He sucked on her nipples, teasing them with his teeth until the nubs protruded hard and red from the pleasure-pain of his love bites.
Hot and tormented and thrusting, Abbi arched again and again, desperate for him to move his weight to where she wanted it most. To push hard and deep and over and over. But he didn’t. He just kept massaging her breasts and tormenting her nipples until she was begging. Until she arched one last time, taut as a wire, her arms yanking on the stretched scarf as she climaxed with a harsh, surprised cry.
Stunned, she fell back on the bed, limp. She’d never come just from a guy playing with her breasts before.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
Partly. But she wanted so much more. And she was going to get it.
He reached forward and untied the knots in the scarf so her wrists were released. Then he moved off her to sit beside her on the bed, grabbed a condom from her table, and quickly rolled it on. He opened his mouth to speak but she clamped her hand over it.
“My turn with the scarf.”
He arched his eyebrows at her but said nothing when she removed her hand.
“Sit on the bed.”
Still silent, he did as she ordered.
Good. Heat rippled through her body and she had to quell her tremble of pleasure. It was high time that he let her have the fun with his body that he’d been having with hers.
“Hands.” She quite liked giving the one-word orders.
He offered them, holding his wrists together. She wound the scarf around them and tied them firmly. His eyes flashed a little surprise—what, didn’t he think she could do knots? Sliding off to stand beside the bed, she made him lift his arms above his head, so he mirrored the position she’d just been in, lying flat on his back, and she tethered him to the bedhead.
Then she looked at the length of him for a long, long time.
“That’s it?” he joked. “You’re just going to look?”
“Patience,” she chided. “I’m building the sexual tension.” And in just looking, she’d discovered, there was a lot of tension to be had. Maybe that worked both ways?
Testing, she swept her hands down her body and back up to cup her breasts, offering them to him. Knowing full well he couldn’t reach. “Anticipation, remember?”
His eyes locked on her nipples; they were still tight and rosy from his gloriously attentive mouth.
“Smarty-pants.” He drew in a deep breath. “Trust me, I’m all anticipation.”
So was she.
Abbi got onto the bed and crawled up his body, her arms and legs straddling him.
“What now?” he asked, lifting his hips nearer to her, so not quite patient.
She smiled, reveling in the newfound confidence she’d gained under his tutelage. Reveling in making love to a man she actually…loved.
And this one time, she was going to savor every inch of him. Every second of this time.
“I’m surprised you’re letting me do this,” she said softly. “When you’re the master of escape.”
“Am I?”
She nodded. “You never want to be tied down.”
His eyes darkened.
“Too bad,” she whispered and pressed an openmouthed kiss to the pulse beating on the side of his neck. “This time you can’t get away.”
“Abbi.”
“Shut it.”
She kissed him, stroked him, explored all his body—seeking out the sensitive spots, what made him stiffen or chuckle or tremble. She loved his body with tender licks, kisses, caresses until he started to speak. A low, rough voice trying to instruct. To demand.
She shut him up by making love to his mouth. This was her moment. Her choice over the pacing.
Only when she was finally ready, when he’d broken into a sweat and had sworn at her to hurry, only then did she so slowly lower herself onto him. She breathed in deeply as she let him fill her, breathed out as she flexed her hips and then forced herself down to his hilt.
“Abbi,” he growled, almost hoarse.
His hips bucked.
“No.” She clenched on him. “My turn.”
He stilled. “Please.”
She bent and caught his mouth, kissed him with all her passion. Pulling back, she rose a little on her knees, then rocked down to take every inch of him again.
He stared up at her, the emerald of his eyes almost obliterated by the huge dark pupils. “I want to touch you.”
She smiled. “Here?” she asked, running her hand down her neck and to her breast. “Or here?” She slid her fingers down over her belly, to just above the point where they were joined.
She circled her clit, and instinctively clamped tighter on him as the delicious sensation shook her.
“Oh, fuck.”
Confidence, lust, pleasure surged through her. She lifted her hips, pushing the rhythm, lifted her hand away.
“Don’t stop,” he groaned. “Touch.”
She licked her lips, then licked the tips of her fingers. Slowly, she stroked down her body again, touching her breasts with both her hands, teasing her nipples. She watched his mouth part and his groan sound. She went back to her clit, rubbing herself as she rocked on him. Not thinking anymore, just touching in a way that felt so damn good. She firmly swept her other hand up his abs, grounding herself to him.
No, she wasn’t stopping. She wanted to give him what he wanted. She wanted to give him more than that.
She didn’t just want to receive. She wanted to give. And to take.
She drank him in as she moved, sliding up and down, rubbing, feeling the oncoming rush of orgasm. She smiled at him, just a little smile. Utterly honest. To her surprise saw something break in him—something naked and vulnerable flashed in his eyes.
And another part of her heart was lost. “Joe.”
“More,” he begged. “Ride me harder.”
She tossed her hair out of her face and pressed her hand hard on his chest, keeping her balance, drawing her strength from him. She rode him and rubbed herself. A hunger built in her, the burning need to beat him at this. To beat this raging heat between them.
She moved to thrust her hands into his hair, stretched forward to suck his lower lip into her mouth, to nip it with her teeth. To brand him. He grunted as she squeezed him tight, then slid up and down him again.
She rode him harder, slipped her hand down her sternum and resumed flicking her clit, pleasuring herself as much as she was him. Through half-shut, glazed eyes she saw him watching her actions, his face reddening, the sweat starting to trickle down his forehead. Damn he was strong—so controlled, as he held back from orgasm. She rocked faster, up and down his cock.
“Abbi, please—”
He broke off as she squeezed on him and worked faster still.
“You want me to ride you, Joe?” she asked, rising up so only the head of him remained inside her.
“Abbi—” His voice cracked as she smashed back down onto him, taking him whole. Squeezing and rocking and rubbing.
“Abbi.”
She wasn’t stopping. She wasn’t ever stopping.
“You still want more?” she asked, smacking th
e palms of her hands back on his chest, using his solid strength to work against.
“You,” he answered. “I want you.”
Love, happiness, pleasure exploded in her heart.
She reached forward and kissed him again. Kissed him like she’d never kissed him before. She sucked on his lips and lashed with her tongue—deep and demanding and pouring every ounce of her passion into him. Because he was gorgeous and giving and commanding and she wanted to embrace it all—every aspect of him. She wanted to be the one who filled that gap that she was sure was within his soul. She wanted to love him.
And as she poured all that had to remain unspoken into her kiss, her whole body shook as she took him—loved him. Her own orgasm caught her by surprise.
She tore her lips free, her head falling back as she groaned in frustration and tried to ride him harder still. But all her energy had been expended in that intense orgasm; she cried out as she slowed. But Joe answered. He thrust up in one final, fierce movement, the veins in his neck popping, his muscles bunched and straining as his release ripped through him and into her.
“Abbi.”
She collapsed over him, wrung out and weak, his harsh cry echoing in her head. That one word, her name, so raw. So filled with need.
Abbi lay quiet, blanketing him for a few moments. But then she moved, deftly undoing the knots in her now-even-more-favorite scarf. She needed to feel his arms around her. She needed to be held.
He lifted his head to kiss her skin as she reached over his face to free his wrists, then wrapped his arms around her, carefully rolling her off him so she lay on her back.
He sighed—a deep, ragged sigh—and bent over her. He ran his tongue from her wet slit, over her clit, up her belly and between her breasts to her neck, finally to her mouth. His kiss was deep, demanding. She tasted herself on his tongue as he claimed possession.
He lifted his head just enough to look into her face. He looked for a long time. Abbi stilled as she tried to read the fast-flickering expression in his eyes. But then his lashes lowered.
“Red, sweaty, sated,” he muttered. “Just how a well-screwed woman should look.”