Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(54)

“I’m not. It was why I came,” she rasped, her tongue and lips moving with extreme effort.

His jaw tightened; his gaze grew wild. “Come here,” he said, even though he was carrying her and she really had no other choice to go wherever he took her.

He set her down before an upholstered, cushiony chair and immediately went to retrieve the sleek, padded armchair that sat before his desk. He placed it just behind her, so that she was between the two chairs. Francesca stood there panting, still a little dazed from her intense orgasm. The next thing she knew, Ian was sitting in the cushiony chair, long legs bent and thighs slightly spread, and reaching for her. He turned her before he pulled her into his lap, so that her bottom faced him.

“Put your knees in the cushion next to my legs and your hands on the seat of the desk chair in front of you,” he said, his voice sounding rough. “I can’t take it a second longer. I have to taste you.”

His tense command penetrated her disorientation. She took the position he desired, guided by his touch. When she’d settled, she was on her hands and knees, her lower half on the cushioned chair where Ian sat, her hands bracing her upper body on the wooden chair. He put his hands on her ass, which was just inches from his face. She sensed his need when he immediately parted her cheeks, opening her molten sex to him.

“Send up your tailbone,” he said gruffly, swatting a buttock.

She moaned, fresh arousal spiking through her, and arched her back, sending up her ass to give him better access to her *. She cried out when he slid his tongue between her labia and began to agitate her clit. He lapped at her from the top tip of her clit to her slit. She shook when he pushed his tongue into her * and f*cked her with it for an electrical moment, massaging her buttocks in his hands while he ladled her juices into his mouth and groaned in harsh appreciation.

After he’d gotten his fill, he sent his tongue back between her labia, lashing at her clit until she bit off a scream. It was sublime. So intense, it was unbearable. She writhed and keened brokenly. His fingers bit into her sore bottom, holding her in place for his marauding mouth. He leaned forward, pushing closer, burying his lower face in her wet, aroused sex. His hold was absolute . . . unwavering. She had to take every bit of the massive pleasure he conferred as he drank his fill of her. When he sucked firmly while he twisted his head back and forth and whipped her clit with his tongue, she broke in orgasm. The pleasure was so intense, her elbows gave way and she grazed her forehead on the hard wood of the seat before she caught herself. He responded by grabbing her waist and ribs firmly and leaning back in the chair, pulling her back against him. She slid onto his thighs, so that her breasts pressed against his knees and her head fell over the edge of them. He continued to eat her relentlessly the whole time, pressing his mouth tightly to her climaxing *, squeezing her buttocks and occasionally slapping one, ramping up her orgasm.

His lashing tongue slowed with her shudders of release, but he continued to lick and suck her juices greedily even when she sagged into his lap, satiated and half-senseless.

“No one tastes like you. No one comes like you.”

Her eyelids blinked open at his hoarse voice. He kissed her wet, overly sensitive outer sex once before he lifted his head.

“Can you stand up?” he asked, stroking the sensitive sides of her body.

“Yes,” she said thickly. When she came off him, he stood and took her into his arms. She moaned softly when she saw how slick his lower face was with her juices. She tasted them on his kiss, closing her eyes in quiet bliss at their intermingled flavor.

He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed like he might a baby. She was glad. She wasn’t sure if her legs would work properly. He sat her on the edge of the mattress, for a moment just staring down at her as she panted. He began stroking her with his hand, caressing her back and hip and thigh, soothing her. As she recovered, his touch turned demanding versus reassuring.

He cupped her breast, molding it to his palm. Her eyelids flickered open and she met his stare.

“Better?” he murmured, still massaging her breast.

She nodded.

“Then stand up,” he said.

He helped her, since her wrists were bound. When she stood before him, he pulled her between his legs and clamped her hips between his strong thighs. He immediately began to play with her breasts, his manner deliberate, his blazing stare making her whimper in helpless arousal. She was bound and could go nowhere, do nothing but be the target of his need. Ian’s desire was always monumentally focused and precise, but it seemed to have grown exponentially since they’d been apart. He gently squeezed her breasts, making the nipples protrude between his thumb and forefinger.

“I can’t tell you how much I missed your lovely breasts,” he said, plucking at her achy nipples, making them stiffer. He lifted the globes with both hands and let them fall, then lightly slapped at the outer curves, seeming to enjoy the shiver in firm flesh. Arousal stabbed at her clit—yes, even though she was half-insensate from her previous orgasms. She experienced a nearly overwhelming urge to shove her hands between her thighs to alleviate the pinch of lust. She sensed his hunger growing, saw the greedy gleam in his blue eyes. He gathered both breasts in his hands, pushing the flesh together.

She cried out raggedly when he leaned forward and tongued both nipples at once. She watched him with a tight focus, absorbing the image of his red tongue running over the beaded flesh, stimulating and sensitizing the nerves. Pleasure tore through her when he slipped one of her nipples between his lips and sucked strong enough to hollow out his cheeks.