Never Sweeter (Dark Obsession #1)(40)

It was weird. Slightly uncomfortable.

Not sexy in the least.

And then his fingertips just oh-so-lightly grazed the pouting lips of her swollen *, and things pretty much started to go downhill from there. The sensation it sent through her was just so intense, and over something so small. He hadn’t even slipped between them to her clit, or eased a finger into her slick little hole. In truth, she wasn’t entirely sure he’d touched her at all.

Yet she still had to clench her jaw.

She had to tell herself that it was just the stuff that had happened before—the film and him coming and then licking his fingers like a satisfied cat. It wasn’t anything to do with this right now, with him touching her, with his skill. He wasn’t skillful at all. He was terrible. Awful.

The worst lover she had ever had.

She had no idea why her thighs were trembling. Or what made her moan when he finally, finally, finally eased his fingers into that slick slit, and then topped it off by telling her just what he found there.

“Ohhhh fuuuuck you are wet. You’re so wet. Jesus Christ, Letty, how can you stand it? How can you sit still and quiet with those eyes closed when your * is like this? So slippery I can just glide all the way down and ease on in and oh man, oh man,” he said, and all she could do in response was shiver and make a number of embarrassing noises. First for his words, and then oh god then for the feel of him doing it.

He used two fingers—two of those long, thick fingers—yet somehow it didn’t hurt when he pushed into her. There was no fumbling or searching. Her body just seemed to open for him, as though they’d dated for years and he’d worked on her for hours. He knew exactly how to touch her there, and when he did she simply had to respond. Her gasp rung out in the small room.

Though she vowed it would be the last one. That was it now—she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of anything else. Not even when he started working his fingers in and out, slow and steady and so unbelievably good she kind of wanted to cry over the unfairness of it. Why was he the one who had to be so good at this? How did he know how to do it in this deliberate, teasing, tantalizing way?

Even watching him do it was exciting. She made the mistake of glancing down and all she could see was his hand rolling beneath the material, the waistband occasionally stretching to give her a glimpse of her glossy cunt, his gleaming fingers, the way she was spread around that thick intrusion…

Fuck.

She had to look at the screen just to stop herself coming right then and there—though even those measures had an exciting quality of their own. James Spader was just doing something incredibly dull now, while she sat here watching through slitted eyelids, cheeks flushed and legs spread, as a man slowly fingered her slick, flushed *. Back and forth, back and forth, until she was so beside herself she wasn’t sure she even wanted to hold back her moans.

She only knew that she was still trying, for reasons that seemed vague and far away now. It just doesn’t matter, her mind hissed, but she kept it up anyway. She held herself more tightly and bit deep into her lip—deep enough that she tasted blood. And when he started to ease those fingers up, she shut her eyes tight. She thought of other things, more boring things: dry books and bird-watching.

All to no avail. He made one circle around her clit.

Just one tiny, insignificant circle, and that was it.

Her orgasm rolled up from that stiff little bud, in one all-consuming and all-powerful wave. It took away her control over her body—her toes curled tight and her back arched. But most important, it took away her control over her mouth. It let one little word slip out.

Though one little word was more than enough.

“Tate,” she said, and after that the game was pretty much up. That was gratitude in her voice and pleasure in the sigh behind it, and all wrapped in the neat little bow of his name. There was no more pretending that it wasn’t him who had made her feel this way, or suggesting that all of this was just a game.

And he knew it immediately.

“Holy shit, holy shit,” he said, as though she’d cried out the filthiest thing on the face of the earth. And he didn’t stop there. She could hear him fumbling with the waistband of his sweatpants already—though she tried to turn it into something else in her head. He was just pulling them up, she thought. They had slid down as he serviced her, that was all.

Only it wasn’t all.

When she made the mistake of glancing his way, she saw so much more than she was ready for. It was supposed to be over now, completely over, but he’d shoved everything down to midthigh and his cock was in his hand again and god god god why was it so arousing? She’d had one orgasm already. He’d had one orgasm already, and now he was being so f*cking filthy.

Yet somehow the filthiness only made it worse.

She came searingly close to telling him yes.

And go on.

And come all over me—just like she’d imagined.

For one wild second, it even seemed like he might. He was groaning and panting and he kept saying things, incredible things like do you see what you do to me do you get how f*cking horny you make me oh f*ck just hearing you moan my name. His hand was heavy on her shoulder, and she knew he was close. He was going to yank her top down any second now.

Any second, she thought.

Though she didn’t realize how much she wanted it until the first thick burst slid over his fist.