Full Throttle (Black Knights Inc. #7)(64)

Embarrassment or shyness or…something along those lines had her face flushing hot. She lifted her arms, ready to cover herself, but he stopped her.

“No, bonita,” he rasped, his deep voice heavy with desire as he caught her wrists in a firm grasp. Leaning over her, his warm chest brushing against her distended, aching nipples, he once against placed her hands behind her head. “You will keep them here for me, sí?” And, as if to lessen the demand in his tone, he placed a gentle kiss on her mouth. His day’s growth of beard stubble was wonderfully abrasive against her lips. “I want to look at you. I want to see you.”

She swallowed, nodding jerkily as he pushed back to his knees, doing just as he said he would. Slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, his gaze traveled down the length of her body. Past the quick rise and fall of her breasts, past the hollowed quiver of her stomach, to the place where she burned and ached.

His nostrils flared, and every inch of Abby’s skin flushed with a deep blush. She’d never had a man look at her. Not like this. Not so openly. She couldn’t stand it. She was too exposed, too vulnerable. And he was too…intense.

Covering her face with her hands, she whimpered his name.

“Don’t be shy, cari?o.” He nudged her hands away. She bit her lip when she saw his eyes sparkling above her, his cheeks flushed pink with the heat of his desire. “Don’t you know how beautiful you are?”

She shook her head. She’d wasn’t beautiful. Cute, perhaps. But never beautiful. And that place on her body, her most intimate place, was never something—

“Oh, sweet heavens!” she cried when he reached down to spread her labia, pressing the rough pad of his thumb into the hard knot of nerves at the top of her sex.

“You are gorgeous.” His eyes watched what his fingers were doing. “So pink. So plump and wet for me.” His voice was solemn, almost reverent, as if he were worshiping her. And when his middle finger stroked into her like rough velvet, abrading the tender nerve endings that had been screaming for sensation, the good Lord knew she felt like a goddess. Powerful and divine. Her body having become a glorious instrument of pure pleasure.

“C-Carlos,” she panted when he stroked her. Just that one thick finger. In and out. In and out. Until she thought she’d go crazy.

“Sí, mi vida,” he growled, a muscle ticking in his jaw, his chest rising and falling heavily, telling her that he was enjoying this as much as she. “Tell me how it feels.”

“So good,” she rasped, lifting her hips so he could go deeper. “It feels so good.”

“And this?” he asked as he slowly, gently forced another finger inside her, stretching her, filling her.

“Uhnn,” she whimpered, her heart pounding, her lungs struggling to remember to breathe when every single synapse in her brain was focused on Carlos and the intense pleasure he inflicted on her body. “Yesss,” she managed to hiss after a second. “Please, Carlos.”

“Please, Carlos, what?” he asked, placing the pad of thumb on her clit and slowly caressing it in a tight, circular motion.

Abby was surprised she didn’t spontaneously combust. Her blood was running so hot. Every inch of her skin was on fire. And her sex, where he stimulated her so well, was blazing like a furnace. “Please, make me come. I need you to—”

“Not yet,” he grumbled, stroking her one last time before pulling his fingers from her.

She couldn’t help herself, she growled her frustration as she clenched around the void his fingers had left behind.

“Shhh,” he crooned, scooting back and going down on his belly on the mat. When she lifted her head, she saw his face no more than a few inches from her sex. But he wasn’t returning her gaze. Oh, no. Once again, his attention was focused solely on the center of her, where she was, as he’d said, so pink and plump and wet. Only this time there was no embarrassment. Because the hot, yearning look in his eyes was impossible to miss. As was the hunger. And when he licked his lips like a man about to feast, her head dropped back to floor.

Sweet Jesus! He was so much hotter than she’d ever imagined he would be. So much more demanding and…knowledgeable.

Knowledgeable, oh, most certainly. Because when he pressed his lips to her, he didn’t hesitate or fumble like the few men she’d been with before. He didn’t lap or stab at her clit with the point of his tongue. Heavens no. He simply wrapped his lips around the distended bud, pressed the flat of his raspy tongue against her, and licked up and down. Slowly and gently at first. Then more forcefully.

Son of biscuit. She was going to come. If he’d only add a finger inside her to what he was already doing with his mouth, that is. She was close. So wonderfully, frustratingly close. And she had to fight herself not to beg him for more, not to beg him to lick harder, lick faster. Because it seemed like every time she asked him for more, he punished her—the most decadent, erotic punishment—by slowing everything down. And that was, like, the sexiest catch-22 ever, wasn’t it? Because that arrogant way he took control made her that much hotter, that much wetter, that much achier.

Holy Jeez! It was torture! Divine, sublime torture…

“Carlos,” she couldn’t stop his name from slipping from between her lips. “God, yes. That feels good.”

He hummed his approval against her, and the added stimulus had her bare toes curling. Then her breath caught in the back of her throat, her arms lifting of their own accord so she could bury her hands in the sleek, warm riot of his black hair, when he slid first one, then a second finger inside her. He pumped twice, stretching her intimate flesh until he seated his fingers to the last knuckles.