“Fuck, yeah.” His thigh trembles under my palm as I slide my fingers down his silken length.
“Your turn to watch,” I whisper, my gaze crawling up the hard planes of his body.
“You’ll make me blow my load.”
Crass? Yes. Vulgar? Very. But deliciously honest and, as a visual, incredibly tempting. “I thought that was the idea.” Lowering my lips, I lick the pearly essence from his crown. I feel his groan ripple through me as I slide him into the heat of my mouth.
He curses again as I start to move.
There is a feeling of such power in his trembling and the sounds he makes, and in the staccato rhythms of his praise.
Like silk—
You look—
Amazing.
Please—
Suck
Jesus fuck.
His hands tighten in my hair, and I groan, the vibration making him convulse. As I swirl and suck, the taste and musk of him drive me on. At least, until he’s pulling me to my feet and we’re tumbling onto the bed. My fingers tremble as I press them to his abs, every inch of me pulsing and tingling. I’m filled with such a ferocity of feeling for him I almost don’t realise he’s pulling me higher. I press my palm to the centre of his chest and push the hair from my face. I’m straddling him? But not there—not over his hips—but kind of higher.
“Shuffle up, little love. It’s time for another visual.”
“I think—”
“Yeah, less of that. Come here.”
“You want me to? Really?” That I sound utterly unconvinced seems to mean nothing to him.
“Is that even a question? I want you, and yes, I’m really trying to get you to sit on my face? Fuck, yeah.” I gasp, kind of scandalised, as a jagged bolt of desire shoots through my insides. Eyes kind of intense and his head at the wrong end of the bed, Roman gives a deep exhale. “See this cock?” he says, his expression all sexy and serious. Sexily serious? And dammit, I actually glance, glance down between my legs and watch his cock bounce kind of eagerly. “Eyes up here.” My cheeks sting at the reminder, but my eyes meet his again. “That is how much I want you to sit on my face. Take hold of the bed.” There’s a husky command to his tone, his fingers digging into my hip bones as he tries to pull me higher.
“Roman, I’m not sure.”
“If you don’t like it, we can stop.” I sense discomfort flickers across my face. “Or you can just suffocate me,” he adds, all confidence and daring. I open my mouth to reply that he shouldn’t tempt me when he adds, “But I think you might only hate how much you love it.”
“You are so full of yourself.”
He shrugs. “Make me full of you instead.” He lifts my hand, pressing a kiss to it. It’s such a courtly gesture compared to what he says next. “Come on, little love. Come ride my face.”
He yanks me closer, and I fall forward with a gasp. But thoughts of propriety are secondary to stability as I grasp the brass bedrail. I’m stiff with resistance, oh, for at least two heartbeats, when I feel his hot breath like a caress between my legs.
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Oh, God.” I buck, my insides turn molten at the first brush of his tongue, and Roman takes the opportunity to hum his satisfaction into the core of me. The sensation robs me of speech. But I can make noise. And I do. And I can move as I arch my back, allowing pleasure to ripple through me.
I curse and spew a litany of profanity because he was right. I hate how much I love this as he peels me open like a flower, as he licks into the very centre of me, as his tongue, fingers, and lips deliver such seducing wickedness. The sounds we make together are nothing short of porn worthy. Slick and sexy, wet and sort of groan-y and growly. I beg, and I plead as Roman’s tongue drives me to the brink of insanity.
Sucking and licking, finger-fucking. As I throw back my head, I catch a glimpse of myself in the armoire mirror. No book, no words could ever do this sight justice. We are a painting lifted from the pages of the Kama Sutra. We are timeless, ancient, and sacred. And I am undone as a wave of pleasure wrecks me, drowns me. Pulls me under.
I know nothing else until I sense Roman climbing over me, his lips shining with my wetness in the muted light. I bite back a groan, aftershocks of pleasure spiking through my insides as his tongue darts out to lick his top lip.
“What?” How can one word sound both arrogant and amused? I guess it’s a talent unique to him.
I shrug, still staring at his mouth but not willing to part with my thoughts. But heck, I just rode the man’s face. What’s another little lewdness? “I was just thinking how beautifully obscene your mouth is.” I’m surprised at how hoarse my voice sounds.