“Marshal…please.” My cheeks are overheating before I even say it, the crude, nasty thing he’s demanding. “I want this. I want you. I want us to enjoy one night. Fuck me.”
I’m expecting a second of hesitation, one last oh-Jesus-is-this-really-happening moment.
I’m flat out wrong.
Marshal curls one hand around my head, seizing a few locks of my hair. He pulls until my lips are primed for his. Our kiss is a collision, and it’s happening while his other hand takes the left strap of my gown that’s still intact.
One quick jerk destroys it. Oh, hell.
I’m moaning, he’s growling, and our tongues are two sucking fuses lit on fire. He pushes me against the bed, the better to drink me in, grinding his cock into my panties. My clit throbs against his friction, harder by the second through my panties, soaked and tight and so damn ready.
My breath hitches when he leans back, stripping me down to new naked levels with his eyes. It’s just a prelude to actually being naked, in the flesh. Marshal’s hands go to the loose fabric hanging on my breasts. He takes it in both hands and rips.
My gown screams. The entire thing parts in his ruthless hands, falls around me like a torn sheath, revealing my bare breasts for his animal tongue.
Holy hell, it’s on.
His hands, his mouth, his teeth surround my nipples. They’re pebbled, pleading, begging to be sucked and stroked sane again. Lucky me this brute is a master.
His stubble rakes new friction on my skin, igniting fresh moans.
His hand cups my left breast and squeezes while his mouth attacks the right. My nipple disappears in his mouth. Pleasure comes in waves that make me ripple.
His eyes – holy hell, those eyes – never release me for more than a second. They’re forged to mine, studying every tick in my face, and there are so many it’s embarrassing. There’s something shameful, becoming undone like this for him, but my body doesn’t care.
My heart regrets nothing.
Good thing, too, because his kisses zip down the softness of my belly. He lifts my leg, holds it at an angle, opening the path for his frantic hunger. Then his mouth races up my thighs again, trading kisses on each, and then the faintest nip of teeth.
Oh, God. Oh, God!
I’m afraid I’ll come before he’s even touched my fuse.
My panties ball up in his hands. There’s less than two seconds from the time I lift my ass and they swing off my ankles, baring all.
I’m naked. Exposed. Brutally wet.
He stops with his face in front of my swollen pussy lips. There’s a growl in his throat. Hot, sweet breath greets my wetness.
Then the warmth stops. He’s inhaling me. Slowly and maddeningly in control.
“Please,” I whisper again, voice shaking. “Please, Marshal.”
Oh, but this beast has his own schedule, and apparently it’s not the same as mine. He looks up a second later, new blue fire in his eyes, just as his hand finds its way between my legs and spreads me open. “No. Fuck my fingers first.”
His thumb drifts over my clit. His pressure mounts just out of reach, making me work for it. And I do.
Legs splayed over his huge shoulders, I’m grinding into him. I need this. Rocking my pussy on his hand, searching for the delicious friction again, begging for release.
Marshal’s thumb pushes in, covering my clit, vibrating. My breath stalls out in my lungs.
So. Damn. Close.
His free hand reaches up, pinches my chin, aiming his gaze into me. “Come for me, darling. Come like a good girl before you get to do it a whole lot harder on my tongue.”
His hand starts moving again, quickening its hypnotic rhythm. There’s a tense, sticky heat in my belly, an explosion, and I’m gone.
My first O shears me in two.
Thighs shaking, sheets balled in both hands, rendered breathless. I’m coming harder than anything I’ve ever had with my own fingers or the tiny silver vibrator I keep in my drawer at home.
His fingers press my opening apart, but stop just short of entering. He’s making me wait for his mouth, his cock, his fury.
He’s drenched every nerve in whiskey with his don’t you fucking stop look, and his thumb won’t let me dream of it.
Who the hell is this? Surely, not Sadie anymore. The girl on his hand is a humping, heated, sweat soaked mess – everything feels hotter than it should on a cold winter’s night – and nothing, nothing, stops the onslaught.
Not until it’s over.
Not until he’s given me my fill.
Not until his hand drifts away from the vice of my thighs, he pinches my face harder, and his kiss eases me back from heaven.
My eyes flutter, still trying to process what just happened. You came like you didn’t know you could, stupid, I tell myself.
There’s no denying it. The satisfied smirk on his lips won’t let me tell any lies.