32
Sloane
I released Abe’s wrists, preparing to be ravaged. Like our first kiss, he held my face tenderly, fingers sifting through the strands of my hair draping around us.
“We’re doing this, together,” he whispered. “No matter what.”
My answer was a slow, sincere smile that I saw reflected on his face. “Partners.”
He kissed me with an aching reverence. An adoring morning kiss, a lingering feeling, spreading a soft desire through every nerve ending in my body. When he finally pulled back, I was absolutely breathless. He wrapped my hair around his fist and tugged. Not gently. I hissed, every muscle going taut with anticipation.
“Sloane.”
“Mr. Royal.”
Another sharp tug. I moaned.
“I am past my ability to fuck sweet. Regardless of the sweet ways I feel about you.” I sighed, smiled, arched a little as his fingers kept pulling. “So if you want me to ravage your body, I am more than willing. But only if you’re —”
“Yes,” I said. “Please. Yes. Please.”
He sat all the way up and crashed our lips together. We were voracious, starved—it was a kiss without mercy, a kiss without barriers. My mouth was consumed. I could only receive the full force of his skillful lips. And they were skillful.
Abe was a man whose competence met no insurmountable barrier. He was, quite simply, the best. Holding my face still and kissing me, kissing me, kissing me, and oh god it was too good. Every moan from my lips made Abe wild.
He tore my shirt clear from my body, leaving me bare-breasted and in nothing but a scrap of underwear. He pressed his face against my skin and uttered a low string of curses that gave me goosebumps. I was on my back a second later, arms over my head, as he stood and removed the shirt he’d slept in. He was broad-shouldered with strong, muscled arms and a defined chest with gray chest-hair mixed in with the black. He flicked a crooked grin at me when he caught me staring. I retaliated by slipping free of my underwear and tossing it at his face.
Then spread my legs wide.
He growled and threw my underwear clear across the room. Dropped his face to my belly and ran his tongue to the space between my breasts. He bit my skin, sucked it between his teeth, rolled my nipples into tight, aching peaks. I cried out, wept, begged as he sucked and sucked, leaving me boneless with need. The sounds Abe made against my breast were the sounds of a man pushed to the breaking point. Only the teasing descent of his fingers down my body tethered me to earth—fingers that landed firmly on my clit.
He placed his forehead on mine and let out a shuddering, grateful breath. “Look,” he said, voice strained. Gripping his shoulders, I looked down. Saw his strong, skilled hand between my legs. Watched his index finger circle my clit once. Slowly. “I’ve been dreaming about your pussy, Sloane.”
Oh, god.
“Every fucking night,” he whispered. He began working my clit faster, more firmly. Perfect. Perfect. “And wouldn’t you know, touching you, feeling your slick skin, how hot you are here, is more beautiful than my wildest fucking dreams.”
I wanted to watch his fingers on my clit forever. And when he dropped his mouth to my ear and slipped his finger inside me, I cried out his name.
“You’re going to stay on this bed and keep these legs wide,” he growled. “And I’m going to eat your pussy until you beg me to stop. Do you understand, Ms. Argento?”
“Yes yes yes,” I said, wrenching a raspy laugh from Abe when I gave his head a little shove downward. He responded by pinning my hands down as he fell before me.
“Spread them wider,” he commanded. I complied. Eager. He took several long, hungry perusals of my naked body, splayed out before him. “I have no idea what I did to deserve this.” He dropped his face to my cunt, inhaled. Released my hands so he could grip my ass and yank me harder against his face. “To deserve a woman so gorgeous my world stopped the second I saw you.”
“Abe,” I whispered. Overwhelmed.
He licked my pussy, really licked it. Shot me a look that threatened my very existence as a cool, independent loner. The look made me want to toss everything to the wind, leap into his arms, and beg him to marry me.
“I am going to taste every inch of you, Sloane.” My legs started to shake in anticipation. He grunted, shoved my knees down hard. I wound all my fingers into his hair and forced his tongue against my eager skin.
“Are you calling the shots now?” The look on his face wasn’t angry. Not at all. I rolled my hips, rolled my clit against his mouth, and he rewarded me with a nice, long suck. Two fingers slipped back inside me, stretching, teasing, curling against my inner walls. I smiled—big, bright, happy—and let out a satisfied “thank you” that had him chuckling against me.
“I’ll let you get away with telling me what to do,” he said. “Because you’re cute as hell, and if it’s not extremely obvious, I’d do anything you asked of me.” He curled his fingers just right. An electric current went through me. He kept his fingers moving, working my pussy, as he prowled up my body, forcing my head back into the bed. His other hand gripped my face, thumb on my pulse-point. “But if I’m going to fuck you into sweet forgetting, you’re going to let me devour you.” He licked my bottom lip lightly. Caught it between his teeth—the pinch of pain was everything. “Are we clear?”
My response was to lean in. Nip his jaw. Drag a sexy, crooked grin from him. “Clear,” I purred. I lay back down like a good girl.
And I was devoured.
33
Abe
Intoxicated.
I was drunk on Sloane.
Naked, glowing skin; full, rounded breasts and her soft belly; strong thighs, pretty feet, bare neck, hair in strands of midnight chaos. The goddess was curvy and feminine, dangerously edged; the enchantress was an erotic dream, a glimpse of sexual paradise I wasn’t sure a man like me deserved. Now she was splayed out for me, a feast fit for a king, every naked inch of her available for me to obsess over.
And it felt like an obsession. Her fingers landed back in my hair; my mouth landed back on her clit, licking her in long, decadent strokes that had her body rolling and writhing on the bed. I buried my tongue inside of her, tasted honey, tasted heat, tasted sweat and salt and everything good in this world. Her legs tightened around my ears as my palms slid up her hips, her belly, cupped her breasts greedily. They spilled past my hands, voluptuous, gorgeous—I pinched her nipples harder than I intended, but her response was a raspy moan I’d be jerking off to the memory of for years to come.
I pinched them again—increased the pressure of my tongue on her clit—and she pulled on my hair. Gasped out a breathy, “Yes, Abe, oh god,” as her feet kicked my back. She was writhing, wild beneath me, and I was starving for every moan, every sigh, every indication her body offered up that was evidence of her sexual pleasure.
Beneath my mouth, her pussy was wet and hot, open and eager, her clit responsive against my tongue. I watched her face as I fluttered my tongue quickly, watched the glide of her body, the curve of her ribs, the tightening of her pink nipples. Between my own legs, my cock was heavy, rock-hard—already I was sweating from the effort it took not to grind myself to orgasm against this goddamn bed.