Edge of Midnight (McClouds & Friends #4)(38)

He swayed obediently closer, his breath harsh and audible.

She pressed her lips to the end of his penis. Flicked her tongue over the small slit. Licked up the drops of moisture. He shuddered, groaned. Yes. He was salty and good. His body made magic juice, too.

Emboldened, she assaulted him with her tongue. His hands tightened in her hair as she twirled her tongue around the ridge of his glans, flicking at the tender part beneath it, stroking the taut, delicate skin, savoring the metallic taste of his flesh, hot and swollen.

He gripped her hair and tugged her head away from him. “Back off,” he said, breathless. “I’ve got a job to do. You can suck on me later, when I’m exhausted. I’ll fit better then, anyhow.”

“But I’ll be exhausted, too,” she complained.

“That’s your problem, not mine.” He pushed her down onto her back. “Right now, it’s your turn again.”

“My turn for what?” She braced her hands on his hot, hard chest. She could feel the rough puckers and ridges of a scar beneath her hand.

“To touch yourself. I want to watch you come again. I love that.”

She felt desperately exposed as he pressed her knees wide open and stared at her. “Show me how you do it,” he urged.

She swallowed, biting her lips. “But I don’t do it like this.”

“No? Then how do you do it, baby?”

She realized that she had never told this to anyone in her life.

“With my legs closed, tight,” she admitted. “Squeezing really hard. I don’t know if I can do it any other—”

“What if I help?” He seized her hand, guided down between her legs. “Put your hand in your *, and I’ll play with your clit at the same time. We’ll get you where you need to go.”

Her fingers slid into the silken, slick opening of her sex, and she fell back onto the bed, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling. He pushed her legs wide, and put his mouth to her.

Her legs flailed, slipping on the satin comforter. His hair tickled her thighs, her groin, his beard stubble rasped her skin, the hot vortex of his lips fastened over her clitoris. He sucked, stroked, swirled. So much intense sensation, her brain couldn’t process it all. She fell to pieces, delicious explosions that went on and on, and he watched it happen, hot-eyed and pleased with himself. His gaze made her feel so vulnerable. The hot quivering began to shake her face, her chest.

Sean didn’t seem turned off by her weeping. On the contrary, when she opened her eyes and dashed away the blur, she found him straddling her, his penis hot and hard against her belly. Waiting.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t seem to stop.”

“It’s OK,” he said. “Lots of girls cry when they come.”

That infuriated her. She tried to shove him off, but he leaned forward, pinning her to the bed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Lots of girls, huh? Have you had so many that you can run your own personal statistical analyses?”

“Why should that bother you? I’m just a convenient piece of meat for you, right? What difference does it make how many girls I’ve had?”

She shoved at his hard chest. “It bugs me to be lumped into a category. There’s the umbrella group, Girls Sean Has Screwed, and there’s subsets, like Group F-12b, Girls Who Cry When They Come. Just slot me in, file me with the rest of the teeming masses. Get off me!”

“I thought you wanted to keep this emotionally uninvolved.”

“I guess I suck at that,” she said. “Surprise, surprise. Get off.”

Sean rolled off, and she struggled into a sitting position, pulling her robe around herself. “Time out,” she said. “This isn’t working. It’s making me feel worse, not better. I can’t afford to feel any worse.”

“Not working?” He looked incredulous. “You came like crazy.”

“It’s more complicated than that.” She jumped off the bed, belted the robe. “I’m sorry to leave you high and dry, but I—”

“Oh, you won’t, babe. Forget it. I’m not going anywhere.” He spun her around and pushed her up against the wall. “Not now.”

She stared into his eyes. The peonies on the wallpaper pulsed in her peripheral vision like a fever dream. Her pulse pounded. She was terrified, aroused, furious. He jerked the robe open, cupped her breast, fingers tracing shivering circles around the undercurve. He bent down, took her nipple in his mouth, his tongue a hot rasp of need.

He cupped her face, smoothing away her sweat-dampened hair. “I would never hurt you. You know that, don’t you?”

She thought of all those nights spent sobbing until dawn. All those years of useless therapy. “I cannot believe you have the nerve to say that to me,” she hissed. “You have no clue, do you? You idiot—”

He cut off her words with a frantic kiss, but the aggression melted down into ravenous sweetness, and the kiss went wild, tongues seeking, limbs twining. They wanted to punish each other, devour each other.

He pulled his mouth away. “Too late to blow me off,” he said. “We passed that point of no return, oh, maybe three orgasms ago?”

“Don’t muscle me around, you ape!”

“Or what? You’ll call Mommy and Daddy, or Blair the Ass-wipe Madden to save you? I’d like to see you explain why you’re stark naked and cherry red and slippery with lube all the way to your knees.”