by T. K. Leigh
“Exactly. You’re so tiny, like a fairy, or an angel.” The mood changes as he touches his lips to mine, treating me to a delicious kiss, so different from the way he just had his teeth clamped on me. “My angel.”
“I’m not shy,” I insist, pressing my hand to his chest, forcing him onto his back. Straddling him, I circle him, my motions greedy, insatiable, wanton. “And I am certainly no angel. Especially not in the bedroom.”
He cups my face in his strong hands. I can’t help but marvel at how big they are. Everything about us seems to be polar opposite.
He’s larger than life with an intimidating physique. I’m tiny with a stature that makes me often feel overlooked.
He’s a professional, intelligent man who seems to have his life together. I’m a bit of a drifter who’s still trying to figure out who she is.
He looks like the quintessential all-American boy who probably played football in high school and could have his pick of any woman. I was the troublemaker, the promiscuous girl with piercings in her eyebrows, nose, and tongue.
He probably has a family who loves him, who’s always supported his decisions. I often feel like my mother blames me for the divorce, a heavy burden to bear as a teenager. And it’s only grown heavier now that I’m an adult.
“Is that right?”
I nod. “That’s right.”
“Prove it. Tell me what you want, what you want to taste.”
I open my mouth to respond when he cuts me off.
“And don’t just say ‘you’. I want to know exactly what you want to do.”
I briefly press my mouth to his, then meet his gaze. “I want to suck your dick.”
He stares at me for several seconds, his jaw hardened, eyes on fire. Then he slams his mouth against mine, his tongue pushing through my lips, his kiss ravenous and greedy.
When he pulls away, he grabs my hips, lifting me off him and onto the mattress beside him. Standing, he extends his hand toward me, and I allow him to help me off the bed.
“Lift your arms.”
Not saying a single word, I simply follow his demand. I’d normally protest, insist on remaining in control. But we’re in the bubble. Maybe the bubble’s my own personal Wonderland, a place where I can lose all control and live out the fantasies I’ve been too scared of in the real world.
He grabs the hem of my t-shirt and pulls it over my head before tossing it to the floor. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as his eyes zero in on my bra. “Turn around.”
Excited nerves simmer in my veins as I obey, facing away from him. When his lips feather that place where my neck meets my shoulders, I moan.
“That’s the spot, isn’t it?” he murmurs, his fingers traveling toward my bra, unhooking it with practiced expertise. His hands go to my shoulders and he pushes the material down my arms. “Does that turn you on?” He returns his mouth to me.
“Yes.” I subconsciously squeeze my legs together as his hands find their way to my stomach, the pressure building to a level I didn’t think possible.
He takes his time caressing my flesh. Whenever he nears the swell of my breasts, I hold my breath, only for him to change direction and return to my stomach. I squeeze my thighs together tighter, biting down on my lower lip. I’m on the brink of telling him to bend me over the desk and fuck me already, seduction be damned. But he won’t do that. He’s the tortoise, not the hare. This is a marathon, not a sprint. And I have a feeling he wants this race to last all night long.
“Spread your legs,” he orders when I continue to squirm. I don’t immediately comply, needing something to dull the ache. He tugs my body against his, pushing a knee between my thighs, parting them. “I need you as desperate for me as I am for you.” He brings his hands to my breasts, tugging at my nipples. “Because I’ve spent the past weekend desperate for a taste of you, Chloe.”
He removes his hands from my chest, his motion quick as he spins me around. Stepping back, he crosses his arms and stares at me with a menacing gaze. “Take off your pants, but leave on your panties.”
I peer at him through my lashes. “Any reason for that?”
“A magician never reveals his secrets.” He winks, a hint of playfulness amidst the sexual tension.
More curious than anything, I lower my yoga pants down my legs and step out of them, waiting for Lincoln’s next directive. But it doesn’t immediately come. He simply stares at me in wonder, his expression softening. There’s something incredibly tender about this moment as we admire each other, the moon casting a serene glow in the room, illuminating pieces of us.
“You are so beautiful.” He reaches for my face, brushing a tendril of hair behind my ear. The gentleness of his statement and touch has my knees growing weak. I search my memory for someone else who looked at me the way Lincoln does, for someone else who called me beautiful. Nothing comes to mind. Sure, I’ve been called hot, cute, even charming, but never beautiful.
Needing to break the intensity of the moment before I allow his compassion to burst through my walls, I dig my fingers into his chest, leaning into him. “Now it’s your turn.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He unbuttons his shirt and shrugs out of it before pushing his shorts down his strong legs.
“And Lincoln?” I arch a brow.
“Yes?”
“No need to keep on your boxers. Not for what I have planned.”
“Yes, ma’am.” With haste, he rids himself of his boxer briefs, and they join the rest of our discarded clothes.
Approaching him, my eyes don’t waver, the atmosphere shifting from playful to sensual. His taut skin is warm as I run my fingers along his chest, savoring the little tufts of hair that dot it. Soft lips skate against mine, but I pull back, depriving him of a full kiss.
“Do you want me?” I murmur, feeling unusually powerful as I scrape my hand down his torso, wrapping my fingers around his erection.
“Fuck,” he hisses, his eyes squeezing shut. I study his expression, ecstasy and need filling the lines of his face, his muscles tensing.
I raise myself onto my toes. “Say you want me.” I feather my lips against his neck, my touch barely there.
“You know the answer to that.”
“Oh, I know,” I respond coyly. “I can feel the answer to that. But I want to hear you say it.” Bringing my mouth back to his ear, I nibble on it. “Two can play your little game, ya know.”
When I pull away, he opens his eyes, his stare intense and bold.
“Is that what you think this is? Just a game?”
Unwrapping my hand from his arousal, I bring both of them to his chest. “Isn’t that all life is? Just a game?” I drag my tongue along his lips, retreating when he parts them for a taste. “Tell me you want me.”
He jerks my body against his, grinding his hips. “I want you, Chloe. So fucking much.”
The look of pure torture on his face is almost more than I can stand. Almost. But he deserves a taste of what I had to endure.
“How do you want me? What do you want me to do?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I already told you what I want to do. But I don’t want to presume you’re agreeable.”
“Presume away, baby.”
The intensity monetarily cracks, and I laugh. I love how he’s seductive, sensual, and carnal one minute, then lightens the mood the next. I never thought it would be possible to have both. Then again, I’ve never met anyone like Lincoln.
Recovering, I pass him a heated stare. “Tell…me…what…you…want.”
“Your mouth.”
I’m about to ask him where, when he interrupts.
“On my cock. Now.”
His hands land on my shoulders, putting pressure on them. Happy to oblige, I rake my fingers along his chest, allowing him to push me to my knees. When I dig my nails into his skin, he releases a growl, his nostrils flaring. Not out of anger. Out of unbridled need.
Keeping my eyes locked on his, I kneel before him, taking his erection in my ha
nd once more. He holds his breath, every muscle in his body becoming even more rigid. And I do mean every muscle.
I run my tongue over my lips, my heart hammering in my chest as I pause. I may be on my knees, but I’ve never felt so powerful. When I slide my tongue along his length before taking him into my mouth, tension rolls off him.
“Damn, Pixie…” He digs his fingers into my scalp as he begins pumping into me, his rhythm slow at first. “You have some mouth on you, don’t you? I knew that about you the instant you went off on me at the bar, but this…” His grip on my hair tightens as he wraps his hand around it, pulling it. So hungry. So desperate. So determined. “This is something I only fantasized about.”
His hold becomes more forceful, guiding my head. I swirl my tongue around his tip, savoring the taste of pre-cum before relaxing my throat, taking him even deeper.
“Fuck,” he groans, on the brink of unravelling. He drives harder into me, then releases my hair, suddenly stepping back.
“Wha—” I begin, but I’m soon interrupted.
“Get on the bed.”
I arch a single brow, confused why he pushed away when he was seconds from his release.
“Now, Chloe,” he demands.
I scramble to my feet and hurry toward the bed, scooting up to the headboard. I stare at him, expecting him to join me, but he doesn’t. Not right away. He simply admires me. I grab the duvet to cover myself, but he shakes his head.
“Don’t. Let me look at you.”
I swallow hard, feeling exposed, but I follow his command, keeping my arms to my sides, allowing him to examine every inch of me. His admiration gives me an added boost of confidence and I prop my legs up, spreading them, an invitation to see even more of me.
His green eyes darkening, he stalks toward the bed, his steps deliberate, drawn-out, measured. When he lowers himself onto the mattress, he rests his elbows by my head and finds my lips, his kiss sweet and addicting, at complete odds with the way he just fucked my mouth. I fear this strange dichotomy will be my undoing. As much as I love being spontaneous, I prefer being able to read people, determine their next move. With Lincoln, I never know what he has planned, what his intentions are.
He moves along my jawline, down my collarbone, hovering over my alert nipple. I squirm, bracing for his touch. Desperate for his touch.
“Something you need, Pixie?” His voice is deep and soft.
“Yes.”
“And what’s that?”
I lock eyes with him. “For you to taste me.”
“With pleasure.” When he covers my breast with his mouth, I throw my head back, my body fusing to the mattress. “With immense pleasure.”
His teeth tug on my nipple, his tongue circling it, driving me wild. I’m not sure how much more of this teasing, this buildup, this foreplay I can take before I explode. I’m on edge as it is. I’ve been on edge all day. Hell, all weekend. Now isn’t the time for teasing. I’m already at my breaking point.
As if able to read my thoughts, he traces soft, tantalizing lines along the curve of my breasts, down my stomach, circling my belly button before settling between my thighs. He hooks his fingers into my panties, and I lift my hips to allow him to lower them down my legs. Instead, he grabs my ass, propping me up. I furrow my brow, unsure what he’s doing. But before I can utter a single syllable, his mouth covers my panties, the warmth of him against me driving me crazy. My underwear could be a pane of bulletproof glass instead of just a flimsy piece of fabric, for all I care. It’s still a very unwelcome barrier.
“Please,” I moan as he continues licking and sucking on me through my panties.
“Something I can help you with?”
“Yes.” I narrow my eyes. “I need your mouth on me.”
“It is on you.”
“No. On my skin. No panties.”
He studies me for a moment, then shakes his head. “I told you before that all your orgasms belong to me tonight, did I not?”
“You did,” I exhale, desperate for release, to have him consume every inch of me.
“That means I get to decide exactly how you come. And I want you to come like this.” He brings his mouth back to me, sucking and nibbling, and I melt into it, moving with the rhythm he sets. I have to admit, there’s something incredibly erotic about this.
It doesn’t take long for that familiar sensation to bubble in my core. My muscles tense as I pulse against him with more urgency. He moans, the vibration pushing me higher and higher. Then he scrapes his teeth on my clit, sucking, and I scream, waves of ecstasy washing over me as I come undone, riding out one of the most intense orgasms for what feels like hours, but is probably only a minute or two.
When I finally start to return to earth, he meets my eyes and smirks, hooking his fingers into my panties and sliding them down my legs. Then he returns to me, burying his mouth between my thighs. I exhale in utter bliss, savoring in how expertly he tastes me, his tongue drawing out my orgasm even longer.
“Fuck, you’re wet.”
“It’s what you do to me.” I lower my hand, toying with my clit, spreading my juices around. Bringing my finger to my mouth, I suck on it, recalling how much it turned him on before. And that’s all it takes to turn him on again. He grabs my hips, his movements quick as he flips me onto my stomach. His arm snakes under my waist and he props me onto my knees.
He leans over me, his chest hair tickling my back. “Is this okay? Having you from behind?”
“Y-yes,” I stammer.
While I prefer being on top so I can be the one in control, I’ll take Lincoln however he wants. This position is probably better anyway. I won’t have to look him in the eyes. I’ll be able to stay detached. I’ll be able to walk away and carry on with my life when the blackout is over.
“Good.” He straightens himself and steps off the mattress. I watch as he grabs his shorts, pulling a condom from his wallet.
Not saying a word, he returns to the bed and grasps my head, forcing my eyes forward once more. I don’t argue. Don’t protest. Don’t return my gaze to his. I stare at the headboard, every noise putting me more on edge.
Finally, the bed dips and I feel his erection against me, teasing me. I close my eyes, rocking back into him.
“You’re greedy, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” I bury my head into the pillow.
“Tell me what you want.” He inches himself inside. I sigh, bracing for him to push the rest of the way. But he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls out, waiting for my response.
“I want you to fuck me,” I pant, aching for him.
My desperate plea ringing in the air, he slams into me. Both of us still as he fills me to the hilt, savoring this sensation of fullness that’s so new, so unexpected, yet so satisfying. He exhales, as if also surprised at how incredible it feels.
Then he covers my body with his, his hands gliding up my arms, his fingers linking with mine. When he moves, gently at first, I sigh, matching his rhythm. He kisses my shoulder blade, skating his teeth against my skin.
“And for the record, I’m not fucking you, Chloe.”
“Then what do you call this?”
“Possession, plain and simple.”
I moan at his gravelly voice, losing myself in this erotic moment.
“Possessing your mind, your soul…” He clamps his teeth onto my neck, pain pulsing through me momentarily before being replaced by the unmatched pleasure building from his measured movements. “Your body.”
“Oh god…” I ball my hands into tighter fists, my grip on his fingers intertwined with mine growing stronger. I bury my head into the pillow, biting down on it.
I can honestly say I’ve never been with a man like Lincoln, a man so practiced in the art of seduction. Sex is supposed to be an act that tantalizes your senses, hypnotizes your mind, captures your heart, breathes life into your soul. But not for me. I’ve made sure of that. Until now.
He moves with greater urgency, his own breathing erratic and uneven. With each
thrust, he drives deeper and deeper, forcing my body to climb higher and higher until I scream, falling apart, my mind becoming hazy, unable to form a coherent thought.
“That feels incredible,” Lincoln exhales, his voice strained as he pumps faster, drawing my orgasm out. When I’m not sure whether I can take any more, he grunts, thrusting deep into me, holding my hips in place as he jerks through his own release.
We remain motionless for several long moments, both of us struggling to get our breathing under control. As his body covers mine, I feel his heart beating violently in his chest. Satisfaction fills me at the idea that I did this to him, that I worked him up to this point of exertion.
“Goddamn,” he says, slowly withdrawing and peeling off me.
His touch is gentle as he supports my stomach, helping to lower me onto the mattress. My legs have never shaken or quivered as much as they are right now. I’ve never been this sated after sex. A woman could get used to this.
Once he’s certain I’m okay, he pushes off the bed, grabbing the duvet and covering my body with it. He rids himself of the condom, tossing it into the nearby trashcan before returning to me. Without saying a word, he crawls in beside me, pulling me into his arms, my back to his front. I need to clean up, but I’m content in this moment, my brain quiet for a change.
“I don’t remember inviting you to stay the night,” I tease in a lazy voice.
“You didn’t.” He plants soft kisses along my neck and shoulder, causing that fluttering to erupt in my stomach once more.
“Then what makes you think I want you to stay?”
“Because I know something you don’t.”
“And what’s that?”
“That I’m a huge fan of morning sex. If you thought that was incredible…” He circles his hips. Moisture pools between my thighs and I’m instantly ready for round two, or three. I’ve lost count at this point. “That was just a warm-up for tomorrow.”
I turn around to face him. “You think so, do you?”
“I don’t think…” He brings his lips toward mine. “I know.”
When he leans in to kiss me, I press my hand against his chest, pushing him away. Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, I force him onto his back and crawl on top of him.
