There’s a part of me that can’t believe this is happening, that can’t believe that Ian Sharpe is on his knees in front of me, bringing me more pleasure than I ever imagined possible. But there’s another part of me—a bigger part—that doesn’t want to think about it right now. That wants only to enjoy this strange turn of events.
I try to focus on that part, desperate not to let the feelings inside of me slip away. Not this time. Not when I’m so close to the orgasm I can feel building inside of me.
Ian pushes forward, hitching my leg higher on his shoulder as—without warning—he slides two fingers deep inside of me.
I jolt at the unfamiliar sensation—it’s been so long since anyone or anything has been inside me—but he’s got my clit in his mouth and his fingers on my G-spot. Pleasure is tearing through me, sizzling through my veins and along my nerve endings with a speed that is making my knees tremble and sending me into sensory overload.
For a second, just a second, fear overwhelms the pleasure and I clutch at him. Hold tight.
I don’t know how to do this.
He must think I’m in danger of falling, because he tightens his hold.
Makes reassuring noises.
Eases me up and back, until my ass is resting on top of the kitchen table.
I gasp at the feel of the cool, slick wood against my skin, but he only laughs. Then he’s spreading my legs even wider, pressing his fingers even deeper. And his mouth—his wicked, wonderful mouth—stays exactly where it is.
I’m so close, the electric tension in me ratcheting up, up, up, with each long, lingering lick and I can’t help wondering if this is it. If it’s finally going to happen. If…
And then I lose it, the sensations disappearing as easily as they came.
I try to get them back, but the table feels cold against my skin. Cold and distracting and so, so familiar. Images keep flashing through my head, pictures and memories that are better left in the dark. I close my eyes, try to block them out, try to concentrate on what Ian is doing—on what I’m feeling—but it’s too late. It’s all there in my head, crowding in on me. Distracting me. Confusing me.
Desperate, devastated, determined not to let them in, I thread my hands through Ian’s hair and tug him closer. I lean back on my arms, arch my hips, even bring a hand up to toy with my nipples. I do everything—anything—I can to stay right here with him.
But seconds turn into minutes that drag by and I give up. I can’t do it this. I just can’t.
This time when I tug at Ian’s hair, it’s to pull him away instead of to press him closer.
He doesn’t fight me. Instead, he sits back on his haunches right away. Licks his lips. And stares up at me with dark, desire-filled eyes. With his shirt unbuttoned and his hair messed up and his mouth gleaming with the remnants of my need, he looks debauched, devastating.
But he’s still the same Ian when he asks, “What’s wrong?” while his fingers gently stroke my inner thigh. “Where’d you go?”
“I just…Do you have a condom?”
“Of course.” He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, pulls out his wallet and drops it on the table next to me. “I didn’t think we were there yet.”
“Well, we are.” I give him my most seductive smile, the one guaranteed to short-circuit a man’s brain in ten seconds flat—or so I’ve been told. Then I reach for him, tugging at his shoulders until he finally gets the hint and climbs slowly to his feet.
“Fuck me,” I tell him, as I unbutton his jeans and pull the zipper down. I make my voice breathless and broken, aroused and just a little erotic. “Please. I need—” I break off on a moan, let my body go loose against his.
I figure that’s all it will take and I wait for him to strip off his jeans, to reach for his wallet and take me up on what I’m offering. But Ian doesn’t move. Instead, he just watches me, like I’m some particularly interesting social experiment.
“Ian, please.” I sound desperate now, but I don’t give a shit. I am desperate. Desperate to get him inside of me. Desperate to put on a good show.
Desperate to get this over with.
I lean forward, grab on to his belt loops and tug him forward until he’s standing right between my thighs, his cock hard and ready and so, so close. If I shove his jeans down his ass, if I scoot forward just a little more, he’ll be inside me.
I start to do just that, but he stops me with a hand around my wrist. “Hey,” he murmurs, as his other hand continues to stroke my hip, my thigh, my sex. “It’s okay.”
It’s not okay. It will never be okay.
“It’s not yet,” I tell him, injecting a teasing note into my voice. “But it will be once you’re inside of me.”
His brows shoot up. “You’re seriously saying you want me inside of you? Right now?”
“Of course I do.” Once again I reach for his cock and once again he stops me. “What’s wrong?” I demand. This is not how this is supposed to go.
He narrows his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I’m the one who should be asking you that question.”
“I already told you. I want you to—”
“Fuck you? Yeah, I got that much.” He strokes his thumb along my labia, and I moan. Then spread my legs wider to give him better access.