CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Tabby
Everything was hot. The air was hot, my skin was hot, his mouth was hot. I was on fire from the inside out, and I relished every lick of the metaphorical flames. The doubts and concerns I’d mulled over for hours last night had been soothed enough by his “Average Joe” gesture and our dialogue in the restaurant that they’d culminated into a blaze of desire, a need for release both physically and emotionally. I’d chained myself with my worries, and it was the hands on my hips that would free me.
His arms tangled with mine as we grappled to undress the other first. Fingertips grazed my side, stroking upward along my ribcage beneath my top. I yanked his button-down from the waistband of his jeans and burrowed my hands under the hem to rake my nails down his back. His mouth never left mine as his hands slid beneath my underwire to caress my breasts. When he dragged his thumbs over the soft skin of my nipples, my pelvis ground into him involuntarily and I moaned into his mouth. He snagged my lower lip, tugging on it gently, and I found myself being walked backwards toward the bed. I grabbed his shirt in fists to yank it over his head, but he broke our kiss, clutched my wrists, and threw me back onto the velvety-soft comforter. Through the darkness, I saw him wrench his shirt off his chiseled torso, and then his focus returned to me. A smirk rose on his lips, and the malevolent alpha beast inside him made its appearance.
He eased onto the bed by my feet so slowly it was practically torture watching him, waiting in anticipation for what he intended to do next. His forefinger slid across the top of my sandaled foot, eliciting a shiver from me, and then he flicked the shoe off in a single effortless swipe. After repeating the action with the other, he resumed crawling toward me. His expression was starved despite having just eaten, though I knew it wasn’t food he craved.
I sat up onto my elbows in an attempt to appear unfazed by his intimidating approach.
He paused, raised a brow. His eyes glinted with embers. Suddenly, my ankle was wrapped in his hand and he pulled, throwing my arms out from under me and forcing my back to meet the mattress with a cushioned thud. I yelped, startled, but just as quickly as he’d laid me down he shoved my shirt up to my neck, trapping my arms in the twisted fabric so they lay helplessly over my head.
As if nothing had happened, he returned to the painstakingly slow movements. With a knee and a hand on either side of my body, he crept upward until he was level with my collarbone. I felt his breath on my skin, cool against the adrenalized sweat beginning to form there. He plucked the base of my bra with both hands, kept his eyes pinned to mine, and flipped the cups over to reveal the breasts beneath. He then lowered his head, kissed a trail down the center between them, and slipped a nipple into his mouth.
I moaned with abandon. Yes, he had a staff of others in the house, but I couldn’t have cared less in that moment. After having no finality to the extended arousal he’d put me through last night, I was feral and insatiable with lust. If there was collateral damage in the process, I wasn’t concerned.
His lips curled around the rim of my nipple, suckling to harden the protuberance, and every light flick of his tongue sent my nerves reeling. The ridges of his teeth unpredictably scraped the sensitive areola when the suction increased. I writhed on the bed, fighting against my shirt bondage to free myself while trying to keep control of the pleasurable shocks racing from my breast to my core. As if the battle wasn’t difficult enough, he reached down and ripped the waist of my skirt down to my knees. The jerk of the movement caused his mouth to tighten, and I whimpered with the unexpected surge in sensation. A split second later, he’d wriggled the skirt to my ankles and unhooked my feet from the ball of material. He discarded the garment over the side of the bed, all the while continuing to suck and nibble and tease and flutter.
With my breasts out and my skirt gone, the only thing providing any semblance of modesty now was my panties. The beast wasn’t going to allow it. He grabbed them just as aggressively as he had the skirt, yanked them down, and bared me to the world. The second the underwear fell from his fingers to the floor, he released my nipple, pushed my thighs apart, and clamped his mouth around my naked clit.
Nothing had felt so incredible before. He lapped rapid flicks with his tongue’s skillful tip over the surface of the nerves, then pressed the flat of his tongue down to perform long, pressured strokes over the entire region. I was tingling from head to toe and more desperate than ever to get free of my shirt-prison because I needed to grab onto something with all my might to keep myself from losing every bit of control I possessed. My insides were waves, tidal waves and ripples and everything in between. I could’ve closed my eyes and believed I was on a ship, rocking relentlessly from side to side on the sea — a very, very pleasurable ship.
Something stroked the slit between my folds, and I realized dimly it was his finger. He eased inside of me slowly without missing a beat with his mouth. I felt the first knuckle, then the second enter my cavern and twist upward until the pad of his finger pressed against my G-spot. Then, starting slowly and increasing bit by bit, he began slithering that finger across that blessed spot. I was high with the orgasmic build. The rush of blood to my genitals gave me the illusion something was swelling in my core, bringing with it a weight too heavy to bear, and I started to wonder if I was going to implode. Literally. Owen clearly had no such concern, however, as he washed his tongue back and forth and up and down over my clit while his finger caressed my sweet spot over and over again.
I pushed my hips down into the mattress without realizing I was doing it, completely overtaken by the elevating ecstasy inside me. Before I could take another breath, a giant supernatural something came down from the heavens and wrenched me from the world in one quick grab. It was the most powerful orgasm I had ever experienced, bar none. My arms, my legs, my fingers, my mouth — everything was trembling violently, and I could even feel my vocal cords vibrating spastically with a moan I couldn’t hear. Pleasure had seized me, and it had no intention of letting me go. So intense was my climax, in fact, that I didn’t even see Owen removing his pants with his free hand while continuing his delectable assault on my body. It wasn’t until I slid backwards on the comforter that I realized he’d entered me, cock thick and hard as granite. The sensation of being filled didn’t aid in recouping my senses, especially as a second orgasm was ripped from me before the first had even ebbed away.
He shot forward, prodding me with his thick shaft head, then retreated, making me moan with the loss. He did it again. And again. My G-spot was throbbing with each thrust as he caressed it repeatedly, and my clit sang to the fingers he rubbed over it in the absence of his mouth. I knew I was moaning because I could feel my throat moving, but I couldn’t hear a sound over the rush of blood in my ears, though I was sure I was loud enough for every person in the house — and probably a few next door — to hear. His lips sought mine, either to silence me or share in my bliss, and I met him eagerly. He hovered above me by an inch with his chest hair brushing the oversensitized nipple he’d snacked on before utopia bursted, and I greedily drank in the flavor of his mouth.
Faster, he drove into me, and I was awash in feelings surely never experienced by mankind before. My lips tingled where they met his. My nipples hardened where his hair kissed them. My clit danced where his fingers stroked it. And, of course, my pussy was burning and pulsing and dripping with every single thrust. I felt the warning in my stomach of an impending third orgasm, and I started to fear I wouldn’t be able to take anymore.
I had no choice, though. He swelled viscerally inside me, his girth meeting my walls on all sides, and I heard a groan from the depths of his diaphragm. The next slam sent me flying over the edge, and he flattened himself on top of me as he, too, rocketed into oblivion.
An unknown amount of time passed before I felt capable of sitting up. Owen was lying beside me, one finger idly tracing circles around my belly button, tiny snickers wafting in my ear each time I twitched. I exhaled a deep, slow breath and asked tentatively, “Should I get going?”
He looked up at me in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“You know, back to my hotel.”
A smirk rose on his lips, and I saw the eyes of the beast peer out from behind his. “Not unless you want to see what I’m like when I’m a very, very unhappy man,” he growled.
I shivered, and I was startled and slightly dismayed to find my entire body perking up at the idea of finding out what exactly he was like as a very, very unhappy man. Out of politeness, and perhaps a bit of devilishness, I cooed, “Are you sure? I could go back. You could have this big, wide bed all to yourself.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not even a little tired,” he warned. “Keep it up, and I’m going to use you to exhaust myself.”
The grin I was trying to hide sidled out into the open, and I laid back down and bundled beneath the covers. He followed and tugged me to him, his nude front pressed comfortably against my nude back, and I wondered something that made my heart skip.
Could this be something real?