What the hell did he think I’d been asking for? Fuck whatever it was I’d been worried about before. The itch I felt wasn’t going to be scratched by itself.
“Please, Royce,” I begged, then gasped, jerking at the hips as a single fingertip traced the apex between my legs. “Please, don’t stop!”
The devilish glint to his eye wasn’t lost on me, but that wasn’t my concern. He settled into a painfully slow thrusting of first one, then two fingers, his cold, calculating gaze at odds with the gentle way he touched me. Getting to know what I liked, exactly where he needed to touch those secret places to send me spiraling down into mindless need. Playing my desires against me. Using me.
I didn’t care.
I thrashed and cried for more, but he didn’t give it to me right away. When I tried to help him along, he took both of my wrists in one hand so I couldn’t touch him, or myself, pinning me in place so all I could do was twist and writhe against him, and cry out for more. Playing me like a fiddle, he wasn’t satisfied until I was pleading for him to speed up, to move faster, harder, to finish what he had started, damn it.
He played me right to the very edge of the precipice, and then withdrew.
I could have screamed.
Instead I cried. I’d never been such an emotional wreck during sex before, but he didn’t seem bothered by it in the least. He ignored my tears of frustration, my futile attempts to free my wrists, and the blind thrusting of my hips as I begged for him to fill that emptiness inside me. Still, he had that gleam in his eye, the one that spoke of things to come—and when his mouth settled over the nub hidden between the slickened folds of my sex, I came with such force, I couldn’t move for what felt like hours.
He didn’t wait for me to recover. Instead, his attentions were focused on lapping up the traces of my desire while the fingers of his free hand were soon exploring, prodding, stoking the flames back up from embers to a blind, needy conflagration, screaming for release into the wider world.
I’m pretty sure the second time I did scream. My throat felt raw, but I was so shocked by the heady rush, I wasn’t totally sure what had happened. Only that there were stars in my vision, and that he’d moved away, leaving an empty ache behind. Bereft of his touch—and his punishing hold—I was too involved in moving with the rolling waves of ecstasy still pulsing in uneven tremors through my body to do anything so coherent as to pay any notice to where he’d gone.
It was a good thing he was giving me a breather. I wasn’t sure I could handle much more. I didn’t try to rise, left boneless and gasping for every breath as I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for whatever was to come next. My heart was racing, my skin hypersensitive, and only now did I realize that all of the places he had sucked and kissed on my body were still tingling with the ghost of sensation. As if he were still touching me—working his way inside me—and it heightened the sensitivity of my skin to every breath of air, every stroke of silk sheets, even the pulse of blood in my veins. It was the strangest thing; not at all unpleasant, just unexpected. Maybe a side effect from having been bound to him before.
It didn’t take long for him to return. All of a sudden, he was there, his mouth on mine, and I could taste myself on his lips. His fingers curled around mine, pinning my hands at either side this time as he delved deep, his fangs occasionally pricking my lips and tongue in a shockingly pleasant way. It might have been the eroticism of the moment, but I couldn’t recall ever feeling such a deep pang of longing or so needed as when his tongue plundered my mouth, like he was starved for the taste of me, sending renewed sparks of desire pulsing through my bloodstream.
He held himself over me, taking the time to ensure I was breathless before one questing hand drifted from mine and stole between our bodies again. As he rubbed between my legs in preparation for another assault, slickened fingers nudging my thighs apart, I reached up to embrace him—and very nearly recoiled at the feel of his cool, bare flesh.
That was soon forgotten; he eased his body against mine, settled between my legs so the tip of his arousal rubbed incessantly between the folds at the junction of my thighs. He finally released my mouth, but I’m pretty sure he only did that so he could listen to me cry out when a single finger briefly slid inside me. Christ, it felt glorious, particularly with this newfound sensitivity to his touch. His chuckle at the dismayed sound I made when he shifted his hand away might have pissed me off if I hadn’t been so busy trying to get down to business. His arms around me were all the support I needed, but he wouldn’t let me arch up and take him inside, withdrawing at the hips as soon as I attempted it.
“Please! Stop playing and fuck me already,” I demanded, not caring how crude my request was, nor that he was laughing at my frantic attempts to seal us together, hip to hip.
“Ah, you still know enough to use words to beg. You’re not ready.”
And he taught me that there were whole new plateaus of frustration and pleasure to be reached before I was.
I’m not quite sure how long it took for me to grow mindless enough with desire that he felt it was the right time, only that once it was, I thought I might just explode from the intense need rushing through my veins. Orgasms shook me, one right after another as his thick length pressed inside, at first feeling like too much, far too much, before the friction between us brought me to new heights of gratification.
His hands always found the right place to touch, sometimes cupping my cheeks as his tongue delved into my mouth to match the thrusting of his hips, other times cradling me in his arms as though he was afraid I’d turn into smoke and drift away if he didn’t hold me close. It was fierce and gentle and possessive all at once, overwhelmingly so.
I did my best to reciprocate, touching as much of him as I could while pinned under his weight by stroking rippling muscles that put me in mind of satin-covered steel. Some of that smooth, cool skin was marred with traces of scars like my own. Well, that might explain his ready acceptance of my physical imperfections.
A low, inhuman growl rumbling in his throat briefly sent a shock of terror through me. I withdrew with a gasp, panic and the claustrophobic sensation of being trapped settling in like old friends. Then, surprise, surprise, he grabbed my hands to put them back to where I’d found a death grip on his ass a moment before—and what a fine ass it was, solid as bedrock—because he was obviously enjoying my encouraging squeezes. That’s when I figured out he wasn’t growling so much as purring, and I met his questing mouth with renewed enthusiasm as I obliged his unspoken demand.
At one point, I was dimly aware of his fingers tangling in my hair, drawing my head back, followed by a sudden pressure at my neck. My nails scored his shoulders, digging deep furrows as that pressure turned into a pinprick—barely noticed considering what was happening between my legs—that exploded into synapse-frying fireworks against every nerve ending in my body, arching outward from my throat. It left me breathless and shaking as his churning hips sped up to the agonizingly pleasurable speed of a well-timed piston. It was every tingling ache under my skin from his earlier exploration magnified by a thousandfold, heightening the experience to the point where I was nearly certain my heart was ready to explode in my chest. It was a ferociously satisfying age before he slowed, his thrusts becoming uneven, but still sending shudders of fulfillment through me.
Sometime later, his tongue laved my throat, the simple motion radiating pleasant tingles that rocked me all the way to my toes. Sometime after he’d stopped sucking at that sweet spot on my neck, my heart had started again. The shivers that raced down my spine had me spasming around his length in an attempt to hold him there even as he drew away.