“Never,” he said, and pressed his mouth once again to my slick cunt.
He played me, nipping and licking and sucking. And with every touch and every stroke I could feel the waiting orgasm building like a swell of waves growing before a storm. Higher and higher until there was nowhere else to go, and I went soaring off into the night sky, then crashed down like so much froth upon the shore.
“Oh, god,” I said, because I couldn’t seem to manage anything more articulate. “Oh, god, oh, god.”
He slid up my body and held me, but kept his hand cupped around my sex, his finger idly stroking me. I didn’t know if he was purposefully trying to keep me on edge, but I didn’t care. Right then, he could do any damn thing to me he wanted.
“That was amazing,” I said, turning my head to receive his gentle kiss. “But you haven’t—I mean, it was very lovely for me a million times over, but aren’t you a little bit—”
“Frustrated?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Very,” he said. He pulled his hand away from my sex, then made me shiver as he traced lazy patterns around my inner thigh where my panty line would be. “But this was about you.”
“Oh.” I considered that. “I like the way you think.”
He laughed.
“So will you untie me now?”
“Sweetheart,” he said in a voice so laden with promise it almost made me come again, “I’m not even close to done with you.”
fourteen
I woke in pitch-black, sweetly relaxed and completely sated. Evan had made me come twice more with mouth and hands, focusing so keenly on my pleasure that everything else faded away. Reason. Rationality. The whole damn world.
What he hadn’t done, though, was what he’d promised—he hadn’t fucked me. He’d focused entirely on me, making me exquisitely aware of my body, of each millimeter of my skin, of every nerve that had the power to send sweet pleasure twisting through me. He’d used me up, and when I was finally limp and lost, warm and sleepy, he’d gently untied me, pulled me close, and held me as I drifted off.
Now though …
Well, now I was awake. And I wanted the pleasure of watching him come. I wanted the feel of him moving inside me—and when I slid across the bed to find him, I had to fight down the sharp stab of fear I felt at realizing he wasn’t there.
“Evan?” I sat up, telling myself that gone didn’t mean gone. He could be in the bathroom. He could be on the phone. He could be anywhere.
But I wanted him beside me.
I sat up, then padded into the bathroom. He wasn’t there, but I grabbed my robe off the hook behind the door, wrapped the terry cloth tight around me, and headed out into the hallway to look for Evan.
I found him in the darkened living room. He’d pulled on his slacks, but remained shirtless. The only illumination in the room came from the glass and chrome case that held the copy of Da Vinci’s Creature Notebook. I stood across the room, lost in the shadows, and watched as he stood over it, looking down at the pages, with the soft light from below making his face and the intricate vine tattoo glow in a way that seemed almost magical.
I stayed perfectly still. The moment seemed strangely private. After all, until very recently, Evan had believed that notebook would be his, and I couldn’t help but wonder if in some small way he was angry at me. The thought troubled me enough that I took a step toward him. “Evan?”
He looked up at me, but I wasn’t sure that he saw me. He seemed faraway, lost deep in thought. Then his expression cleared and he smiled, holding out his hand in an invitation that I eagerly accepted. “Hello, beautiful. You look rested.”
I tilted my head up to receive his kiss. “You, sir, wore me out. But in the best possible way.”
His dimple flashed, the charm of it contrasting with the wicked gleam of the scar across his eyebrow. “I’m very glad to hear it. Are you hungry?”