Her hand fanned over his ass cheek, and she gave a small nod, which told him she could take more. He unwrapped his hand from his cock and let her cradle the weight of him in her mouth. “I told you, with me you’d take more, remember?” Full. He wanted her fuller than she’d ever been before. Fuller than she thought possible.
Both hands returned to his legs. Braced. Ready. Game for more. He could fall in love with this woman. He flexed his hips and pushed in a little deeper, until the tip of his cock nudged her soft palate. His vision blurred as her lips tightened and her throat worked. Fingers dug into his thighs. Seconds later a sigh of surrender came from somewhere in that crowded throat.
On all fours, his dick in her mouth, acutely aware of the short bursts of breath from her nose blowing over the back of his shaft. Life couldn’t get much better—for him. He lifted his head and focused on her legs, still crossed, still in the air. “You’re working so hard for it, aren’t you?” He leaned forward to kiss the closest knee, which pulled his cock out of her mouth a bit and gave her a measure of respite. He’d give her a measure more. “Okay, Czarina, lower your legs.”
She did so, slowly. Her breath came in rough pants, expulsions of air that emptied her lungs and ended in tiny whimpers. He pressed his forehead to her knees and tried to block out the incidental pleasure of her lips sliding along his shaft as he moved, and the delicate forays of her tongue. “Open them up, princess. Open wide. Show me where it hurts.”
A cry of relief, or agony, or a mixture of both, accompanied the careful uncrossing of her legs. Then she slowly splayed her thighs. Exposing herself to the heavy air provoked another broken cry. He kissed one trembling thigh. Then the other. Then he lowered himself onto his forearms and brought his mouth down until he hovered mere inches from her. “Are you ready?”
In answer, she slapped his ass. Not a restrained slap, either, like the kind he’d given her. More of a “Fuck me now, motherfucker, or I’m going to hurt you” slap. Imperious to the end. Fun and games were over. Arden St. Sebastian was ready to come. He couldn’t help but smile.
“Careful, Czarina. Don’t dish out anything you can’t take.” Then he lowered his head, closed his lips around her clit, and sucked it into his mouth as hard and deep as possible. No introductory flicks of his tongue. No gentle kisses. He was too desperate, and he could taste her orgasm rising higher with every pull of his lips, and…oh shit…she did the same. It dragged him dangerously close to the edge. He’d counted on her forgetting about him, or anything else for that matter, the moment he went to work on her needy clit. The fact that she hadn’t created a very real possibility of him coming first.
That couldn’t happen. He wanted to be certain she came, which meant she came first. He pushed her thigh to the ground and held it there while he gave her clit the same treatment he’d given everything else in the vicinity. Her body tensed. She reared up, and the thigh trapped under his hand fluttered. Just as that first long spasm shattered, he lost his own battle. The next thing he knew he was thrusting with abandon, coming without restraint while her eager mouth drained him, and one thought repeated like an echo in his head.
Not enough. It’s not enough. Two more days with her isn’t nearly enough.
Chapter Ten
He was stealing time. There was no other excuse for this detour to the janky little roadside marketplace. Today’s sexual adventures had been delivered—with spectacular results, if he did say so himself—effectively fulfilling his purpose in her life for the next twenty-four hours. She didn’t need him to play tour guide. He knew it. She knew it. But she was going along. More than going along, actually. When they’d passed a sign for the marketplace, and he’d followed the rogue impulse to suggest a pit stop for shaved ice, she’d nodded immediately, and he hadn’t missed the happy gleam in her eye. She’d glowed like a little girl offered a favorite treat.
She was still glowing, he noted, as they walked along the souvenir stalls full of T-shirts, jewelry, and local art. Heads turned when they strolled by, and attention—particularly male attention—lingered on the leggy brunette in the red bikini top, little low-riding cutoffs, and flip-flops. Maui boasted plenty of beautiful bodies in barely-there attire, but the czarina dazzled for other reasons. Reasons like her undisguised enthusiasm for rainbow-drizzled shaved ice, hand-carved sea turtles, aloha-wear, and whatever treasure might be found in the next stall…or the next. He couldn’t blame them for looking, but he slung a proprietary arm around he
r shoulder to send the back-off message to any comers.
She switched her shopping bags to her other hand and snuggled into him for a moment. Then stole a bite of his pineapple ice. She repaid him with a wink before something in the next trinket shack caught her eye.
“My brother’s fiancé would look amazing in that sarong,” she said as she slid out from under his arm and headed over. At the stall, she turned to run her hand along the panels of fabric hung at eye level. He watched her for a moment, frowning when he noticed a red patch of skin high up on the inside of her thigh. A staggeringly strong surge of lust immediately followed, threatening to drop him to his knees. More whisker burn. A souvenir of his undisguised enthusiasm earlier today when he’d been down there doing his level best to flay a climax from her before she annihilated him. What would she think if she knew how badly his tongue itched to lick the raw spot…all her raw spots…for no other purpose than the pleasure of tasting her, enjoying her without a particular strategy or endgame in mind? As if he had all the time in the world to spend on her body, instead of only two more days?
What would she think if she knew he wanted to break the boundaries away and see where things went?
Shit. He tipped his head and tapped the dregs of his flavored ice into his mouth, swallowing quickly to ease his dry throat. It didn’t help much. Oblivious to his efforts to get a lock on his reckless thoughts, the czarina placed her shopping bags on the ground by her feet so she had both hands free to unfold the sarong, and then draped it around her while she chatted with the vendor. Speaking of reckless. He tossed the soggy paper cone in the trash before wandering over to pick up the bags. No petty thieves in Siberia, apparently.
She tossed him a smile of thanks before handing the sarong and a couple twenties to the sturdy, middle-aged woman behind the counter. The woman bagged the sarong and handed it, plus the change, to the czarina with a nod and a mahalo.
“You’re good at this,” he said, and added the bag to the collection he held.
Her laugh carried on the breeze. “Have I made you sorry we stopped yet?”
“No.” Never. He took her hand. “Shop as long as you want. I’ve got all day.” And all night.
Her smile turned slightly self-conscious, but she steered them to another stall. “It’s a little hobby of mine. Most of the men in my life refuse to go near a retail establishment with me. Oh wow”—she stopped short at a kiosk full of tie-dyed clothes, incense burners, and a wide assortment of pipes and bongs, and ran a finger over something on the counter—“I used to have one of these.”
“Another little hobby I didn’t know about?” He teased her, even though he could see she was touching one of the many charm-studded chains spread out on a black scarf.
The comment earned him a playful elbow to the stomach. “I bought this exact thing the last time I was in Maui, and then I lost it. That was…geez…a long time ago.”
He leaned closer to examine the silver chain crowded with small charms. A hula girl dangled from one link, a pineapple, a seashell, a heart, an assortment of colorful enameled fish, and a whole lot of leaves. Pot leaves. He couldn’t hold back a laugh. “You bought a Maui wowie bracelet last time you were here?”
She laughed, too. “Worse. It’s not a bracelet. I bought a Maui wowie anklet the last time I was here. In my defense, I was such a dumbass I didn’t even know what I was proposing to decorate myself with. I was, like, twelve, and my little twelve-year-old brain thought an anklet was hip and racy. I wore it nonstop the rest of the time I was here.” She laughed again. “I actually got teary-eyed when I returned home and realized it was gone.”
He looked at the diamonds in her ears. Arden St. Sebastian owned far more precious sparkles than a twenty-dollar bauble available from any number of souvenir vendors worldwide, but the idea of a young Arden brokenhearted at the loss of the special piece that had captured her fancy hit him like a blow to the underbelly. “How’d you lose it?”
She blinked at him, and he lost himself in the clear turquoise depths of her eyes. “I have no idea. My mom probably trashed the stupid thing as soon as she saw it, and I can’t really blame her, but”—she sighed and ran her finger over the chain again—“I was totally charmed.”
“Ha.”
“I’ll be here all week.”