I nod, twining my fingers with his when he takes my hand, and he leads me up the steps. Lamps glow on either side of the bed, and the soft music has followed us, playing faintly in here, too.
He touches my face, running his knuckle over my cheekbone. “You’re beautiful, Neevah. It wasn’t the first thing I noticed about you, and it’s not the most important, but I want you to know.”
I reach up and brush my fingertips across the fullness of his lips. “And every time I make you smile, I feel like I’ve conquered the world.”
His eyes, heated and hungry, slide over me, from the crown of my head to my open-toe shoes. “Then make me smile.”
I’ve been waiting for this moment, but now that it’s here, I’m unsure where to start.
Does she hold nothing back?
Canon said he asked himself that question when he saw me perform in Splendor, and I know. The first thing I’ll do is give him everything.
My fingers find the tie of the halter at my neck, tugging until the top of the dress loosens and falls. The swell of my hips and ass anchors the dress on my body, but my torso—shoulders, stomach, breasts—is naked in the dim light.
With his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, Canon drags a finger across my collarbone, over the curve of my shoulder, down my arm to link our fingers. Tugging me closer, he looks down at me for long seconds. Not at my breasts, tight and heaving with anticipation, but into my eyes, and it makes me feel more exposed than the coolness of the air kissing my skin. I’m glass to him, he said, and he searches my eyes like he’s peering into my head, turning my soul over in his hands. I don’t even want to think about what he sees in my heart.
Just as I’m not sure I can bear the scrutiny anymore without his touch, he dips to kiss one nipple. My head drops back, exposing the line of my neck. He still holds one hand, and I tighten my grip on his fingers, needing the support to stand as his lips close around the tip, his teeth scraping gently. We are connected at only two points, our joined fingers and his mouth at my breast, but it feels like every inch of me is pressed to the length of him. My eyes are closed, but the air shifts in front of me when he drops to his knees. He releases my hand to grip my hips. I look down, and his eyes climb over me, starting with my belly button, skimming my stomach, and up my breasts until he reaches my face. His motions haven’t been hurried, and his hands haven’t been swift, so the wild hunger in his eyes startles me, and I realize he’s controlling it. He’s reined it in, and more than anything, I want to snap it like a twig.
I push at the silk puddled at my hips, coaxing the dress down my legs to pool around my shoes. I wind my fingers into the rough waves of his hair and subtly coax his head toward my bare pussy.
He breathes deeply and then rests his mouth against the lips, not opening me, or tasting.
“Jesus, Neev,” he says, his whisper a caress over my sensitive skin.
I want to push him so far over the edge of his restraint, there is no going back. I step out of my shoes and slip trembling fingers between my legs, passing over my clit and through the wetness dripping down my inner thighs.
His breaths grow labored as he follows the motion of my fingers with his eyes. When I pull my hand away, the air cools my fingertips. With deliberate boldness, I hold his stare and glaze his lips with my fingers, adorning his mouth with my wetness. He growls against my pussy, the vibration of it playing over my nerves like a timpani.
“Spread your legs,” he orders hoarsely.
I obey, widening my stance and waiting for his next move.
The breath stutters in my chest when his big fingers peel back the lips like petals, exposing the throbbing hood.
At first, he just licks it once.
I shudder, my knees almost failing me.
He pulls my whole clit into his mouth, sending an arrow of pleasure shooting through my body. His head bobs, his mouth moving against me with great force, with growing hunger. He cups my ass and nudges me back the few feet to the bed. With a gentle shove, I’m down, laid out on my back, completely nude while he is fully clothed, my legs dangling over the side of the bed, spread for him.
He wastes no time.
The sounds he makes when he feasts on my pussy will visit me in my dreams. Like a ravenous animal, he grunts and pants into the slick strip of nerves and flesh. He coaxes my legs up, sets my heels on the edge of the bed until my knees are bent and wide. His fingers push into me and I sit up on my elbows, unable to lay back any longer and desperate to see.
Three big fingers spear in and out, shiny with my wetness. He looks at me while he does it, and it is the most intimate act I’ve ever known. His beard gleams with my juices and he licks his lips, closing his eyes like the taste of me mesmerizes him. He shifts his hand, pushing his thumb inside and using all four fingers to squeeze and caress my clit, alternating the two touches until my breath huffs through my mouth. Spots appear before my eyes and I fall back again on the coolness of the comforter, helpless as the orgasm clenches the muscles in my legs and burns up my thighs until my pussy contracts around his fingers, gripping and flexing compulsively. I cover my eyes and scream, my release echoing in the room, slamming into the walls.
“Oh, God, Canon.” It comes out as a broken sob, my body weeping for him in every way. Pouring out my desire like an offering, and wrenching tears from my eyes. His mouth slows, less urgent, licking, tasting, savoring.
When he stands, my knees are still bent, my legs pushed up. There’s no dignity to it, and I don’t give a damn. I ache for him. As my orgasm crests and falls, the emptiness where he should be yawns and yells.
“Canon, please,” I whisper, careless of the tears slipping from the corners of my eyes. The ache is so strong, a creature demanding to be fed. “Right now.”
He stands over me, still fully clothed, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring. I’ve never seen him like this. Canon has always been careful when and how he looks at me, reducing our contact to the minimum, so this unfiltered, unchecked force of his attention, flies like sparks across my skin. There’s something primitive and possessive in the stare that sweeps my body. The way he looms over me makes me feel small and powerful in the same breath.
I raise to my knees and reach for him. Lashes lowered, he watches me slide the buttons loose and spread the shirt open over his broad chest.
I feel, in some ways, like he was at an advantage. I’ve done sex scenes and been nearly nude on set. He’s seen almost everything even before tonight, but I’ve only fantasized about the sculpted heat of his body. I tug at his belt, freeing it from the loops of his pants, and with deceptively steady fingers, unbutton and unzip, pushing them to the floor.