Bait (Wake, #1)(102)
His breath caught and he held it, nodding his head slowly. He closed his eyes like he was soaking in my words, then muttered under his breathe. “Finally, a study I can get behind. What else do they say?”
“They encourage the use of genital slang.” I turned towards him fully and away from his grip on my chest.
He leaned back and I crawled up his body, keeping my legs between his. My arms holding my weight above him. His hands found my sides and held me there.
“They also say to ask for things that you want—to beg if necessary—and to repeat your lover's name.” My voice was husky and low. Watching him swallow hard almost made me lose it, but I stayed the course. Holding back all the humor from my face, as best I could.
He asked weakly, “Have you tried any of their theories?”
“Not yet. I've been waiting.”
“I think now would be a good time. Education is very important.”
I took a breath and lowered my mouth to his ear. I licked the lobe and said as seductively as I possibly could, “Casey?”
He exhaled a long rumbling, “Hmm?”
“Can you feel how wet my * is? Please?”
That was all it took. In one fast move he lifted me and rolled us over. Kicking my legs apart, he masterfully switched our positions.
I was in Heaven.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
HAD I DIED AND gone to Heaven? Or maybe it was my mom showing me what it was like.
Only hours before, I had been sulking and brooding. Painting a damn shed. Then Blake appeared out of nowhere, painted Bait in red on the wall, took care of me and made me eat, washed me in the tub with her two small hands, and then there I was in bed with her, about to sleep with her, really sleep with her, for the first time in over a year.
Oh, and she'd just asked me if I could, please, see if her * was wet.
Well, you bet your sweet f*cking ass I could. I'd never been surer of anything. She was ready for me, but I'd make damn sure she knew exactly how wet I could make her.
I gazed down at her, with my weight on my arms, the same way she had, and turned the tables. “I like your research.”
I couldn't take it any longer and leaned down to kiss her smiling lips. I paused before our mouths met and watched her close her eyes. It was one of those rare and sublime moments. I’d trade my soul for a picture of her like that, frozen in time. Her hair splayed over the white pillowcase under her head. In my bed. Her lips pursed ready for mine. She looked peaceful waiting for me.
All for me.
“Look at me, honeybee.” And her eyes fluttered open and met my gaze. She grinned unabashedly and wrapped her arms around me causing my balance to wane, and I fell atop of her. I heard a contented laugh come from her and crushed my mouth to hers. Her tongue didn't hesitate, meeting me and running itself over mine.
I felt her hips grind against my naked lower half. I felt her readiness soak through the boxers, but I wanted to make her beg for real, like her bullshit research had mentioned. My lips left hers and ran across her clavicle.
I retreated lower, kissing my way down to her navel and I circled it, leaving a wet trail every step of the way. I skimmed my hands up the inside of the loose shorts and found her dripping and so ready for me. But she'd have to wait.
I wanted her just as bad, the head of my hard cock sneaking up the front of my shirt. But if this relationship had taught me anything, it was patience. And I could hold out for a little longer if it meant hearing her desperate for only me.
I parted her damp flesh and ran my thumb from her clit to her entrance. Her back arched, her body invited me to come inside. I felt her clitoris delicately bead and throb under my touch and knew she would come undone with little more than what I was already doing.
But I wasn't leaving her tonight. I had nowhere to go. I was taking my time with her. It would be such sweet torture the likes of which she’d never had to deal with.
In the past, I'd been too rushed to be with her. So needy to make her come, almost trying to prove to her that I could. But I knew I could. She'd come to me, skin marked with my letters, because I needed her. To sate my needs and confirm her own.
I continued the mild assault with my thumb. I skirted my fingers over her opening, promising to go in, to bring her the release she craved, but I didn't. Instead, I removed my hand and watched her face and body grieve its loss of me. I reveled in that power.
I slowly removed my shirt and her boxers, pulling them down her legs inch by inch, letting the fabric graze her love-slick skin. Her nose was that beautiful shade of pink that haunted my dreams.
I led her leg to the side of my face with my left hand and found my cock with the other. I kissed her ankle and rubbed myself, making a show of it.
She writhed. Her pouty mouth shaped into an “O” as she watched. She could only take so much. I watched as her hand slowly crept to her center and began its own sensual mission, her long middle finger finding the spot and running over it in time with my strokes.
Just as I saw her head start to dip back into the pillow and her eyes start to close—sure signs that she was getting close to her peak—I moved her hand and stilled my own.
“Not yet, honeybee. You have to wait.” She didn't argue, only nodding her compliance, biting her lip. She was breathing hard and I watched as she tried to rein in her desire. “You're not ready yet.”