, which told him he’d hit a bullseye, but all she said was, “Get out of my head, sir.”
He laughed. Wound up, hard up, and high maintenance to boot, but he’d never enjoyed anyone quite like he enjoyed her. He let his gaze roam down her body and endured another blood-searing jolt of lust. He was about to enjoy even more of her.
“Izzy, it’s not your head I’m aiming to get into.” Kissing her again, he rolled onto her, straddling her hips and bracing himself on his forearms to keep from trapping her against the mattress.
Her breath hitched as he slid a hand along her waist and down her body. When he moved his mouth down her throat, she said, “You know, there’s a very uneven clothing situation happening here.” Her voice was a vibration against his lips.
He placed a kiss between her breasts, over her heart. “I’ll let you fix that”—he scooted lower to drop a kiss in the soft hollow of her stomach—“after.”
Her quick inhale and attempt to curl in on herself told him he’d reached a ticklish zone. His beard could wreak a little havoc right there. Could and did. By the time he levered an arm under each of her thighs, she’d already tangled her fingers in his hair and begged for mercy with endearing urgency. She was still catching her breath when he cupped an ass cheek in each palm, hiked her hips up, and used his whiskers between her thighs.
“No! Please no. It tickles… Oh God… I can’t…”
She could. He made sure of it. She twisted. She thrashed. She sobbed his name. And yes, she came, with her pulsing clit pinched between his lips, one foot braced on his shoulder, the heel of the other digging a line down his spine. Slender fingers pulled his hair with painfully gratifying intensity. He stayed with her this time, bringing her down gently with softer, slower strokes of his lips and tongue that let her oversensitive clit gradually calm while keeping everything else warm and wet. Testing, he swirled his tongue around her threshold, then speared into her. She groaned and arched against his face, to make the most of the penetration. So small. So tight. But also welcoming. Giving. Ready, he hoped, because he didn’t think he could wait much longer.
“Trace?”
He liked that weak, winded note in her voice. His balls liked it. His cock liked it. His mind liked knowing he’d made her sound like that. “Yes?” He kissed one shivering thigh, and then the other.
“I’ve enjoyed your mouth and tongue, but now”—she propped herself up on an elbow and looked at him—“don’t take this the wrong way, but…”