Manwhore +1
Page 43
“Are you okay with this?” he asks as he sets my mouth free. His eyes are so dark, I can hardly see the green in his pupils.
Nodding and breathless, I slide my fingers into his hair and pull his delicious mouth back to me. He fits his lips to mine, to the way he knows just how to.
He plays with my tongue a little, sucks gently on my lower lip.
The fingers of one hand trail under the fall of my hair and then he slides them upward to cradle the back of my head in his palm, and with that motion alone, he’s got me pinned in place. I’m helplessly subjected to his hungry mouth, and the way he’s kissing and sucking on me is so downright hot I’ve never been so turned on.
I end up lying down on the bench seat with his body above mine, my hands anxiously gripping fistfuls of his collar.
His tongue sweeps and sweeps into my mouth and when he retreats to give me a smoldering look, I notice the way his green, green eyes have darkened like a night forest.
“I miss you,” he rasps, looking at me so fiercely it’s as though he’s commanding me to understand what this means.
“I miss you too,” I croak feelingly.
“I miss the taste of you, the feel of you, the sounds you make.” Clenching his jaw as if he’s remembering what it was like to miss me, he strokes his curled index finger down the line of my jaw, watching what he does. I watch the emotions play across his features as he opens his hand and caresses my face and neck. Determination. Hunger. Control.
I’m panting, aching, wanting, waiting. Holding me by the back of the neck, he pulls me up to a sitting position and in for another wet kiss. Leisurely, his mouth slants from one side to the other as he tastes me from all angles. I feel delicious, juicy, luscious. Wanting to taste him just as thoroughly too, I draw his tongue into my mouth and suck, surprised by how the sucking motion causes every centimeter of my body to squeeze and Saint to reflexively tighten his hold on me.
He groans and draws me onto his lap and shifts me so that I straddle him, then he lowers the top of my dress with a little tug at the elastic of my strapless.
“Malcolm, what are you doing?” I gasp, covering my chest with my arms as my breasts pop free.
“I’m looking at you.” Completely shameless and in control, he takes both my arms and lowers them to my sides.
I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them, embarrassed to realize he’s probably noticed I used nipple stickers to keep from having to use a bra tonight. I didn’t want my nipples to be poking out, and now my perky breasts are staring up at him with two small, round tan stickers on them.
He runs his thumbs over each. My sex squeezes when I notice his gaze is loving, appraising, possessive. And dark. So very, very dark.
“I meant to take them off before you saw,” I whisper.
He kisses the corner of my mouth. “I’ll do it.” Then he leans close and kisses one tip of my breast over the sticker. Then the other, his lips warm and gentle. He then raises his head as he seizes each sticker between his thumbs and fingers and looks into my eyes as he gently pulls off one, then the other.
A frisson of need runs through me.
The act is strangely intimate. Looking into each other’s eyes as he does this to me.
He lifts his thumb to his mouth and my sex tightens when he licks it. He does the same with his other thumb. Then he uses both to rub my nipples clean, and I almost moan out loud.
He speaks to me in a thick voice—my toes curling. I can feel how hard he is between my legs. “They’re all mine now,” he says.
He centers me on his lap again and drags the skirt of my dress up to my hips, and once it’s bunched up where he wants it, he ducks his head to take one nipple into his mouth, and when he covers the hardened little point with heat and wet, I rock my hips against his hardness. “Saint,” I beg.
He releases my breast and looks at me. He looks as if he wants to devour me whole as he leans in to continue kissing my lips.
He just won’t stop kissing me, his hands cupping my ass as he draws me up tighter against his erection.
I quiver in need. “Oh god.”
Gasping, I rake my nails against his scalp as I drag my mouth across any part of him that I can: the crown of his head that smells of shampoo, his shadowed, raspy jaw. Then I bite his earlobe. My body’s acting of its own will, pressing closer, a moan leaving me when he rubs my nipples with his thumbs in the most delicious, heart-stoppingly slow way.
I want to make out forever, and I want to let go when he can let go with me. But he’s hard between my legs, his mouth is killing me, and I feel the tension in my body tighten and tighten for orgasm.
Nodding and breathless, I slide my fingers into his hair and pull his delicious mouth back to me. He fits his lips to mine, to the way he knows just how to.
He plays with my tongue a little, sucks gently on my lower lip.
The fingers of one hand trail under the fall of my hair and then he slides them upward to cradle the back of my head in his palm, and with that motion alone, he’s got me pinned in place. I’m helplessly subjected to his hungry mouth, and the way he’s kissing and sucking on me is so downright hot I’ve never been so turned on.
I end up lying down on the bench seat with his body above mine, my hands anxiously gripping fistfuls of his collar.
His tongue sweeps and sweeps into my mouth and when he retreats to give me a smoldering look, I notice the way his green, green eyes have darkened like a night forest.
“I miss you,” he rasps, looking at me so fiercely it’s as though he’s commanding me to understand what this means.
“I miss you too,” I croak feelingly.
“I miss the taste of you, the feel of you, the sounds you make.” Clenching his jaw as if he’s remembering what it was like to miss me, he strokes his curled index finger down the line of my jaw, watching what he does. I watch the emotions play across his features as he opens his hand and caresses my face and neck. Determination. Hunger. Control.
I’m panting, aching, wanting, waiting. Holding me by the back of the neck, he pulls me up to a sitting position and in for another wet kiss. Leisurely, his mouth slants from one side to the other as he tastes me from all angles. I feel delicious, juicy, luscious. Wanting to taste him just as thoroughly too, I draw his tongue into my mouth and suck, surprised by how the sucking motion causes every centimeter of my body to squeeze and Saint to reflexively tighten his hold on me.
He groans and draws me onto his lap and shifts me so that I straddle him, then he lowers the top of my dress with a little tug at the elastic of my strapless.
“Malcolm, what are you doing?” I gasp, covering my chest with my arms as my breasts pop free.
“I’m looking at you.” Completely shameless and in control, he takes both my arms and lowers them to my sides.
I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them, embarrassed to realize he’s probably noticed I used nipple stickers to keep from having to use a bra tonight. I didn’t want my nipples to be poking out, and now my perky breasts are staring up at him with two small, round tan stickers on them.
He runs his thumbs over each. My sex squeezes when I notice his gaze is loving, appraising, possessive. And dark. So very, very dark.
“I meant to take them off before you saw,” I whisper.
He kisses the corner of my mouth. “I’ll do it.” Then he leans close and kisses one tip of my breast over the sticker. Then the other, his lips warm and gentle. He then raises his head as he seizes each sticker between his thumbs and fingers and looks into my eyes as he gently pulls off one, then the other.
A frisson of need runs through me.
The act is strangely intimate. Looking into each other’s eyes as he does this to me.
He lifts his thumb to his mouth and my sex tightens when he licks it. He does the same with his other thumb. Then he uses both to rub my nipples clean, and I almost moan out loud.
He speaks to me in a thick voice—my toes curling. I can feel how hard he is between my legs. “They’re all mine now,” he says.
He centers me on his lap again and drags the skirt of my dress up to my hips, and once it’s bunched up where he wants it, he ducks his head to take one nipple into his mouth, and when he covers the hardened little point with heat and wet, I rock my hips against his hardness. “Saint,” I beg.
He releases my breast and looks at me. He looks as if he wants to devour me whole as he leans in to continue kissing my lips.
He just won’t stop kissing me, his hands cupping my ass as he draws me up tighter against his erection.
I quiver in need. “Oh god.”
Gasping, I rake my nails against his scalp as I drag my mouth across any part of him that I can: the crown of his head that smells of shampoo, his shadowed, raspy jaw. Then I bite his earlobe. My body’s acting of its own will, pressing closer, a moan leaving me when he rubs my nipples with his thumbs in the most delicious, heart-stoppingly slow way.
I want to make out forever, and I want to let go when he can let go with me. But he’s hard between my legs, his mouth is killing me, and I feel the tension in my body tighten and tighten for orgasm.
