“The tip,” she whispered. “Do what I did.”
He smiled stealthily, giving her the impression that she might no longer be quite as much in charge as she thought, but he did as she commanded, his fingers torturing her nipples.
And as promised, he was better at it than she was.
Her body bucked, and she almost lost the strength to hold herself up. “Take me in your mouth,” she ordered, but her voice was not so authoritative any longer. She was begging him, and they both knew it.
But she wanted it. Oh, how she wanted it. John, for all his ebullience in bed, had never loved her breasts the way Michael had done the night before. He’d never suckled her, never shown her how lips and teeth could make her entire body squirm. Francesca hadn’t even known that a man and woman could do such a thing.
But now that she did, she couldn’t stop fantasizing about it.
“Come lower,” Michael said softly, “if you want me to remain lying down.”
Still on her hands and knees, she leaned down, allowing one breast to swing achingly close to his mouth.
He did nothing at first, forcing her to swing lower and lower, until her nipple was brushing lightly across his lips.
“What do you want, Francesca?” he asked, his breath hot and moist over her.
“You know,” she whispered.
“Say it again.”
She wasn’t in charge anymore. She knew it, but she was past caring. His voice held the soft edge of authority, but she was too far gone to do anything but obey.
“Take me in your mouth,” she said again.
His head snapped up and his lips nipped her, tugging her down until she was in a position for him to have his leisurely way with her. He tickled and teased, and she felt herself sinking deeper into his spell, losing her will and her strength, wanting nothing but to lie down on her back and allow him to do whatever he wanted to her.
“Now what?” he asked politely, not releasing her from his lips. “More of this? Or”—he swirled his tongue in a particularly wicked fashion—“something else?”
“Something else,” she gasped, and she wasn’t sure if it was because she wanted something else or because she didn’t think she could stand one more minute of what he was doing just then.
“You’re in charge,” he said, his voice holding the barest hint of mocking. “I’m yours to command.”
“I want…I want…” She was breathing too hard to finish the sentence. Or maybe she just didn’t know what she wanted.
“Shall I offer you a few selections?”
She nodded.
He trailed one finger down the center of her belly to her womanhood. “I could touch you here,” he said in a devilish whisper, “or if you’d prefer, I could kiss you.”
Her body tightened at the thought.
“But that presents new questions,” he said. “Do you lie back and allow me to kneel between your legs, or do you remain above me and lower yourself onto my mouth?”
“Oh, my God!” She didn’t know. She just didn’t know that such things were possible.
“Or,” he said thoughtfully, “you could take me into your mouth. I’m quite certain I would enjoy it, although I must say, it’s not really in the tenor of the interlude.”
Francesca felt her lips part with shock, and she couldn’t help but peer down at his manhood, large and ready for her. She had kissed John there once or twice, when she’d felt particularly daring, but to take it into her mouth?
It was too scandalous. Even in her present state of debauchery.
“No,” Michael said with an amused smile. “Another time, perhaps. I can tell you’ll be a most cunning pupil.”
Francesca nodded, unable to believe what she was promising.
“So for now,” he said, “those are our options, or…”
“Or what?” she asked, her voice more of a harsh whisper.
His hands settled on her hips. “Or we could just proceed right to the main course,” he said commandingly, exerting a gentle but steady pressure on her, guiding her down toward the evidence of his desire. “You could ride me. Have you ever done that?”
She shook her head.
“Do you want to?”
She nodded.
One of his hands left her hips and found the back of her head, pulling her down until they were nose to nose. “I’m not a gentle pony,” he said softly. “I promise you, you will have to work to keep your seat.”
“I want it,” she whispered.
“Are you ready for me?”
She nodded.
“Are you certain?” he whispered, his lips curving just enough to taunt her. She wasn’t sure what he was asking, and he knew it.
She just looked at him, her eyes widening in question.
“Are you wet?” he murmured.
Her cheeks grew hot—as if they weren’t already burning, but she nodded.
“Are you sure?” he mused. “I should probably check, just to make certain.”
Francesca’s breath caught as she watched his hand curve around her thigh, moving toward her center. He moved slowly, deliberately, drawing out the torture of anticipation. And then, just when she thought she might scream at it all, he touched her, one finger lazily drawing circles against her soft flesh.
“Very nice,” he purred, his words echoing her own.
“Michael,” she gasped.
But he was enjoying his position too much to allow her to rush things along. “I’m not sure,” he said. “You’re ready here, but what about…here?”
Francesca nearly screamed as one finger slipped inside of her.
“Oh, yes,” he murmured. “And you like it, too.”
“Michael…Michael…” It was all she could say.
Another finger slid into place next to the first. “So warm,” he whispered. “The very heart of you.”
“Michael…”
His eyes caught hers. “Do you want me?” he asked, his voice stark and direct.
She nodded.
“Now?”
She nodded again, this time with more vigor.
His fingers slid out, and his hands found her hips again, guiding her down…down…until she could feel the tip of him at her opening. She tried to move her body down onto him, but he held her in place. “Not too fast,” he whispered.
“Please…”
“Let me move you,” he said, and his hands gently pushed at her hips, edging her down until she felt herself being stretched open by him. He felt huge, and it was all so different in this position.
“Good?” he asked.
She nodded.
“More?”
She nodded again.
And he continued the torture, holding himself still, but moving her body down atop his, each impossible inch of him sliding into her, stealing her breath, her voice, her very ability to think.
“Slide up and down,” he commanded.
Her eyes flew to his.
“You can do it,” he said softly.
She did, testing the motion, moaning at the pleasure of the friction, then gasping as she realized that she was sliding farther down onto him, that he wasn’t yet entirely embedded within her body.
“Take me to the hilt,” he said.
“I can’t.” And she couldn’t. She couldn’t possibly. She knew she had done so the night before, but this was different. He couldn’t possibly fit.