“Oh, God,” she moans, but instead of denying my command, she lies back and slowly cups herself and does just what I said.
Her cries fill the room as I work to remove the rest of her clothing. Her shoes, even though I would love to feel the bite of those heels on my back, go first. Her pants and panties are next. When I step back from the mattress, she is so lost in the pleasure she is giving herself that she doesn’t notice until my shirt is off and my pants hit the ground with the jingle of my belt against the unforgiving flooring.
I stand there, harder than fucking hell, and palm my cock as her hands continue to roll each of her nipples. Her eyes widen, and her mouth drops open.
We continue to watch each other, but when it becomes too much for me, I drop to my knees and give her what she asked. My tongue swirls around her clit before I lick down the wetness and then push it inside her *. Her scream is shrill, and I look up her body to see her back bowed off the mattress.
Lifting one hand, I press down on her hips to keep her from bucking me off her delicious fucking *. My other hand continues to slowly stroke my aching cock, each time my thumb grazes over the tip I let out a hum against her that has her jerking each time.
Each press and lick against her clit has her crying out even louder until I’m sure she’s just seconds away from one hell of a climax.
Then I deny her my mouth.
“Kane. God, Kane! Don’t stop. Please don’t stop!”
Leaning back, I lick my lips before I wipe the wetness from my mouth with the back of my hand. My eyes hold hers, and I wait for her to realize that I won’t give her what she wants—what I crave—until she uses the words.
“I need you inside me,” she moans, her hands still pinching her nipples, eyes begging.
Not good enough.
I shake my head, and she whimpers.
“Please, Kane. I need you.”
I shake my head again, standing from the floor and reaching for the condoms I had stuffed in my jeans earlier.
“Kane, oh God, please.”
“Give me the words.” My command has her shaking her head slowly. “Beg. Me. To. Fuck. You.” With each word I demand, her shaking intensifies. “Beg me to fuck you with the cock I know you want. Say it.”
“Kane … please.” She gulps when I finish rolling on the condom, and I move to press the tip of my cock against her opening. “Please fuck me,” she whispers.
That word.
A word I’ve never heard from her lips before today, but one that has haunted my fantasies from that very second.
My cock is deep inside her before she even finished asking, and her whisper turns into a loud cry as her body stretches around mine.
I lean over her and take my time with my mouth on her tits. Each thrust of my hips matches with a deep pull of my mouth around her nipple. I take her body harder when her pleas for more hit my ears. Our skin slaps together with each movement.
“Fuck,” I moan into her shoulder when the pleasure almost becomes too much. “So tight.”
Her legs tighten around me, and I feel her nails in my back just when her * clamps tight on my cock. Lifting up, I look into her eyes as she climbs higher and higher. My own climax is just a few thrusts away, but not until I watch her come.
“I love you,” she whispers then rolls her head back and moans a long, deep sound that melts into a high scream as she comes. I can’t take my eyes off the beauty of it. In the middle of her scream, her hands grab her tits and her hips jolt against my thrusting as her orgasm seems to roll right into another.
“Fuck!” I shout, my head dropping to her shoulder. I fight to keep my weight from falling heavily on top of her as my own body comes so hard it steals the air from my lungs. “I love you, too, baby,” I tell her, my voice hoarse and sore from the forceful shout.
When I finally am able to pull myself out of her body, feeling like it had been hours but knowing it was more like seconds, I look down to see one hell of a sated smile on her sleeping face.
Not wanting to disturb her, I make quick work of cleaning myself up and grab one of the extra blankets we keep onboard. I hate covering her body from my eyes, but I know she’s had an emotionally hard day, and after how hard she just took me, she’s worn the hell out.
I grab my jeans and pull them on before walking back to the living room area, grabbing my phone and forgotten bourbon before settling down on the couch. But the first message I see stops the glass from ever hitting my lips.
My publicist, Trace, had sent fifteen texts. All of them demanding to know why I wasn’t picking up. But the last one is the only one I can focus on. I ignore his words and click the link.
Where’s Mia? Meet Kane Masters’ new play toy.