Wreck the Halls(65)
“I’m ready for anything with you.”
Her trust relaxed the line between his brows, his lips kissing a path from her belly button to the top of her slit. His breath heated her there for long seconds, moistening her flesh, his demeanor reminiscent of someone in prayer. And then he transformed right into a sinner, forming a V with his middle and index fingers to gently push apart her flesh. His tongue lapped once at her exposed center, and then brought it back into his mouth to savor her flavor with a groan, before he leaned in again with triple the eagerness. He made sounds in his throat while he delved his tongue into the valley of her sex again, again, again, his tongue meeting her clit with more firmness with every journey until it simply stayed there and rubbed, rubbed, rubbed. His blue eyes were trained on her face, glittering, as his thumbs dug into her hip abductors. And her thighs were a blur of trembling already, from the view, from the experience, yes, but the friction. It was raw and personal and he was visibly enjoying it. So much that he looked intoxicated, his shaft bulging through the opening of his dress pants, stretching his briefs, the proof of his own hunger drawing her deeper, deeper into her own enjoyment.
He delivered her oral pleasure like it was an honor, like he wouldn’t survive without the next twist of his tongue against her entrance, the firm circling of her swelling nub.
I’m so wet.
Which he apparently loved, because he seemed to want that offering all over his chin, his mouth. He buried his face against her and turned it side to side, collecting her, pushing his tongue upward once again into the separation of her sex. Fucking her with his tongue, pressing it into her body while the V of his fingers spread her, giving him more access. And once he got it, those fingers took turns with his tongue, pumping inside of her, which was when it all came crashing down. She’d been so distracted by the overtly carnal side of Beat, so determined to memorize it, that she didn’t acknowledge the gathering of her own release until it was on the verge of liberating her. It blew through her now with a vengeance, her right leg shooting up to wrap around the back of his head, her hips tilting, babble bubbling from her lips while those intimate muscles flexed and throbbed and set her free of tension.
Some of it.
Even with the exhilarating rush of her climax still cutting through her middle, holding her shaking legs captive, she felt her own hunger crest again, because Beat swiped a forearm across his shining mouth and then looked right at her while licking it off again. And her head swam, her nipples beading, the lowest part of her belly growing heavy with desire once more. With responsibility and anticipation and something more magical . . .
An electrical connection to this man that moved their bodies in unrehearsed choreography. Beat lunged to his feet, as if he sensed that she needed kissing, grounding, and he gave it to her, urging her lips open with his tongue and sharing the taste of her in a way that was unabashed, almost prideful. But she didn’t require any reminder of the pleasure he’d just given her, because she could think of nothing else. Her right hand moved without a command from her brain, sliding beneath the waistband of his briefs, wanting, needing, to reciprocate.
“Ahhh, that’s good, Peach. Grip it as hard as you can.” His breath pelted her mouth, his thickly muscled chest lifting and falling. “I like when it hurts.”
Melody followed her instinct, stroking him lightly, slowly, once, twice, three times, watching his teeth sink into his bottom lip, eyes squeezed shut, holding his breath. Then she tightened her hold and listened to his guttural grunt, looking down and watching him try to thrust into her hand, hips pumping upward. And she used that hard clutch of his shaft to turn their bodies and firmly press him up against the wall, watching in awe as his Adam’s apple got stuck beneath his chin. His hands lifted, fisted his own hair, like he couldn’t withstand the torture of being stroked by her. Combined with the immortality she’d earned downstairs, she’d never felt more formidable in her life. It inebriated her.
“I want you inside me.” She elevated onto her toes and kissed his panting mouth, riding her palm up and down his inches at the same meandering pace, over and over until she felt a touch of sticky moisture on her knuckles, a gruff rendition of her name punctuating the air. “Make it happen.”
*
Melody’s command was still on her lips when Beat’s back slid down the wall.
Never breaking eye contact with her—he wasn’t even sure it was physically possible—he drew the elastic of his briefs down, leaving it beneath his balls. He offered her his lap, because she’d requested it. Even though being inside of Melody terrified him as much as it felt like an inevitability he couldn’t live without. Couldn’t fucking breathe without.
Jesus Christ.
It was dark in the room, except for the starlight casting her naked body in an ethereal glow, her pussy damp from his tongue, her gaze determined, but glazed. She was an angel drunk on the effect she had on him. An effect that was almost too pure and poignant to withstand as she got down on her knees in front of him—so beautiful that he held his breath—and climbed onto his lap, their foreheads meeting, eyes locking.
“Tell me when you’re close and I’ll stop,” she whispered.
Gratitude swam in his chest. Lower, there was nothing but the thick bite of lust. “Tell me when you’re close and I’ll go harder.”
She moaned right into his mouth and he swallowed the sound, sipping kisses from her lips while reaching down, bringing his cock between her thighs. He rubbed it up and back through the ample moisture, swelling more, more, until he worried he could come from that preliminary torture alone.