“Strip me,” she told him and couldn’t find a shred of embarrassment at how easily she fell into this role.
He didn’t hesitate. In one second, the baby doll top hit the floor and then he eased her back onto the mattress between his legs. He watched her as he hooked the waistband of her thong and pulled it free from one leg, then the other.
“Please tell me the next thing you want me to do is spend a lot of time pleasuring you,” he said, and the look on his face…pure heat and carnal intent. “Because I can’t see you like this without wanting to taste you.”
“Yes. That. I want that.”
“I need to move you. Is that okay?”
She nodded and he slid his hands under her buttocks to maneuver her to the edge of the bed. Then he dropped to the floor on his knees between her legs, kissing her quivering thighs. Why she couldn’t control the shakes, she didn’t know.
“Shh. Relax,” he murmured. “I’m just going to touch you.”
He did exactly and only that, running his hands up her legs to her stomach. But he never tried to hold her down, never made any quick movements. It was costing him, though. She could see the restraint in the lines around his eyes. He was holding back for her. The effort he’d undertaken, the patience, the sheer magnitude of what he’d done—continued to do—overwhelmed her.
After an eternity of bliss that nearly made her weep, he spread her legs, opening her up. “Stop me if I do anything that bothers you.”
He waited until she nodded again. And then his tongue circled her fevered center and she could do nothing but mewl. The harder he licked, the better it got, until her body was bucking against his mouth, silently begging for more. He gave it to her, somehow sensing that she didn’t have the words. It was too big, too amazing, too much, too little. His fingers stroked her in places she didn’t know were erogenous zones, and his tongue hit spots over and over that made her body sing.
Frenzied and feeling like her skin was going to incinerate, she babbled something but had no clue what she’d told him to do. Whatever it was must have done the trick, though, because he lapped harder and twisted his fingers through her center, splitting her apart. The orgasm tensed her whole body and she came in a rush of a release, crying out his name.
So that’s what all the fuss was about.
He let her come down, backing off immediately to lie next to her on the bed, not touching her at all. She stared at him, her chest heaving, and wished she had something to give him. A medal. A plaque maybe.
“I’ve never had an orgasm that way before,” she said, instead of the gush of things in her heart that sounded mushy and blubbery and not at all the kind of thing a woman said to a man she’d married for a green card.
His brows raised. “Seems like you’re a natural at it, then.”
She laughed. “That was all you.”
“I had good instructions.”
Yes. She had a knack for it. Who knew? “Am I still calling the shots?”
“Of course. If you’re done, you say so and get up and leave. Or stay here and sleep in my bed, and I’ll go someplace else. This is your fantasy.”
None of this added up and she was insanely curious about the million-dollar question that she should have asked a long time ago. “Why? Why on earth would you do all of this?”
“What, let a gorgeous, sexy woman do a strip tease for me and then indulge myself in the extreme pleasure of watching her in the throes of an orgasm I gave her? Yeah, that is a mystery. I must be crazy to have signed up for that.”
“Stop. You did it for me, not you.”
“That’s the secret, Tilda. It was good for both of us.”
More secrets, and that one was her favorite so far. The distance between them was too much, and she inched closer, linking their hands together, which was nice. “But you’re still…you know. Not done.”
“Oh, no. Far from it. I can go for hours and hours still, but as discussed, this is your show to run. I’m just here for the party favors.”
“Then I’m not done, either. But here’s the thing.” She hesitated, because how was she supposed to tell him that, while she appreciated having ultimate control, she was nowhere near experienced enough to know how to please him? And she wanted to. So much. He deserved to be treated like a king. “Can we be cohosts of this party?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cohosts. The phrase shouldn’t make him smile, not when everything inside ached with so much unrequited need that Warren couldn’t stand to be in his own skin. Her thumb stroked over his knuckles and he’d never have said that would be a turn-on, but pretty much anything Tilda did got him hotter than July, so it shouldn’t have been such a shock.