Wicked Burn(81)

He just wanted to feel this.

When the unwelcome thought eventually did reach his lust-scorched brain that he couldn’t keep Niall pressed against a hard wall forever, he backed away, fully taking her weight in his arms. She made a muffled sound of alarm near his ear at the movement.

“Shhh, I’ve got you. I’m taking you to the bedroom,” he informed her gruffly.

He fumbled a little bit in the short distance to his bedroom—his jeans were slipping down his thighs. He made it, however, gently setting Niall on the edge of his bed. He grimaced at the agony of drawing his still rigid, quivering cock out of her body.

Christ, he thought he’d embellished how good it felt to be inside of her shrink-wrapped, hot little *, but his memories fell far short of reality.

He began to undress hastily, but the sight of Niall’s enormous hazel eyes looking up at him with a sexy, dazed expression made him pause after he’d lifted his shirt over his head. He swallowed thickly to moisten the sudden dryness in his throat.

“Take off your blouse,” he said in a tone that was harsher than he’d intended.

She blinked twice rapidly, as if she were awakening from a dream. Her gaze lowered to his cock, which was still moist from her abundant juices. She bit her lower lip as she continued to stare at him.

“Vic, what about—”

“Now isn’t the time for talking, baby,” he said quietly. Something in his tone made her eyes flicker up to his face. The anxiety and stark arousal that he saw in their depths turned him on as much as it always had . . . more so.

His penis surged with a sharp twang of reawakened need.

“Take off your blouse,” he instructed again, firmly but gently.

At first he thought she was going to refuse. Her kiss-swollen, luscious lips opened as though she was about to protest. Her eyes met his.

Her hands shook slightly as she unbuttoned her cotton blouse. She drew it off her arms. He stared at the beautiful, sex-flushed woman who sat on his bed wearing nothing but a bra that didn’t begin to hide her large, erect nipples as they pressed against the insubstantial fabric. When she laid the blouse on the bed and met his eyes again, he couldn’t speak.

So he just nodded once as he stared at her silk-encased little breasts.

She reached behind her and unfastened the bra, then peeled the cups of silk from firm, fleshy fruit.

Vic didn’t move for several long, tense seconds. The tiny whimper she made in her throat drew his attention to her face.

“Hold them up for me,” he said.

He waited until she’d slid her hands beneath the plump, curved mounds that rose so starkly from the plane of her ribs. Then he sank to his knees in front of her and fell upon what she offered him so sweetly.

He made a feast of her fat, pink nipples, ravenously suckling first one delectable morsel and teasing it into a tight peak before he transferred to the other, giving it the same treatment, sometimes teasing her with his tongue and teeth, sometimes sucking her deep into his mouth until she cried out in pleasurable agony. He couldn’t get enough of her . . . never would get enough of her taste or the feeling of her small body twisting and undulating in his hands as he held her steady for his mouth, or the sexy whimpers she made deep in her throat that erupted into full-throttle cries of ecstasy when he suckled her nipples good and hard.

Or maybe there was a way to immunize himself against Niall’s power over him. If he took her enough times at the furious, maddened pace that his body required when it came to Niall, he’d have no choice but to eventually tire of her. Wasn’t there some sort of cure for addictive behaviors that prescribed the addictive substance be taken repeatedly in large quantities? Vic dazedly lifted his head and stared at one of Niall’s reddened, pointed, wet nipples.

He stood jerkily, unable to unglue his eyes from Niall’s breasts. He eventually had to, however, as he flipped off his boots and shoved his jeans and underwear down his thighs in a flurry of haste.

When he was nude, he nodded toward the middle of the bed.

“On your hands and knees.”

He hoped she wouldn’t mind his blunt direction. His arousal was such that it was all he was capable of. But he was reminded quickly that Niall had never once protested his terse or crude language during sex. In fact, elegant, classy Niall had always become more aroused when he talked dirty to her.

He came up behind her on his knees. His hands on her hips encouraged her nonverbally to move toward the headboard. When she’d moved into the position he wanted, he halted her by holding her hips steady. He reached around her, grabbing several pillows and stacking them beneath her hips.

“Put your shoulders down on the bed and reach up and hold onto one of the posts on the headboard with both hands,” he said. He watched with barely restrained excitement as she presented her sweet fanny in the air for him. His cock leapt up and batted against his lower rib cage when he saw her turn her head and glance back at him, the whites of her eyes showing.

“Don’t let go until I say so,” he told her with a pointed look before he parted her plump cheeks and pushed the tip of his cock into her *.

God, this was going to feel good, he thought with a profound feeling of grim satisfaction.

She cried out when he thrust. He held her wiggling hips steady with both hands and pushed until she sheathed the fattest, most dense and swollen portion of the stalk of his cock just past the midsection. She pressed her hips down into the pillows. At that moment, Vic didn’t know if she did it in order to get friction on her clit because she was aroused, or if she tried to escape his penetration of her body.