Dark Notes(93)

He rolls us, hands on my face, his mouth and breaths consuming mine. Our tongues battle, licking and lashing as his weight crushes my chest and his cock fills me up. Over and over, he slams his hips with wicked-hard thrusts. I reach down, put my hands on the hard muscle of his ass for the first time, and hold on.

My God, it’s a perfect ass. He’s perfect everywhere. The cinnamon on his tongue. The dark bass notes in his voice. The musical talent in his hands. The sight of him in jeans and t-shirts, ties and waistcoats, and nothing at all. I’ll never get enough.

His plunging pace jumps and jerks, falling into an abrupt staccato. He tears his mouth away, his hand dropping to the mattress to support the bow of his back as he roars through his orgasm. His eyes stay with me through every gasping shout, telling me I’m the reason for his pleasure, the heart of it.

Lowering his head to my shoulder, he seems to be winding down, trying to steady his heaving breaths. But the press of his teeth against my skin holds me on a heightened edge of arousal.

A moment later, he pins my arms above my head, hips rocking, cock throbbing inside me. “Remember your word.”

My eyes widen. “We’re not done?”

He makes a tsking sound, closes a strong hand around my breast, and bites my nipple.

Then he f*cks me.

For hours.

His rhythms span between gentle and wild, his tempo quickly changing with countless alternating positions. He arranges me on hands and knees and smacks my ass while he thrusts from behind. He tosses me on my back, collars my throat with his fingers, and f*cks me with my thighs pinched together between his. The choreography gets a little foggy after that as my body surrenders to the floaty, perverted world of Emeric Marceaux.

Much of the evening slides past my heavy-lidded eyes in a blanket of sweat-slick skin, tender caresses, and passionate kisses. But as this is Emeric, and his way is infused with domination, it requires an emotional and mental subtlety that goes far beyond the technical act of sex. He tells me when, where, and how hard, and I roll with it, yearn for it, my need to satisfy him outweighing all else.

In turn, he pleasures me. Right into a coma.

“Ivory?” He bites my thigh.

I can’t even move. Why do I need to? He’ll just move me himself.

Having just come from the shower, where he banged me against the tiled wall, I lie face down on the bed. Naked, flushed, sated, I try to talk myself into lifting my hand to remove the dripping hair from my face. I’ll do it in a minute.

He moves up my limp body and brushes the wet strands behind my ear. “You’re ten years younger than me. Don’t tell me an old man wore you out.”

I snort—the extent of the energy I can muster. But in my defense, he works out two hours every day.

The mattress bounces as he shifts around me, kissing every inch of my body from my head to my toes. Doesn’t take long before I fall blissfully asleep beneath the affection.

When I wake, he’s stretched out beside me with a towel wrapped around his waist, trailing a finger along my spine.

“How long was I out?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

I fold my arms beneath my cheek and meet his hooded eyes. “I’ve never done this.”

He reaches behind him, grabs a glass of water from the nightstand, and holds it out to me. “What?”

After a long refreshing drink, I hand it back and change the subject. “You didn’t eat dinner.”

He returns the glass then lies on his side, resting his head on the bend of his arm. “Neither of us ate. Finish what you were going to say.”

I reach out and trace the curve of his upper lip. “The after stuff. This. It’s always been sex and run, usually followed by crying and hiding.” I give him a soft smile. “I like this. A lot.”

He pulls me against his chest and kisses my temple. The hush of our breaths envelopes us, and he hugs me like that for so long I wonder if he fell asleep.

Eventually, his whisper breaks the silence. “I like it, too, Ivory. So much so I’m terrified it’ll be taken from us.”

I wrap an arm around his wide back. “We’ll be careful.”

“We need to tone it down at school.”

I scratch my fingernail across his nipple. “You need to stop giving me those eyes.”

“What eyes?” A smile teases his lips.

“The ones that say…” I deepen my voice. “Come here, Miss Westbrook. Look at me, Miss Westbrook. On your knees—”

He surges up with a roguish grin on his face.

I roll out of reach, my mocking tone tumbling into laughter. “Suck my cock, Miss Westbrook.”

He flashes his teeth and crawls after me, losing his towel in the process.

My gaze dips down his chest and lands on his dick. It’s…soft? Holy shit, it looks weird. I tilt my head, trying to get a better view.

He sits back on his ankles and narrows his eyes. “You’re going to give me a complex.”

“I haven’t ever…” I lean over his lap and wrap my hand around it. It’s still heavy, just… “So soft.”

He stares at me curiously. “Keep touching it, and it won’t be.”

Sure enough, within seconds, it begins to stiffen. I’m familiar with this part, and he’s the biggest and baddest of them all. Ironically, he’s also the safest.