He smiles. “Perfect,” he whispers.
Some mad genius decided to install this shower with a ledge, probably so Nate could ease me onto it and perch so readily between my wide, eager legs. He dips his head and runs that magic tongue around my nipple before swallowing my breast. He sucks hard enough to earn a whimper before pulling back again. Then he drags his mouth across my chest until his lips are at my other breast, his tongue licking away rivulets of water. He makes sure I know just how much he loves my breasts before slowly kissing his way down my body, alternating with licks and sucks here and there, trailing down my belly until . . . .
Yes. Right there, please.
Nate rubs my legs, his hands sweeping along my inner thigh and toward my aching cunt, but not touching me where I need him most. He leans down and exchanges his hands for his mouth, traces a line of kisses up my sensitive flesh, his stubble a teasing whisper. The sensation is glorious, electric, and enticing.
Then I feel his hot breath on my sex, and his tongue makes a playful lap of my clit. I gasp, but he holds me in place, still exploring, still teasing. He licks me again and drags his tongue in languid circles around my clit before drawing a line to the mouth of my pussy and pushing inside.
Oh fucking God, yes.
He strokes once, twice, then his fingers replace his tongue, which returns obediently to my clit, and I whimper louder. I feel myself tighten around his fingers, every inch of skin he touches seemingly on fire—a miracle since I’m sopping wet—and it’s so good I can’t look away. He plunges into me over and over, traces me with his tongue, sucks me with his mouth. I writhe, wiggling my hips, thrusting my pussy against his face, and he answers my call by wrapping his lips around my clit and giving a good tug. I throw my head back, my body whining when he pulls his fingers out of me, then screaming in joy when his tongue takes over, teasing flesh so sensitive it feels electric. I could ride his tongue for hours, but then his fingers are back, pushing, thrusting, and I could ride those, too. Especially when his mouth returns to my clit, circling and sucking.
I am right on the edge, seams full to bursting. Nate pauses for a moment, which makes me want to scream, but he looks up into my eyes. His gaze is magnificent, possessing me.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, then his tongue is back on me, flattened, his fingers pushing inside me.
I’m shaking so hard I’m going to rupture, the sounds coming out of my mouth wild. I slap the wall to ground myself.
“Nate. Make me come. Please.” I groan.
He closes his lips around my clit and pulls again. And again. And again. His thrusting fingers slip in and out of me, and my stomach tightens as every muscle in my legs goes rigid. I’m cresting, riding the wave. I start to pant, the steam rising all around me, Nate’s tongue insistent and probing, driving me wild.
I cry out, screaming his name as I come, the world around me flashing and breaking apart like a shattered mirror. I go limp and slump forward. Nate stands and catches me, holding me against his chest. He kisses me, and I can taste myself on his lips, along with tequila and a little victory.
“Did that live up to your expectations?” he whispers.
It did. Looking up at him, the wild and aggressive light in his eyes is still intoxicating. He looks at me with need, with desire. I haven’t been wanted like that in a long time.
Come to think of it, I don’t think Drew ever gazed at me like that; like watching me come and scream his name was all he wanted, all he’d ever want.
I can’t remember feeling this happy.
“Exceeded my expectations, actually.” I grin as we kiss. “I think we should get out. I’m starting to prune.” I hold up my hands for his inspection, and he laughs.
“Still beautiful,” he says, kissing my palm. The water’s begun to cool a little bit, but I don’t really notice.
17
Nate
Yesterday, 3:22 am
We’re lying in bed now, the sheets tangled around us. Julia’s leg is over mine. The sensation of her skin is almost overwhelming. It’s soft, beautiful; hell, it’s perfect. What is it about this woman, where the barest contact gets me hard? Even though I got one of the best blowjobs of my life in the shower, I can feel myself ready to go again.
But first, sustenance. I sit up, passing a hand over my head to smooth my hair. It doesn’t take. I don’t really care.
“Ready for more champagne?” I ask Julia. The room service cart is still at the foot of the bed, an iced bottle of Veuve Clicquet waiting to pour another glass, a bowl of ripe strawberries beside it. Technically room service is closed, but it’s never out of service for the VIPs. Life’s good at the top of the world. Or the top of a Vegas hotel.
Either way, being me is fucking sweet right about now.