In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(78)

What a beautiful sight. Sveti coming, against his face, around his hand. Clenching his fingers. He was dazzled, drunk. Wet with her lube.

And so, so ready to f*ck.

He rose to his feet, tossed mosquito netting out of his way to make space, but she put out an arm as he was about to push her down.

“Wait,” she said.

Impressive, that she could maintain that imperious voice, after that orgasm. A rosy mist of sweat made her dewy and soft, and her face pink. The copious lube made the ringlets on her mound gleam black and wet. Juicy sweet. “Wait for what?”

“Lie down on the bed,” she said. “On your back.”

His jaw dropped. “Still? You’re still in that place?”

“Just do it, Sam.”

Fuck it. As long as she was naked and touching him, it was all good. He wrenched the coverlet off and reclined. She gazed at his stiff, empurpled cock against his belly, taking her own sweet time.

He massaged his cock as he stared up at her. “So? What now?”

She clambered onto him, her perfect tits bouncing and swaying as she straddled his thighs, and ran a slow, appraising finger up the shiny, reddened length of his cock, stopping for a moment to swirl her palm over his cockhead. She gave him a few tight, bold squeezes, root to tip.

He arched beneath her, groaning. “Oh, God. Sveti. Please.”

“Hold it up for me.” Her voice was utterly cool, remote.

He gripped his cock in his fist and presented it to her with silent pleading, but she wasn’t done with the torment. She poised herself over him, one hand braced on his chest, the other opening herself. Brushing her hot * lips over his aching cockhead. Wet, teasing little kisses. Languorous, undulating. Taking him in, making him wet, shiny.

Making him wait. This was payback. There would be no mercy.

She rolled his cockhead sensually around her clit, eyes closed, head flung back. Intent on her own pleasure. Then she opened her eyes and gave him a challenging stare. Goading him.

Something nameless and dangerous stirred inside him. They could crash and burn if they went too far down this road, but she just kept pushing, and he was too jacked out of his mind to stop her.

“It’s dangerous to tease,” he said, thickly.

“You should have thought of that on the plane,” she replied.

“That was different.”

“Of course, since you were the one doing it. Poor Sam. Feeling put-upon?” She pulsed her hips, sliding his shaft between her slick folds. It emerged happy and gleaming from that hot, voluptuous kiss. She swayed, head tossed back, dancing over him. Pleasing herself.

As if he weren’t about to flip her over and f*ck her hard.

He fought it. Wary of scaring her. He wasn’t going to last much longer. Her scent fogged his senses. The little wet sounds, that scalding, voluptuous lick of contact, it was driving him to the screaming edge of reason. But she’d said at the start that she chose him for a lover because he wasn’t afraid of her.

She cried out as he rolled her over, and struggled furiously beneath his weight. “Sam! I didn’t say you could do that!”

“Nope, you pushed me here on purpose. Because you like me this way.” He cut off her response with a kiss, ravaging the moist sweetness of her mouth. She slapped his chest. He barely felt it, he was so intent upon sinking his stiff cock into her quivering sheath.

She was primed. One deep, deliberate thrust into her slick depths and she went off. Her cunt clenched and fluttered, the muscular pulses clenching like a fist. She almost dragged him over the edge with her. He held back, by some supreme effort of inner balance.

He waited, rocking tenderly in her tight little nest to silently remind her that this was not over. When her eyes fluttered open, they were smeared with mascara. He loved that look. Disheveled, undone, sprawled wide and yielding. That naked look in her eyes. No games, no walls. Just the feelings she had for him that she could not hide. Not when he had mastery over her body. He loved those moments.

Fleeting though they always were.

Her pink tongue darted out to wet her soft, full lips, and his cock twitched eagerly in response, begging for action. He thrust, swiveling.

“I’m not done,” he said.

Her gaze fluttered up, met his eyes. “I know,” she whispered.

He cupped her face in his hand, gently forcing her to meet his eyes. “I want to f*ck you from behind again.”

Her * tightened around him, a little fluttering clench. He loved being able to read her. Knowing what she secretly liked.

“Still playing power games?” she asked.

“You started it,” he said. “It worked for you. Spectacularly.”

“No, it was you who started it,” she pointed out. “On the plane.”

“Who cares?” he said. “If it’s a game, it’s a good game. Between equals who like to play, and know what they want. Understand?”

The crease between her brows indicated that she did not.

“Equals,” he repeated. “Meaning, sometimes, I kneel before Her Magnificence and subserviently pleasure her with my tongue, and sometimes, my love-slave concubine presents her hothouse flower of a * to me to be f*cked from behind. In any case, I can be counted on to make you come screaming. No need to get uptight. If you trust me.”

She gave him a short, nervous nod. Old ghosts, old shames. The two of them had to push through the fear.