His light blue button-up hangs open at the collar, the cobalt tie unknotted and dangling around his neck. The waistcoat is a multi-colored plaid of blue, gray, and black. It would look drab on a clothes rack, but with his sapphire eyes, chiseled jaw, and grungy mess of black hair, he sells it like a trend-setting catalog model.
Jesus, he’s painfully handsome. But it’s the synergy of his commanding aura and unwavering devotion that makes him particularly effective in stealing my heart.
Instead of forcing himself in my ass or kicking me out of his life, he gave me a choice. There wasn’t a millisecond of debate in my mind. I won’t ever willingly accept anal sex, but he will never force me. My faith in that made it easy to leave him a trail of clothes.
Now that he’s here, I don’t know what to say or how to steer us back to the way things were. But I don’t have to do anything.
He crosses the room with effortless strides, frames my face in his strong hands, and brushes his lips against mine. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” My breath hiccups. “I’m so sorry.”
“Never apologize for using your word.” He kisses my mouth and eases back to look into my eyes. “Everyone has limits.”
I jerk my head. “You? What are they?”
He lowers, squatting between my legs and glides his hands down my neck. “Defecation.”
“Defe—what?”
“Scat. Feces. That’s a big fat no.”
“Oh my God, people do that?”
“Yes.” He fights a twitchy smile and wins, flattening his lips. “And bestiality. Also my limit.”
My throat convulses. “How does your mind even go there?”
“You have to ask?”
I grin. He’s a perverted, kinky man, and damn if I don’t love that about him. “Good to know you won’t be taking advantage of poor Schubert.”
He makes a disgusted face. “That was your mind going there.”
“You started it.”
He molds his hands around my waist, his thumbs tracing my hipbones. “No sharing. Ever. You’re mine. I’m yours. That is my hardest limit.”
“You’d rather I shit on you than have sex with someone else?”
“Yes.” His gaze flies to mine, the hardening blue depths cemented with a biting tone. “If another man so much as touches you, my reaction will be murderous. Remember that.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
He rises to his feet, his fingers making a descent down the front of his waistcoat, slowly releasing each button as his eyes rake over my body. “Touch yourself.”
Parting my legs, I slide a hand between my thighs. His vest drops to the floor, and my nipples tighten against the sudden flutter of excitement.
He removes the tie and unbuttons the shirt in the same unhurried fashion, seemingly content with his view of me. His head tips minutely, lips parting as his gaze follows the roll of my fingers against my clit.
I stroke softly, watching him watch me, my pulse slurring a smooth legato rhythm through my veins.
He shrugs out of the shirt sleeves, exposing curved biceps and defined pecs and abs. Then he crouches to remove his shoes and socks, never looking away. “Lie back. Widen your legs.”
I scoot toward the center, lying sideways on the mattress, and swirl my fingers over my wet folds. The sensitivity of my touch and his uninterrupted attention on me fuels a blazing fire in my core. I’m so attuned to him, to the harmony of his breaths and the subtle twitches in his hands. It comes from a habit of sexual enjoyment of his presence, and it’s solidified in the knowledge that he will never let me down.
With an economy of movement, he loosens the belt, opens his slacks, and shoves the last of his clothes to the floor. I’ve seen his rock-strong body parts in bits and pieces, but never all of him at once, fully in the buff. Sweet heaven, he gives new meaning to buff.
His cock rises up, jutting above the columns of his powerful thighs. He doesn’t touch it, doesn’t even acknowledge it as he approaches, eyes locked on mine and expression intense.
He grips my ankle and circles the mattress, dragging my legs and rotating my position until my head is near the headboard. He stops with my feet at the foot of the bed and leans forward.
The indentation of his knee on the mattress jump-starts my heart. The predatory look in his eyes stops my breath. He crawls over me, legs on the outsides of mine, prowling on hands and knees and straddling my thighs.
I expected him to wrench my legs open and shove between them, but he’s proved repeatedly he’s not like the others.
Hovering over me, he fuses his mouth to mine while his hand roves my body, stroking and fondling my chest, thighs, and pussy. His feverish tongue, heavy exhales, and devilish touches drive me breathlessly insane.
I tug at his shoulder, attempting to bring him closer. “Will you…lie on top of me? Let me feel your weight?”