Witcha Gonna Do? (Witchington #1)(64)
The man is pure evil with this kind of blissful torture, and I can’t fucking take it. I reach down and hook my thumbs around the elastic waistband, ready to shove the lace down over my ass, but Gil has other plans.
He wraps his fingers around my wrists and hauls my arms up over my head. “You’re impatient.”
Well, yeah, has he seen him naked? It’s a whole thing.
Still, I try to play it cool by shrugging a shoulder. “I want what I want.”
He draws teasing circles around my hard nipple without actually touching it. “And what is it that you desire?”
“You.” So much for trying to play coy.
My arms still up in the air, he twirls me around and spins me into the slipper chair by the window and then he steps back. “Spread your legs.”
I don’t hesitate, widening my legs. His gaze immediately drops to the black lace at the juncture of my thighs. Judging by the way his eyes darken with lust, he didn’t miss the growing damp spot soaking through the material. I slide my hands up my thighs, going slow as his hungry gaze tracks my progress. By the time I skim my nails ever so lightly across my hot center, he’s kicking off his shoes and shoving his pants and boxers down in one move. Fuck, I love looking at this man’s dick. I know, the prevailing wisdom is that they aren’t so pretty to look at. Those folks who think that haven’t seen Gil Connolly’s cock. Thick, long, curving just a little to the left, it’s a work of fucking art. And when he fists it, squeezing the base so hard I can practically feel it? It’s all I can do not to give in to the urge to slide down off the chair and crawl over to him so I can suck that pretty, pretty dick of his.
“Take it off. All of it,” he says, his voice rough with lust. “But stay on the chair.”
The thought to object doesn’t even enter my head, and I’m past the point of teasing him, so it takes what seems like all of about fifteen milliseconds for me to be naked—except for my high heels—on the chair, my legs spread open for him, giving him the perfect view of my slick, swollen folds. The cool night air against my core and his hot gaze are more than I can take.
He sucks in a harsh breath. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Closing my eyes, I arch my back, cup my boobs, and roll my nipples before pulling them hard enough that I know they’ll be red and the exact right kind of tender. Gil’s throaty groan only encourages me to do more. Touch my tits the way I do when I’m alone, teasing them, toying with the stiff nipples, tugging and twisting with just enough pressure that my thighs are getting wet.
I rest a hand on my leg so my fingers brush against the last spot of my inner thigh before it becomes something else entirely, something hot, something pulsing with want, something practically dripping with desire. “I’m gonna touch myself now.”
He lets out a strained hiss of breath and strokes his cock with slow, steady movements, his attention never moving from me. “Fuck yes.”
I haven’t even touched myself and I am already so close to coming. I slip my fingers between my legs and nearly bliss out just from that first touch. I circle my clit, slide my fingers lower to my opening, and go back up. Gil follows my moves with a fierce gaze that pushes me closer and closer with every stroke of my fingers. This isn’t a show so much as it’s a shared experience, not touching but together. Honestly, it’s hot as hell and there’s no way I’m going to be able to draw it out. So I don’t bother. There will always be the next time. We can tease and torment each other then for the absolute best of reasons. Right now though, I just want to come while he watches and strokes his gorgeous fucking cock. And I do, the tension building and building in my core until I can’t take it anymore and it explodes inside me, pleasure washes over me, and my bones melt to Jell-O.
“Gil.” I’m still floating down from the high of my orgasm, but I’m not even close to done yet. “I want you inside me.”
“Good,” he says, “because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with you.”
He takes my hand and helps me up from the chair. My legs are shaky and I’m still trying to catch my breath, but Gil’s a steadying presence, and I know he’s not gonna let me fall even with the train running faster than normal so we can get back to Wrightsville as soon as possible to save my family.
“You don’t have to worry with me,” he says, sitting down on the chair I’ve just vacated and bringing me with him so I’m straddling him. “I’ve got you.”
I don’t have a single worry in my head about that. How could I? You can’t doubt the person you love.
His hands are on my hips as I reach between us, wrapping my fingers around his hard cock and lowering myself down on him, letting him fill me up. It’s not perfect—we’re not perfect—but when we’re like this in this moment, it sure feels like we’re as close to it as we can ever be.
“I love you, Gil Connolly.”
I don’t mean to say it, but the words just slip out. I have half a second of oh-fuck-what-did-I-just-do panic running through my head before his mouth comes crashing down on mine while at the same time he lifts his hips, fucking me from underneath with such glorious power and delicious intensity that the ability to form thoughts doesn’t seem so important anymore.
He cups the back of my head, his gaze locked on my face, and I can’t get a read on his expression. He pulls my head lower.