Had visualizing been the trick I needed? Intense waves of pleasure built inside me, and my climax didn’t seem like a distant idea. Or perhaps it was the fantasies paired with the nightly vibrator sessions that had been the key. I was training my body to associate orgasms with Macalister.
His hands on my breasts kneaded, sliding over my distended nipples, plucking and pinching, making me whine with need. Fuck, his tongue. I closed my eyes and saw sparks behind my eyelids. My heart raced, and I panted through the bliss he was giving me.
“That feels so good,” I said in a rush, breaking the quiet surrounding us. I closed a hand on top of his on my breast, wanting to touch him as he touched me.
He lifted his mouth off me, turning his head so he could drop a kiss on the inside of my thigh. “Does it feel good enough to bring you to orgasm?”
I hesitated. “Maybe.”
He stared up at me over the slope of my nude body, and he smirked.
I wasn’t one hundred percent sure if it could happen, but him? Oh, he was. He looked powerful and arrogant.
“We’re not leaving this room until you do.” He planted a kiss on the inside of my other thigh. “But there’s no reason to feel pressure. It will happen, and I can do this all night.” He went back to my center, his lips brushing against my bare pussy as he spoke in a seductive hush. “I’m happy to do it, Sophia.”
His tongue lapped at me, and my eyes threatened to roll back in my head. His mouth would get me there eventually. I just wasn’t sure if it would be with his tongue, or his words, or the two working together.
Tension twisted in my core, rising like mercury in a thermometer.
It climbed higher as time dragged on, nearly slowing to a stop. Or maybe it raced forward and was hours. Time seemed to have abandoned us here in this dark room while a hungry man feasted on me. I squirmed and shifted, rubbing my body against his soft, unrelenting mouth. I was desperate for release. He’d made it a rule, and I’d do whatever I could to obey.
My chest heaved, and I lifted my head to look at him better over it. Oh, God. His gaze was fixed on mine. His eyes were resolute.
He paused just long enough to ask it. “Do you want to come?”
“Yes,” I pleaded in a whisper.
Macalister’s chair gave a quiet groan as he sat up straight. His fingers came down in an abrupt slap, right across my swollen clit, and I yelped with surprise. It hadn’t really hurt, but it’d startled the hell out of me.
His tone was dark and firm. “Do you want to come?”
I didn’t understand this game. “Yes.”
This time when he struck me, it was aggressive and with purpose. The first slap had been to get my attention, but this one was meant to punish. His jaw flexed and his expression hinted at his frustration.
He said it like I should know better, every word weighted and measured. “Do you want to come?”
Anticipation knotted in my belly. He kept asking the same question, and if I repeated my answer, his sharp, stinging fingers would follow. Was . . . was I supposed to say no? I glanced futilely around the room, like the answer was somehow hidden in the shadows.
“Macalister,” I whimpered. “Please . . .”
Triumph flashed through his eyes. “There is the word I was looking for.”
He dove down, his mouth a flurry of activity, and I bucked from the sudden pleasure. It was acute. He licked away the sting from his slaps, and as the pain went away, intense satisfaction moved into its place.
“Please,” I moaned, out of my mind with need and giving him the word he wanted again. I thought I’d needed to come before, but the craving was so urgent, I was panicking I’d die if it didn’t happen.
The room had been quiet until now, but I thrashed, my back banging against the table, causing the candelabra to jump, the flames to flicker, and wax to splatter on the tabletop. One of my feet came off the edge, and my leg draped over his back, trying to hook him. The hands on my body were everywhere. Smoothing over my breasts, my stomach, my legs as he searched for every inch of touchable skin within his reach.
And when his palms slowed to a stop, bracing my waist, he nuzzled into me, his head furiously rocking side to side. There was something primal about it. Like a predator with its prey locked in its jaws, shaking its victim to death before consuming it.
I threw my head back and arched my neck, my eyes slamming shut, and cried out as the force of the orgasm descended upon me. It was brutal and unforgiving. My hands clenched in his hair, holding him in place as pleasure wracked through me, sending fire searing through my bloodstream.