Losing Control (Kerr Chronicles #1)(31)
Author: Jen Frederick

“Right there, hmm?” It’s not a question that requires an answer—at least not a verbal one. My body is telling him he’s stroking me in exactly the right way. My hips thrust toward his hand, and when he dips his head to nip at my ear, my arm reaches up hook his head closer to mine. His comfort doesn’t enter my mind. Am I pulling too hard on his hair? Are the nails of my right hand that’s moved down to press on the back of his hand digging too tightly into his skin? I don’t care.

I’m swimming in a tide pool of sensation that I want to wallow in forever.

“Not yet,” he whispers as he rolls me over onto my stomach. His fingers pull out of me, and I let out a sound of protest that is muffled by the pillows. Even if I were louder, I don’t think he would cease. He pulls down my sodden panties and shoves a pillow under my hips. Then his mouth is where his fingers used to be. His broad shoulders have spread my thighs apart and his tongue is spearing inside of me. I’m grateful for the pillow at my mouth because I can hear myself moaning.

“Right there. Oh God. Faster, please.” But my pleas are ignored. He has his own rhythm. His tongue is savaging my clit while two of his fingers are thrusting into me, curling and seeking until they hit that same spot he’d discovered earlier. Once found, he relentlessly f**ks me with his fingers, all the while sucking and tonguing and licking me. Tension coils within me, curling my toes and causing my fingers to dig into the mattress.

From between my legs I can hear his groans of satisfaction—as if he’s getting as much out of eating me out as I am feeling from being the recipient of his gifted tongue and fingers.

But every time I think I’ll climax, he brings me down again, slowing the pace and moving his fingers in an unhurried fashion, in stark contrast to the frantic thrusts seconds before.

“You’re killing me,” I gasp out.

“I hope not.” There’s so much smug amusement in those words that if I wasn’t ass-up and face-down with his head between my legs, I’d have to punch him. But he knows that I’m too delirious with desire to call him out.

“Stop teasing me,” I beg. Thinking he needs more encouragement, I spell out explicitly what I want. “I need your big, hot c**k inside me. Fucking me hard and fast.”

His fingers tighten and he groans, but instead of rising up and thrusting inside me, he slaps me on the ass. It’s almost a little too hard to be affectionate, but because I’m so hot for him, all I do is raise my butt in the air higher in a “Please, sir, can I have another?” move. This causes him to speed up the thrust of his fingers, and soon I’m too lost inside my own head to care that it’s not his c**k inside of me, not when his magical tongue is back between my legs.

Desperate and needy, I gyrate against the pillow and alternately pant out commands and pleas. “Don’t stop. Please don’t you ever stop.”

And he doesn’t. He’s relentless in his assault. It’s as if he doesn’t even need to breathe down there. His mouth is attached to me and his tongue is like a lash against my clit. Inside me, I can feel the drag of his calloused fingers against the swollen tissues of my inner walls. With each glide in and out, he rubs against the front flesh, causing my whole body to tighten. And then it’s faster, until the combined force of the suction of his mouth and the push of his fingers causes a cacophony of sound and light to explode in my head and I’m lost on delicious waves of feeling.

He does rise up behind me, but doesn’t move his fingers. He’s cupping me as if he’s trying to keep tendrils of my orgasm inside me for as long as possible.

“I want to f**k you bad, Tiny.” His husky voice raises goose bumps all over my body. “But I’m going to need at least eight hours of uninterrupted time.” The goose bumps turn to shivers.

Ian holds me, running his fingers over my back and down my arms and over the tops of my thighs, trying to soothe my shattered nerves. After a few moments of comfort, he rises from the bed with a slap on my ass. “Too bad we both have to work today.”

I roll over and watch him stretch next to the bed. His erection bobs right in front of me. The hard length of him is flushed an angry red.

“What about you?” Suddenly I want a taste. Scrambling up on my knees I lean over the edge of the bed and grab his arm. “You can’t go out like that. Heart attacks will happen. Think of the elderly.”

He looks down at me with amusement but then presents his back to me. “Climb aboard, then, and you can take care of me in the shower.”

If pressed later about the decor of the bathroom, I’d have to say it was full of steam and tile. Ian spends most of the time kissing me while I stroke him with both hands. While his large hands cup my face, he caresses me with his mouth and tongue, showing me that I hadn’t really been kissed before.

It’s not enough for me to hold him between my hands—his flesh pulsing against my palms. I want him in my mouth. I want to know the flavor and the smell, the girth and the length. I want to know it all.

This time he doesn’t stop me as I slide downward. The tile is warm from some underground heater, and the steam rises from the hot water that sluices around us. He drops a thick towel onto the tile and I slip it under my knees. Droplets drip down his hard abdomen and cling to the hair that surrounds his thick, heavy erection. The head arrows toward me and follows my tongue as I lick delicately at the top and the sides.

Ian’s hands come down to push my hair aside, and when I glance upward through my lashes, his eyes are heavy lidded and he’s breathing heavily. Finally, I take him into my mouth. He’s very thick and my lips are stretched to their fullest. One of his hands drops away from my hair to stroke my jaw and chin. Then he cups my face, holding me under my chin as he begins to shuttle in and out in short, shallow lengths.

“I can feel myself in your mouth,” he says above me. “I can feel my c**k through your cheek. Your lips are stretched and you can barely take it, isn’t that right?”

I would’ve nodded but for the steady hand under my chin.

“If I touched you right now, how soaked would you be?” he asks. “Is all the moisture from the shower or are you so f**king wet right now that it is dripping down your thighs?”

The last few words are growled, and I can’t keep a moan from slipping out. Above my mouth his taut abdomen flexes as he pants and grapples for control. I grip his thighs for balance, my nails digging into his flesh.

“You look like a f**king goddess right now,” he continues. “Hotter than the desert sun in August. I want to come down your throat. Will you swallow it all?”