He seemed to have difficulty focusing when I closed my lips around his thumb and sucked. His eyes hooded, and his chest rose in a deep breath.
“I’m going to paint this,” he whispered. “The feeling of this moment.”
I pulled back off his thumb, startled. “I had the same thought.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile, but it grew serious as I took his thumb in my mouth again. This time I simulated exactly what I’d do if he let me. The throb between my thighs grew out of control. I felt foolish and wicked, but not enough to stop.
My hands, resting on my thighs, tensed into fists as he dug his free hand inside his underwear and began to stroke himself. If I was going to stop him, I had to do it now. Once he was in my mouth, I couldn’t backtrack. It couldn’t be undone.
It was quiet from him. “I’m not going to destroy your sculpture.”
It was as if he’d injected relief into my bloodstream. Everything in me relaxed, and when the tension was gone, something dark and hungry took over. I fisted the sides of his jeans and underwear, and tugged down, releasing his erection. It jutted out from his body, hard and reaching for me.
Did he notice my hand shook when I grabbed him at the base? I was a mixture of nerves and something which felt very much like excitement. In the past, I’d never enjoy pleasuring a man orally. It felt dirty, and . . . too intimate. Much more so then letting him in my body, because at least that act had purpose. Taking him in my mouth was only for pleasure, and only for his pleasure.
However, I’d emerged from prison a changed woman. Perhaps this new version was more sexually confident. Maybe I could peel at the corner of the “robot” label my husband had slapped on me.
Luke’s hand retreated from my mouth and snaked to the back of my head, urging me forward. I claimed the tip of his length between my lips, squeezing my eyes shut tight. He sighed as I slid further along, widening my mouth to accommodate. He was long and thick, and tasted faintly of salty sweat.
He shuddered as I drew back off him, and the hand behind my head nudged forward. It wasn’t something I particularly liked, and I pushed it away. I was on my knees, begging and groveling in a way I hadn’t done before, and that was all the vulnerability I was willing to give to him. I’d expected to be disgusted, as I usually was when servicing a man, yet . . . I felt only the ache in my center and the dampness which clung between my legs.
“Fuck.” His voice was as dark as the room had become.
I shivered.
His fingers twisted in my hair, tugging at the roots, speeding me along. My brow wrinkled in frustration. I wanted him to be easier, gentler, and stop battling me for control, but I also didn’t want him to stop. Luke’s soft moan punctured the quiet, and I could feel the vocalization on my skin. It reverberated down my spine.
I struggled to rasp air in through my nose as I kept up with the pace he requested. He had his grip tangled in my hair and moved his other hand to hold himself steady as he thrust into my mouth. Behind my closed eyelids, my eyes began to water. His dick surged deep into the back of my throat, causing me to clench tighter on the sides of his undone jeans.
Just as the words began to bubble up from my throat for him to stop, he slowed. His languid strokes were more manageable, and not at all unpleasant. He was hard and pulsing on my tongue, mirroring the heartbeat racing in my own chest.
“I want you topless,” he whispered. It wasn’t an order. It came as a desperate plea, which threw me further off balance. I’d had demanding, and I’d had silent, when it came to partners. The in-between was new and welcomed. Could I give in to his request?
I sat back on my heels and stared up at him as he retreated from my mouth, his dick shiny with my saliva. I crossed my arms, curled my trembling hands on the hem of my top and drew the fabric up, stretching upward until I was free of it and cast it aside.
But that was as far as I could go. Nerves locked me up until my muscles refused to respond. I was already so exposed. It didn’t seem to matter to Luke. His gaze traced the curves of my breasts encased in a simple white bra, and his lips parted to gulp down a huge breath. He stared at me, a man who’d been thirsty for days and only I could quench his thirst. My face heated with a flush.