Manwhore
Page 67
He nips at my breasts and uses one hand to unhook my bra, his breath hot on my skin and his tongue wet and warm.
“God, you did that with one hand?” I gasp.
I feel his smile against my skin as he reaches between us and rubs one nipple with the pad of his thumb. And then his smile is gone and so is mine, our breathing starting to change as the air between us heats up.
My head rolls a little on the bed as he licks one nipple and then the other, waves and waves of pleasure rolling through me.
“Dibs,” he says as he runs his tongue down my navel. Its soft, wet strokes tickle me as it goes into my belly button. I laugh a little, then moan when he goes higher to lick my nipple again. Then he’s tugging my panties down my legs. His eyes go even darker when he pushes my thighs apart and visually drinks in my wet folds. I stay there, memorizing the raw need on his face as he takes me in, my breasts heaving, my pussy swollen, my hair spread behind me.
“Relax,” he says when I try to close my legs as he slides his hand up my thigh. “Relax,” he says again as he pushes his middle finger inside me. It feels so good I almost leap off the bed, but instead I arch and let a moan of ecstasy escape me.
“Don’t be shy with me, I want to look at you. I want to hear you let go,” he murmurs huskily in my ear as he rubs his finger inside me and then sucks one nipple into his mouth. Pleasure shivers through me.
He smiles, coos down at me, and caresses my pussy with his middle finger once more. Slick sounds mingle with my breaths as he eases his finger into me. “So beautiful, I can’t wait to be in here.”
He rubs little circles over my clitoris with the pad of his thumb, and my hips start rocking up to his touch.
Catching my lower lip with my top teeth, I look at the bulge under his slacks. I want it so bad, in my hands, inside me, he’s so beautiful. I want to go up on my knees and pull him out, see and touch him, lean and kiss the tip, then open my mouth, taking everything I can, the whole shaft. I want him to groan, I want him to never forget me.
But the arousal Saint stokes in me is so powerful, I’m nearly paralyzed in sensations, shivering.
His eyes are a green no living plant can compete with. He kisses my breasts, suckles me, sucks me. He pets and rubs my clit, the pleasure out of this world. I come quickly on his fingers. He holds me in his hand. “God, look at you go off for me,” he rasps. “You’re beautiful—do you know how beautiful you are?”
“I feel beautiful right now.”
When he reaches for his slacks, I whisper something encouraging like “please”—god, I’m so unoriginal. But I can’t think. I’m throbbing with need, desperate for him to fill me.
The frustration of all these nights and days, the knowledge that this is only a stolen moment, temporary, only makes me ache for it more.
He tugs the zipper of his slacks downward, and I’m in complete museum-quality silence. He looks like he works out every day of the week, his chest ripped, tanned, gloriously defined and perfectly shaped, muscles rippling with every yank. A sound of need leaves me as he pulls down his slacks and I get to see him. A storm of desire racks me as he comes closer. His cock is bigger than anything I imagined. I lick my lips, anxious, my eyes running up his length, up to the swollen head and the glistening drop of semen at the tip.
I can’t . . . I can’t wait. I want every inch of that inside me. Every inch of him.
He smiles when he notices my blush and leans over me, caressing my pussy. His fingers quicken, and then he replaces his finger with his thumb, the pad rolling my clit in little circles while he tastes my mouth. I’m galloping to the brink again.
“You’re so responsive, Rachel, you get wet with a look, soaked before I get to touch.” He slowly wedges himself between my thighs.
I claw at his arms. “Saint,” I moan breathlessly, rocking my hips as he opens a condom packet and sheathes himself.
He curls his fingers around my waist and pins my hips down, pushing the first few inches of his cock inside me. I yell, and he holds me pinned, watching me as he plows inside a few more inches. Ecstasy sweeps through me. I rock my hips in my greed to get more of him inside me, pulsing. He flexes his hips, moving his cock in deeper. I lock my ankles together at the small of his back, clasping him to me. Tightness. Fullness. He pulses inside me. I clench my fingers in his hair, wanting more, afraid of more, and he makes a sound that rumbles in his chest and that I can actually feel against my breasts. In my ear: “Can you breathe now?” he husks.
A sound tears out of both of us as he immediately withdraws, prolonging the moment, watching me with those burning green eyes—then he thrusts all the way in, our stomachs slapping, our bodies arching. A sound rumbles up his chest, low and deep. There’s this hunger. This need to feel him, connect to him. There’s nothing else. Only us moving. The sounds of the sheets rustling beneath us. Our breaths. Our mouths as we suck, taste—lips, nipples, skin.
“God, you did that with one hand?” I gasp.
I feel his smile against my skin as he reaches between us and rubs one nipple with the pad of his thumb. And then his smile is gone and so is mine, our breathing starting to change as the air between us heats up.
My head rolls a little on the bed as he licks one nipple and then the other, waves and waves of pleasure rolling through me.
“Dibs,” he says as he runs his tongue down my navel. Its soft, wet strokes tickle me as it goes into my belly button. I laugh a little, then moan when he goes higher to lick my nipple again. Then he’s tugging my panties down my legs. His eyes go even darker when he pushes my thighs apart and visually drinks in my wet folds. I stay there, memorizing the raw need on his face as he takes me in, my breasts heaving, my pussy swollen, my hair spread behind me.
“Relax,” he says when I try to close my legs as he slides his hand up my thigh. “Relax,” he says again as he pushes his middle finger inside me. It feels so good I almost leap off the bed, but instead I arch and let a moan of ecstasy escape me.
“Don’t be shy with me, I want to look at you. I want to hear you let go,” he murmurs huskily in my ear as he rubs his finger inside me and then sucks one nipple into his mouth. Pleasure shivers through me.
He smiles, coos down at me, and caresses my pussy with his middle finger once more. Slick sounds mingle with my breaths as he eases his finger into me. “So beautiful, I can’t wait to be in here.”
He rubs little circles over my clitoris with the pad of his thumb, and my hips start rocking up to his touch.
Catching my lower lip with my top teeth, I look at the bulge under his slacks. I want it so bad, in my hands, inside me, he’s so beautiful. I want to go up on my knees and pull him out, see and touch him, lean and kiss the tip, then open my mouth, taking everything I can, the whole shaft. I want him to groan, I want him to never forget me.
But the arousal Saint stokes in me is so powerful, I’m nearly paralyzed in sensations, shivering.
His eyes are a green no living plant can compete with. He kisses my breasts, suckles me, sucks me. He pets and rubs my clit, the pleasure out of this world. I come quickly on his fingers. He holds me in his hand. “God, look at you go off for me,” he rasps. “You’re beautiful—do you know how beautiful you are?”
“I feel beautiful right now.”
When he reaches for his slacks, I whisper something encouraging like “please”—god, I’m so unoriginal. But I can’t think. I’m throbbing with need, desperate for him to fill me.
The frustration of all these nights and days, the knowledge that this is only a stolen moment, temporary, only makes me ache for it more.
He tugs the zipper of his slacks downward, and I’m in complete museum-quality silence. He looks like he works out every day of the week, his chest ripped, tanned, gloriously defined and perfectly shaped, muscles rippling with every yank. A sound of need leaves me as he pulls down his slacks and I get to see him. A storm of desire racks me as he comes closer. His cock is bigger than anything I imagined. I lick my lips, anxious, my eyes running up his length, up to the swollen head and the glistening drop of semen at the tip.
I can’t . . . I can’t wait. I want every inch of that inside me. Every inch of him.
He smiles when he notices my blush and leans over me, caressing my pussy. His fingers quicken, and then he replaces his finger with his thumb, the pad rolling my clit in little circles while he tastes my mouth. I’m galloping to the brink again.
“You’re so responsive, Rachel, you get wet with a look, soaked before I get to touch.” He slowly wedges himself between my thighs.
I claw at his arms. “Saint,” I moan breathlessly, rocking my hips as he opens a condom packet and sheathes himself.
He curls his fingers around my waist and pins my hips down, pushing the first few inches of his cock inside me. I yell, and he holds me pinned, watching me as he plows inside a few more inches. Ecstasy sweeps through me. I rock my hips in my greed to get more of him inside me, pulsing. He flexes his hips, moving his cock in deeper. I lock my ankles together at the small of his back, clasping him to me. Tightness. Fullness. He pulses inside me. I clench my fingers in his hair, wanting more, afraid of more, and he makes a sound that rumbles in his chest and that I can actually feel against my breasts. In my ear: “Can you breathe now?” he husks.
A sound tears out of both of us as he immediately withdraws, prolonging the moment, watching me with those burning green eyes—then he thrusts all the way in, our stomachs slapping, our bodies arching. A sound rumbles up his chest, low and deep. There’s this hunger. This need to feel him, connect to him. There’s nothing else. Only us moving. The sounds of the sheets rustling beneath us. Our breaths. Our mouths as we suck, taste—lips, nipples, skin.
