"Oh, wow… oh, my… I’m going to come, I—"
I pull my tongue and my thumb out.
Instantly, the trembling recedes from her body. She thrusts her hips up, trying to chase the sensation of how it felt to have me fuck her with my tongue and my fingers.
"Please, I need to… I have to… I want you inside of me." She pouts at me, lust dripping from her gaze. My groin tightens, and my balls feel like they weigh a ton. Before I can stop myself, I crawl up and over her and press my lips to hers.
27
Penny
He’s kissing me. Ohmigod. He brushes his lips over mine, once, twice, thrice, while his gaze holds mine. I’m drowning in his eyes. I’m falling for him. No, I have fallen for him. It’s been a headlong rush into the cauldron of whirling emotions and tripping lust that is Knight Warren. Resistance is futile. From the moment I met him, I’ve known it was inevitable. A question of when, not how.
Since I saw him walk into that room all angry and beat up and frustrated—scratch that, the first time I saw him saying goodbye to Abby and thought how hot he was—I’ve known I wanted him. Wanted him to want me. Wanted him to fuck me and show me how good we could be together. I wanted him on a physical level. I didn’t plan to fall for the man behind the growly, intense exterior. Didn’t expect his kiss to be hard and sweet. Masterful and commanding and filled with an aching yearning that sinks into my heart and zips to my core, setting every part of me alight with a pining, a longing, a craving for more.
I part my lips, and he slips his tongue inside, mirroring the way he laved my core earlier. How he stabbed his tongue inside my slit, how he licked my lower lips and sucked on my clit. How he fingered that forbidden part of me—a blush envelops me.
He leans back enough, his mouth is out of reach. And when I tip up my chin and try to capture it again with mine, that left side of his mouth curls in that almost smirk that has my pussy clenching all over again.
"I want you inside me," I choke out.
"I’m not going to take your virginity, Little Dove."
"Wha-a-t?" I blink.
"If I do, you’ll attach yourself to me. It’s inevitable."
Wow, the ego of this man.
"I don’t fuck virgins," he says slowly, as if I didn’t get it the first time around.
A slow anger bleeds into my veins. "You just ate me out," I snap.
"And you liked it."
"And I want more."
"Which you’re not getting."
I draw a deep breath. Stay calm, stay calm. "So, let me get this right." I shake my head to clear it. "You’re not going to make love to me?"
"I’m not going to fuck you."
Noted. It’s fucking, not making love. Thank you for the clarification, jerkface. Those sparks of anger inside me flare into tiny flames.
"You’re going to tease me and taunt me, but you’re not going to let me come?"
"That’s not what I said."
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, count back from ten, then lift my eyelids. "I’m not sure I’m following."
"I’m not going to fuck you. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to let you come."
"Then when?" The words are out of me before I can stop myself. Ugh, I sound so dissatisfied and so put off. Where’s my self-respect? How am I allowing this man to dick me around—literally? The flames in my blood fan higher.
"When the time is right."
"When is that?"
"When I decide."
The flames blaze into an inferno. The sadistic bastard. "Let me go." I shove at his shoulder, but I might as well be hitting a wall. Asshole may have left the army, but clearly, he’s working out. "Unhand me."
"No."
"You’re not going to let me come right now, you’re not going to fuck me, but you’re not going to release me, either?"
A considering look comes into his eyes, then he nods. "That’s about right."
"You’re so frustrating," I snarl.
"So are you." A look of surprise flashes across his face before that mask, once more, falls across his features.
"I’m not the one deciding not to have sex."
"It’s for your own good."
I scoff, “I bet you’re thinking, right now, that you’re being a gentleman, but all you are is a tease."
"It’s good for your character," he says with a straight face. What the—？ Is this guy for real?
"Let me up." I begin to writhe under him. Not that he gives a millimeter. It doesn’t stop me, though. I’m not going to lay here and take his decision as if I accept it. Because I don’t. Not at all. I heave and wriggle and push up into him and hit that thick, hard column in the crotch. I freeze.
"It’s not like this is easy for me, either, but trust me when I say, this is the best thing for us."
"Who are you to make that decision for me?"
"Someone who doesn’t want to see you unhappy."
"Ha-ha!" I pretend to laugh, then firm my lips. "I’ve had enough of this stupid conversation. I want to leave now."
"It’s late."
"I can take a cab home."
"Nope." He releases me to sit up on his knees, and I miss the feel of his body.
Not that he was leaning his body fully against me. He made sure to keep most of his weight off of me— I wish I could have felt the full heaviness of him on me. His chest against mine, his cock inside me, his breath hot on my lips. A-n-d, seriously, I need to get my head examined. How can I want to sleep with him, when he’s got some stupid notion into his head about not having sex with me? Then, he unfastens first one button on his cuff, then the other, before he moves to undo the first two on his placket.
"What are you doing?"
In reply, he reaches behind him and, in that one-handed gesture that hot guys seem to have perfected without trying, he yanks off his shirt and flings it aside. The moonlight streaming in lends an ivory sheen to his skin. H-o-l-y mother of god, this guy is ripped. Like acres upon acres of undulating, sculpted muscles that form an eight-pack. No, I swear it’s an eight-pack. I didn’t think those existed, but faced with evidence to the contrary, I have to admit defeat. And what a delicious defeat it is. I take in the glorious expanse of his chest marked with scars that tell of the life he’s led. The flesh is pinched in a couple of places, and I’m sure they are marks from bullets. He faced them and survived, and thank god for that, for this man is too vital to not be here and alive and on his knees in front of me. And then there’s the tattoo that runs up one side of his torso:
He who blinks, dies.
I reach out to trace the heavy script, and his muscles twitch. He’s so tough, the planes of his body unforgiving, and macho, and so male. It makes me want to lick up his body, then rub my pussy all over him and mark him as mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Oh, shoot, I need to stop with this line of thinking. I drag my fingers down the demarcation between his pecs, down to where the shallow groove on either side of his abdomen runs from his hipbone to his groin. My pussy instantly moistens; so does my mouth. Am I drooling? Would you blame me if I were?