Third, and perhaps most astonishing of all, her clit is pierced. I’ve never seen that in real life. I stare with my mouth open, drinking her in, loving everything I’m looking at.
Unfortunately, I’m so busy enjoying the visual feast that I’ve momentarily forgotten who I’m dealing with.
Cursing and red-faced, Tabby tries to roll out from under me, but I catch her and press her back down against the bed before she can escape.
“You’re incredible,” I blurt, holding her wrists above her head and gazing into her eyes. “I didn’t mean to scare you or be disrespectful. It’s just…you’re even better than I dreamed.”
She stares up at me, breathing hard, her gaze darting all over my face. “You’ve seen me before, coming out of my shower. You’ve already seen me naked.”
I make my voice as gentle as possible. “I didn’t see all of you. Just, well, your breasts, yes, and the tattoo on your stomach, but lower only—impressions—you covered yourself with your hands before I could see that you were”—my voice turns husky—“blonde. And pierced.”
She asks cautiously, “And you…like that?”
I grind out, “I fuckin’ love it, princess. When I’m eighty years old, I’ll be jerking off to the memory of what I just saw.”
She stares at me a moment, and then turns her head to the side, but not before I see the pleasure flash in her eyes, quickly veiled. “You’re a perv,” she says primly, which makes me grin, because I know we’re past the danger.
“You bring out the beast in me.”
I lower my head and indulge myself by nuzzling her jaw. She lies very still, allowing it, and stays still when I slide my hand down her arm to the collar of her jacket. I tug down the zipper a few inches, exposing pale skin and the pulse beating hard and fast at the base of her throat.
That stops me cold.
A swell of unidentifiable pressure rises from my stomach, spreading through my chest, tightening my lungs. I marvel that the simple sight of the blood rushing through her veins—blood made to rush by me—could have the power to strip me of all other thought, even as I lie on top of her, our naked legs tangled together, my straining erection so close to the place I want to bury it.
I stroke the fluttering vein with my finger. Tabby closes her eyes.
Adjusting my weight so I don’t crush her, I carefully rise to one elbow and inch down the zipper again, stopping just below her navel. It’s missing its ornament. I slide my hand inside her jacket, feeling the warmth and silken softness of her skin, and she inhales, her lips flattening. When I gently stroke my fingertips around the outer curve of her breast, her lips part, but she remains silent and perfectly still.
I feel the tension rising in her body like a wave.
This is why I told her she couldn’t come. She’ll repress her own pleasure, think herself out of it, unless I can short-circuit the system by giving her something to distract the problem-solving, frantic part of her brain. Against the wall before the firetruck arrived to spoil the mood, I made her count out loud. But for this, to get her where I want her to go, we have to up the ante.
I nuzzle her ear, lightly take her earlobe between my teeth. “I’m gonna touch you everywhere, Tabitha. Anywhere I want, anywhere it pleases me. And my mouth is gonna go anywhere it wants too. If you want that, say yes.”
Her eyes stay closed. Her breathing is shallow and fast. “Yes.”
The tone is faint but unequivocal. Desire surges through me. “Good. But I want you to remember, you can’t come. The goal tonight is only pleasure, not orgasm. If you feel like you might be getting close to coming, I want you to recite the names of every flower you know.” I pause. “In Portuguese.”
“Wha—”
“Shh!”
She bites her lip, acquiescing. I say a silent word of thanks that her eyes are closed, because if she saw the grin on my face, she’d probably kill me.
I slide the zipper down with exquisite slowness, tooth by tooth, watching arousal and apprehension play over her face. When the zipper reaches the end, her jacket falls open, exposing both her breasts. This woman seriously dislikes underwear. I might be the luckiest man on earth.
Her nipples are already hard, peaked and rosy, fucking gorgeous.
“I love these.” I thumb over them, back and forth from one breast to the other. “I love how responsive they are to my touch.” I lean over and blow on one, and watch it harden even more. I whisper, “And to my tongue,” and suck it into my mouth.
Her gasp is quiet and utterly satisfying.
I take my time with her breasts, gently fondling them, pinching and stroking the nipple that isn’t being attended to by my tongue, holding her lower body in place with the weight of my pelvis, one leg flung over hers. Her hands are still above her head, clenched in the pillow. Her head is turned to the side.