“Ice,” I whisper.
“Mmm.” But he doesn’t speak, because he’s licking the water off, his mouth hot against my nipple. He traces the cube down my belly, and my muscles jump and twitch from the cold and from excitement. His mouth follows, his tongue, his lips. He leaves a hot trail down my body. I tug against the sash that binds my wrists, wanting to touch him, wanting to rip off the blindfold. And yet I don’t want to, either. There’s something exciting about being so totally at his mercy. Of seeing just where this will lead.
My legs are spread wide, and I can feel the cool night air against my soaking wet sex. I shift my hips, partly to try to quell the growing need and partly as an invitation. Either that or a demand. I want him in me, and I want it now.
“Getting anxious, Ms. Fairchild?”
“You’re a cruel man, Mr. Stark.”
His laugh suggests that I don’t yet know just how cruel, and then I feel the bed shift again. One finger stays on my belly, but I don’t feel the rest of him. And then—oh, God, yes—I feel his warm breath against my sex followed by the brush of his cheek against my inner thigh.
I almost come right then, and my hips buck up involuntarily.
“Please,” I whisper. “I’ll beg. Damien, I’ll beg.”
“I know you will, baby.” His mouth is right there, and then I feel the sharp flick of his tongue and I cry out from the almost painful pleasure that shoots through me. “But you’re not ready yet, not quite yet.”
“I think you’re wrong about that,” I grump and draw another laugh.
It’s stifled, though, by his mouth on my inner thigh. I squeeze my eyes closed tight behind the sash as he brushes his lips over my scars, kissing his way down my leg, worshipping me with his mouth. I feel his tongue dart out and tease the back of my knee, and I learn in that moment just how sensitive that part of a body can be.
I’m still twitching from the electrical sensations that buzz over my body when he reaches my feet.
“You have lovely toes, Ms. Fairchild,” he says. “I don’t have a foot fetish, but if I did …” He trails off, and his mouth closes over my big toe. He sucks on it, gently at first, and then harder until I’m squirming again, feeling the corresponding tug all the way in my cunt. I’m throbbing, but I know better than to beg. Damien’s not done with me yet.
He moves his attention to my other foot and licks each of my toes gently. Then he kisses his way back up my leg. By the time he reaches the soft skin between my thigh and my vulva, I am completely lost in a haze of pleasure.
At least, I think I am. When he closes his mouth over me and grazes my clit lightly with his teeth, I am wildly, hotly, intensely proven wrong. There are still heights, and Damien is taking me there.
He has an expert tongue, and it swirls over my clit, soft and gentle, but with a building intensity. My eyes are squeezed shut behind the blindfold, my breath coming in short gasps. I twist against the bindings that hold me. I am lost, I am nothing but pleasure. A vibrant white scream of pleasure concentrated between my thighs.
And then—oh, yes, oh, my—the world seems to explode, and I’m bucking against him, and still he’s sucking and pulling and tonguing me and I’m climbing higher and higher until finally, finally, the world settles back around me and my chest is rising and falling with the power of the explosion.
“Now,” Damien whispers, and I realize he’s above me. His mouth closes over mine, slick with the scent of me. The thick head of his penis is pressed against me, and he thrusts inside. “Oh, baby,” he says. His hand slips down between our bodies, and I feel his thumb on my sensitive clit. My body trembles again, and I gasp as my muscles clench, drawing him in even more. “There you go, that’s right. Are you sore?”