She ignited. She cried out as orgasm shuddered through her. As soon as she began to quake, he slipped his finger beneath the vibrating tip and rubbed her manually.
He was better than the vibrator.
Much better.
Her cry escalated to a scream that she tried her best to contain. After a pleasure-hazed moment, she realized that he’d stopped sucking on her nipple and was holding her sandwiched between both hands, one spread on her ass, palming a buttock, the other open along her belly, his reaching thumb still stroking her burning clit between her lubricated labia while she gasped and shivered.
“You’re beautiful when you come,” she heard him say.
He’d been watching her while she lost control. His thumb strummed her clit, and another shiver went through her. “Amazing,” he rasped, stroking her again ever so lightly. She rippled with pleasure and whimpered.
She felt his lips press to her belly, and his thumb moved again. It struck her that he was feeling her body tremble with his mouth. The caress felt deeply intimate, poignant . . . sacred, even.
But suddenly, his mouth and deft finger were gone and he was pushing her back gently. The vibrator was back in place, but he must have adjusted the controls. The instrument still buzzed her overly sensitive clit warmly, but with a weaker pulse.
She just stood there, breathing heavily, nerves she hadn’t even known existed throbbing and aching and tingling all over her body.
“It’s back to the game then?” she asked raggedly, striving for some levity in the midst of almost strangling sexual excitement and intimacy. She hadn’t been prepared for the latter. The patch of skin where he’d kissed her belly still burned.
She heard his rough laugh, then a slight scraping on the bed, and she knew he’d picked up the desserts again. “Yes. Back to playing. Let’s see if your little punishment increases or decreases your sense of taste.”
“What do you mean?” she asked through pants, puzzling out his words in her head. “Do you think I’ll miss because of anxiety over being . . . spanked?” she said, hesitating over that last volatile word.
“No. After watching the way you just lit up, I think you might miss because you want to be spanked again,” he growled softly. “Now open your mouth, Emma.”
* * *
She opened her mouth to protest what he’d said—she’d never been the type of person to lose at a game on purpose—but then the fork was slipping between her lips. She closed around it instinctively and moaned. The taste of a light, sweet cream filled her mouth.
It was delicious.
“This one is more complicated,” he said. “There are two fruit flavors you have to name, one obvious, one more subtle.” She had a sudden, vivid picture of him sitting on the bed, watching her with a narrow-eyed stare. Did he hope she would miss so that he could spank her again? Had he enjoyed it?
As much as she had?
She forced her attention off her graphic imagination and the mind-hazing buzz on her supersensitive clit. She focused on her mouth. Her tongue felt the round berries, her crushing teeth bursting the fresh, vibrant flavor onto her tongue.
“Blueberries,” she said before she continued to experiment with the flavors on her tongue.
“There’s another fruit. In the cream,” he prodded.
She nodded, straining to taste. The need to swallow overcame her.
“Can I have another taste?” she asked.
“No.”
She frowned at his calm, steadfast reply.
“Well then, it’s either lemon or orange.”
“Which one?”
“Lemon,” she said more confidently than she felt.
Her skin tingled as she waited. She realized her skin was damp in several places: at her inner thighs, between her breasts, and the nipple he’d sucked on so abruptly, setting her body alight. She was going to end up a pile of ashes if he kept playing with her.
“Well? Was I right?” she asked desperately. “Why are you so quiet?”