My pulse races. The role-play is over, but the night is just beginning. “Thank you,” I say, grateful he’s taken the lead. I don’t want to at all.
He brushes his thumb along my cheekbone. “No, thank you,” he corrects, then steps back and drops to his knees.
Wow. Just wow.
I shudder.
This handsome, stern, older man is on his knees before me, pushing up my skirt, spreading my thighs and roaming his hands along my legs. “I need to see how much you want me.” He pauses to lock eyes with me. “Show me.”
I gulp, but it’s from the thrill of his command. I widen my legs a little more.
He shakes his head. “Don’t be shy. Hike up your skirt. Put your hands on your thighs and spread them for me.”
I comply, tugging up the stretchy material, then parting my thighs.
My reward is the animalistic groan that rips from his throat. “Fuck, honey, you’re so wet for me.”
“I am,” I say breathily as he stares at my soaked panties.
He presses a kiss to my knee then journeys languidly up my flesh. Is he going to start his orgasm marathon by going down on me? I don’t think I’d object.
But he stops when he reaches the middle of my thigh. He looks up, stands, and offers me a hand.
I don’t know what we’re doing. And I don’t know if I trust any man, but I might trust him a little since his want is so clear. His actions spell out his wishes. He’s dirty and honest, and the combo is heady.
He cups my face, rough again like he was at The Scene. “I’ve wanted to worship your body since I met you.”
I tremble. “Really?”
“Yes. This is what I’ve wanted to do since that first night.”
It seems so impossible. “You did?” I sound doubtful. I know I do. But I don’t know how to sound any other way.
His eyes hold mine fiercely. “When you walked into the mansion, I could tell things about you instantly,” he says, dipping his face, kissing my neck, adoring my throat, making me melt.
“Like what?” I ask in between his caresses.
“You’re sensual. You’re in tune with your body.”
Me? In tune with my body? He has it all wrong. “I don’t know if that’s true,” I say, skeptical.
He nods, firm and decisive, as he meets my eyes again. “I see it in the way you play piano with your whole being. The way you dress, like you’re becoming the character. I knew you were the kind of woman who craved pleasure even if you didn’t know it.”
I’m warm everywhere. I’m…adored. I’m understood. After years of being shut down, I’m a flower opening to the sun, my petals spreading.
“That’s what you like? Giving pleasure?” I ask, still stunned that his kink isn’t role-play. It’s…making me come. This is like answering the job interview question what’s your biggest weakness with I work too hard.
He answers with a carnal yes, then says, “Let me show you.”
I’m woozy already. As he unbuttons my shirt, my mouth waters.
As he unzips my bunched-up skirt, my skin sizzles.
As I step out of my clothes, I feel like I’m coming alive.
And then, for one terrible moment, I think about where I am, who I’m with, and how this will never last.
It’s not supposed to last. Just enjoy your illicit one-night affair.
This man wants nothing but to make me feel good, so I take it, lying back on his bed as he slides off my heels.
Slowly, setting the pace, he undoes his shirt as I watch. He’s strong, with defined abs, muscular arms, and a smattering of chest hair. Plus, that happy trail makes me very happy.
Quickly, he takes off his socks and shoes. With only slacks on, he joins me on the bed, turning me toward him and dropping his mouth to mine. His hand is on my face, and I feel like I’m melting into this heady, lust-drunk world as he kisses the corner of my mouth then flicks his tongue across my lips. His kisses are sensual and lingering. They’re brushes of his mouth, teases of his lips, a lovely promise of incandescent pleasure.
He doesn’t break the kiss, even as he lets go of my face. His hand travels down my body, over my breasts, across my belly to my panties. His fingers slide inside the lace, and he groans as he touches my wetness. I’m slick and hot for him.
Outrageously aroused.
He strokes me while kissing me, but he’s in no rush. He takes his sweet time but doesn’t try to finger fuck me. He just caresses my clit with nimble fingers, drawing dizzying circles that make me pant and moan. He’s somehow controlling me with his mouth, lavishing me with druggy, heady kisses that send me spinning with lust. I arch my hips, seeking out his hand, rubbing shamelessly against him.
“Yes, fucking yes,” he says, his voice husky as I grind against his hand.
I’m panting, and I swear my orgasm is coming into view when he stops, ending the kiss abruptly too.
What?
I whimper. “I was so close. Why did you…?” I stop, coming to my senses. This is his MO—edging.
And I’m squirming.
The fucker.
He takes my hand, brings it to his slacks, and presses it against his straining cock. “This is what you did to me that night. You’re too fucking tempting. This is what you do to me every goddamn night,” he adds like he’s angry at me for being alluring. I like this angry energy. A lot. “I’ve been jerking off to you every night.”
God, the images. The fantastic images of his hand shuttling along his cock. Am I having an out-of-body experience? It sure feels like it. “You have?”
“Yes,” he says, then brings his fingers to his lips and sucks them off one at a time, moaning with each deliberate lick. “Fuck, you’re sweet.”
I’m also empty. I want his hand. His tongue. His cock. But should I say that?
I wait for him to go next. I don’t know the rules of one-night stands.
With mischief in his eyes, he asks, “You wanted to come so badly just now, didn’t you?”
I nod, speaking truthfully. “I did.”
“You were so close.” He sounds diabolical.
“I was,” I murmur, wishing he would let me.
He reaches for my right breast, squeezing it through the lace, making me gasp. “But I bet you’d like coming on my face,” he says, then quickly unhooks my bra.
I shudder. “I bet I would too.”
He moves like lightning between my legs, grabbing at my lace panties and sliding them off. “Fuck,” he says, staring at my pussy. “You’re so pretty.”
All I can do is nod. I can’t speak. My throat is parched with want.
“So wet for me,” he says, spreading me open.
“I am,” I say, and I’m in a sex trance.
Seems he is, too, gazing wantonly at me. But not for long. Sliding his hands under my ass, he pulls me close to his face and blows out a hot breath on me. I’m so vulnerable here, naked in the arms of a man I hardly know. But I like not knowing him. I like that we have no history. We have only our shared desires, comprised solely of lust as his lips press hungrily against my wetness.
“Oh, god.”
“Fuck my face,” he urges, scooping me closer, tugging me against his stubbled jaw and devouring me.
He’s not gentle. He’s not sweet. He’s voracious as he kisses me like he’s starving. I am his meal as he licks and flicks and eats, drawing my greedy clit into his mouth then sucking, driving me wild with pleasure. I grind and rock like he commanded me to do.