She’d never come like this. Sam hadn’t been into it, and she hadn’t been with many others. This was her ultimate fantasy. The one she devoured in her erotica. The one she dreamed of, rode her fingers to, and fucked herself with toys to images of.
As he swept his tongue across her *, she bowed her back, so ready to sing, to shout, and to scream. He was a fucking dream. His lips were soft, and his stubble was rough, and his tongue was insistent as he flicked it up and down along her swollen, aching clit. She grabbed his hair as if her hands were a steel grip and she couldn’t let go. She wouldn’t let go. She rocked into his face. Electricity crackled through her, lighting up all her nerves, sizzling her skin.
She cried out his name, and for a second he broke contact to look at her—his eyes were heated, full of the same wild longing. That moment was like a thread between them, a tight, neat line that tethered her to him. To share in this lust for another person was the greatest high, the sweetest intoxication, and, hell, did they have it. She wanted his mouth as much as he wanted to consume her.
“Tell me what you say when you fuck yourself,” he said in a dirty growl. “Talk to me like you did all the times I devoured you in your fantasies.”
Another wave of desire crashed through her, and she dug her nails into his scalp. Gladly. She’d gladly tell him. She’d used him so many times; she’d gotten off to him countless nights; she’d come to his image over and over.
“Fuck me with your tongue,” she said, panting as she thrust into him.
He moaned as he licked her, cupping her ass and pulling her closer. His tongue explored her. His sinfully delicious lips devoured her, and she’d never felt so lavished, so cherished, or so utterly craved. His hot kisses turned her into a wet, writhing collection of sparking nerve endings and rushing blood cells.
She closed her eyes, sharing with him all the dirty things she’d said in her head as she’d masturbated to him. All the filthy words she imagined she’d say when she finally felt him do this. “I want to ride your face. I want to fuck your face so hard,” she said, in broken gasps. His tongue kicked into some kind of overdrive, flicking her wildly. He let go of his grip on her ass and grabbed her hands, clasping them tight, clutching them as he feasted on her. Hands in hands, this act became all the more intense.
Closer. She felt closer to him than she ever had before as he held her tight, their fingers laced together, while he drank her in. Her muscles tightened. The first wave of pleasure crashed over her, and it was happening.
“I want to come all over you, Colin,” she said, as the sensations rolled through her, overwhelming her, flooding her brain with nothing but beautiful bliss.
“Oh God,” she cried out, losing control, letting go, and giving in to everything she felt with him. “I’m going to come on your face. Just like you want.” He gripped her hands so damn tight as he ravaged her. “Just like I’ve pictured. Oh fuck. Oh God. It’s so fucking good.”
Then she screamed, and nothing else existed in the whole damn world but this perfect moment of pleasure, this unparalleled ecstasy with this man who was so unbelievably good to her in every way.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rock. Hard.
His dick was steel. His stubble was coated in her gorgeous, glorious, delicious wetness. He could still taste her on his tongue. Like sin and honey. Like longing and lust. Like the woman he had to have completely.
She sighed happily as her eyes fluttered open, so dreamy and sexy.
“Hi,” she whispered as he rose up. “That was…”
“You are…”
Neither one of them could seem to finish their sentences. She scooted back into the pillows then lifted her hand, tracking the lotus design on his chest. She traveled lower, over his abs to his waist. She pushed down his briefs. He was sitting on his knees, still between her legs. No better place to be.
She ran her tongue across her lips as she freed his cock, then took it in her hand and stroked him. Shuddering, he felt a bolt of desire tear through him as she rubbed her hand slowly up and down his dick. He loved how she touched him. Absolutely fucking loved everything about it, from the way she ran her fingers over him to how her breath came fast and heavy as she gripped him.
Mostly though, it was her eyes. It was the way she gazed at him. She looked at him with so much want, so much desire, and so much more. Like she wanted him in all the same ways he wanted her.
His breathing turned erratic the more she touched him, the more she rubbed her hands all over him. The craving inside him multiplied; it rose exponentially as she stopped at the head of his dick, spreading a bead of liquid over him. He groaned.
She whispered his name.
“Yes?” he answered, as he pushed off his briefs. His voice was soft, but it echoed, the only sound in his quiet home. It vaguely occurred to him that he hadn’t stopped to turn on music or anything. He hadn’t needed it though. The noises she made were all he wanted in his ears.
Sinful Longing
Lauren Blakely's books
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- Pretending He's Mine (Caught Up In Love #2)