Now more determined, I run my tongue up the thick vein, capture the head in my mouth, suck harder, before lightly scraping my teeth over the most sensitive area.
My own actions make me ache for him, wet for him. Instead of stretching my lips, I want him to stretch me inside, fill me completely.
I take another pass from the root to the tip and his hips jerk. No, not a jerk, only a slight twitch. The man seems to be made of steel. Immune to the wet heat of my mouth, the softness of my tongue.
Another twitch, another sound. He’s letting his façade slip. His hands dig into my hair, pulling it tight, making my scalp scream. I lift my gaze enough to see his eyes, now hooded, his lips slightly parted. His fingers clench and unclench in my hair following the same rhythm of my movement.
I slide my mouth up and down faster, and I finally hear his breathing become ragged, shallow. I want to smile my triumph, but I can’t since he remains hard and long and thick within my mouth.
His thrusts start small, shallow, as he pulls my head towards him. I fight my panic as he bumps the back of my throat over and over. I swallow and breathe through my nose, my eyes water. I relax my throat, and I still can’t take all of him. It’s uncomfortable, but I want to see him break. I want to be the one to bring a look of unadulterated pleasure to his face. I want to hear him cry out my name.
As a tear rolls from the corner of my eye, I peek up at him again. His eyes squeeze shut, his jaw tightens, his lips press together. When a low moan escapes him, his eyes pop open, and he catches me watching him. His eyes darken as he holds my gaze, his chest heaves as my name escapes his lips.
And as his body tenses against me, he’s about to fall apart. About to come undone.
“Lila… Lila… Lila,” he chants on each breath. A raw sound escapes him, and then he grits his teeth and releases his hot, salty cum at the back of my throat. He still has a death grip on my head, holding me tightly as his cock pulsates on my tongue. And I accept all of him.
Because he’s mine.
He just doesn’t realize it yet.
Chapter Three
Kane leads me through the house to the master bedroom like he’s escorting me to the prom… with a hand to the small of my back, his other hand holding mine in front of him. I feel as if we should waltz down the hallway instead of walk.
His is the only bedroom I’ve ever been in that has double doors. But beyond them is his domain.
The room is large, more like a suite, tastefully decorated in muted colors of tans and browns. The black furniture shines, and I can’t imagine a piece of dust would last but a split moment on its surface in this household. No piles of clothes, no bottles of cologne or lotions in sight, not a stray sock or visible pair of shoes. The bedroom is as put-together as Kane with a K.
He might be a little shell-shocked if he saw my apartment. But now is not the time to worry about that. No. Right now, he directs me to the center of the room and releases me to circle as he inspects me up and down, like a filet mignon about to be devoured by a vegetarian sneaking a piece of meat.
My voice breaks as I ask, “Do you want me to get undressed?” Because why else would he bring me into his bedroom? For the actual cup of coffee I never received?
“No.” He stops, and his deep voice behind me is like an aphrodisiac. I'm already wet from the blowjob I gave him. I'm already primed and ready for him to fuck me hard and deep and fast.
But he doesn’t seem like the typical man. He appears to want to take his time, not rush. Appreciate the minute details.
“You’re exquisite,” he murmurs. His fingers rake through my long hair; then he suddenly grips a handful and forcefully yanks my head back. He presses his mouth to the tender spot where my neck meets my shoulder. Who knew that spot has the power to make me melt.
Maybe it’s not the spot, and it’s the man instead. It's possible that anywhere he places his mouth will make me come undone as he did in the kitchen. Though, I fear I’ll shatter much faster than he did. I don’t have his control… nor am I sure I want it.
His arms cross in front of me as he grips the hem of my sweater and pulls it up slowly. Up over my belly, over my ribcage, over my bra where the backs of his hands brush over my peaked nipples. I close my eyes at the sensation. He moves like molasses, and it's driving me mad. He continues, pulling the soft fabric over my head, my hair spilling around me once it’s free. He leaves my arms in the sweater. I realize why as he slides the sweater down my arms, along my back. He leaves it tangled around my wrists. My hands end up bound behind me too easily. Simply with my sweater. My lips part and a shuddered breath escapes me.
He's hard against my ass, but there are too many layers of clothes between us. I make a noise of impatience, and I hear an answering chuckle.
“Lila, we have all the time in the world.”
No, not true. I have a deadline, and he has somewhere to be. Even though I still have no idea where. He’s a man that belongs somewhere doing something.
Though, maybe he answers to no one but himself.
I release a loud breath and twist my head to look at him.
“Face forward,” he commands.
My first instinct is to argue with him. My natural reaction is to say no man tells me what to do.
But I know that’s not the case. Not here. Not now. Not with him.
So I do it.
I stare at his large bed and wonder how soon we’ll be on it. How soon he’ll be completely naked. And, more importantly, how soon I’ll be coming…
With my arms bound behind me, he nips lightly across my shoulders, at the base of my neck, down my spine, only stopping because my wrists are in the way. His tongue traces my spine all the way back to the top. With ease, he unfastens my bra, but it only falls forward until the straps catch my elbows.
He cups my breasts, lifting their weight, brushing his thumbs over the tight tips. Back and forth, back and forth, until my breasts are heavy with need. And that need is his tongue, his lips, his mouth.
"Beautiful," he whispers into my ear before tracing the outer shell with the tip of his tongue. He takes my lobe into his mouth, and I gasp that something so simple could be so erotic. I close my eyes as he sucks and his fingers capture both nipples, twisting, pulling, tweaking the nubs until my knees buckle.
He quickly releases my ear and catches me with an arm tight around my midsection. “Ah, you like that.”
Like isn’t strong enough. “Yes,” I hiss.
One broad hand splays along my belly, the other squeezes and kneads my breast as his warm breath plays along my ear. “Perfect.”
I’m not exquisite, beautiful, or even close to being perfect. But I’ll wear his compliments like an outer skin because no one, not one man I’ve ever been with, has called me those things. Even if it’s for a short time, I’ll welcome his praise. He doesn’t need to say those things to get me naked, and I know he’s aware of that. So it makes me think maybe he believes what he says.
I feel good, desired. And I want him all the more, if that's even possible.
Kane takes my trapped wrists and turns me to face him. He appears a little undone. His dress shirt has been hanging free from his pants since the episode in the kitchen, his belt buckle dangles loose, his pants barely cling to his hips. His erection remains strong, the smooth bulbous head peeking above the elastic band of his boxer briefs as if reminding us not to forget it.
I don’t think either of us will. I have the urge to lick it again, to fall to my knees. But I am at the point of needing more than that. I need some satisfaction of my own.
And my patience has long disappeared. “Get naked,” I demand.
One of his brows lifts slightly, and his lips press together for a moment before he says, “I don’t think you’re in a position to demand anything.”
“I can slip the sweater off my hands.”
“I know you can, but you won’t until I tell you to.”
Damn. He’s right.
I enjoy the power he has o
ver me. It thrills me to my toes. This is more than sex. Because if this was just sex, he could have fucked me by now and had me halfway home.
“So far you’ve only asked for a kiss. And I wanted you to tell me what you want.”
Once again, the word “everything” echoes through my soul. “I want you inside me.”
He shakes his head slowly. “No.” Not a no as in he will never fuck me, but instead, the one short word speaks volumes. He wants me to tell him to do things to lead up to that.
“I want your mouth on me,” I tell him.
“I had them on your lips, your ears.”
“More.”
“Where.”
I swallow hard. My pussy clenches. I want him there. My breasts ache. I want his mouth there, too.
I open my mouth, but nothing escapes.
He runs his hands along the outer curves of my breasts. “Here?”
I nod.
He slides them down my belly and over my jeans to the V in my legs. “How about here?”
I quiver at his touch. “Yes. There, too.”
His hands continue, traveling around my hips to my ass. He cups both cheeks and squeezes. "And here?"
I’ve never had anyone’s mouth there. The idea catches me off guard. It seems a more intimate place than my pussy.
“No,” I whisper, my voice catching.
“Who says you have a choice?” My gaze locks on his, and I know my eyes are wide, surprised. He gives me a slow, reassuring smile. “We will never do anything you don’t want to do,” he says, and I'm instantly overcome with relief.
Listen, I have an open mind. I’m up for experimentation. But I don’t know this man. Yet.
He slips his arms around me, almost in a hug, and he pushes the twisted sweater and my bra straps over my hands, letting them both fall to the floor behind me. “I have a better way to bind you.”
“I’ve never…”
“Never?” He lifts a brow as if surprised not everyone has been tied up during sex.
I shake my head. “No. Never.”
“Would you like that?”
“I don’t know…” The possibility excites me but scares me at the same time. The thought of not being able to escape if needed is intimidating though. My blood rushes through my veins, and my nerves stand on end. “If you bind me, I won’t be able to touch you.”
“Do you want to touch me, Lila?”
Oh, fuck yes. “Yes, Kane, I do.” My fingers find the top of my jeans and I fumble with the button.
He stops me immediately with a sharp, “Don’t.” He brushes my hands aside. “I will always undress you. I will take care of you. I will tend to you.”
The “always” part makes my head spin. That and the fact that I’ve never had anyone take care of me or spoil me and it may be out of my comfort zone.
He pops the button of my jeans out of the loop and slides down the zipper. I grasp his shoulders for balance as he works the pants down my legs. I lift one foot and then the other as he tugs them off, stripping my shoes and socks at the same time. He is still fully dressed as I stand in the middle of his bedroom in just my panties. I’m not self-conscious because he’s already told me I’m exquisite, beautiful, and perfect. And there’s nothing better as an ego booster than that.
“Take your panties off, then sit on the bed, spread your legs, and show me where you want my mouth as I undress.”
I take my time sliding my pink bikini-cut underwear down my thighs until they fall to my feet and I step out of them before backing myself to the edge of the bed. I sit and open my knees, hiding nothing from him. He remains in place, not moving a muscle, and I want to scream at him to take his clothes off. I want to see his body, I want him against me, I want to have his weight on and over me.
He finally moves so he’s facing me directly with nothing blocking his view, and he reaches up to unbutton his dress shirt, slipping one button through the hole, then the next. He takes his time, not in a rush. He seems to be enjoying the view I’m providing. His eyes lock on my sex, and I slide my fingers down my belly until I'm right there, separating my folds, letting him see how slick and ready I am for him.
I circle my clit and press, and my hips jump in reaction. My goal of making him undress faster seems a failure. No matter how I play with myself, how many fingers I slide in and out of me, he continues to unbutton his shirt at the same pace.
It’s maddening.
I need to discover a way to break his control.
“Let me see you come,” he says as he finally slips his shirt off of his broad shoulders. He lays it over the back of a chair that sits in the corner, though his eyes never leave me, never leave my heated center, while he does so. He tugs his undershirt over his head and folds it neatly to place it on the chair’s seat. He sits on the edge of the chair’s cushion and unlaces his dress shoes. One then the other before sliding them off and tucking them and his socks under the chair.
His gaze has never once wavered. He watches my fingers strum along my pussy and my clit, my arousal increasing with each pass.
“I want to see you come, Lila,” he repeats. He stands, now only in his dress pants. He yanks the belt free and instead of leaving it on the chair, he folds it in half and snaps it together loudly. The sharp noise makes me jump and my heart race. I imagine him striking my ass with it, making it pink and sensitive, hot to the touch. I close my eyes and thrust two fingers inside of me harder, faster. I rub my clit with my other hand just as hard and fast as well.
I'm close to coming, and he doesn't even have his pants off yet. My eyes pop open. "I need to see you."
With a sharp nod, he pushes his pants and boxer briefs down in one swoop. Folding them neatly, he places them with the rest of his clothes.
He nears the bed, though doesn’t move to touch me. I fight back a frustrated scream, but I know what he’s waiting for.
He wants to see me come.
I don’t even have time to appreciate his nudity, his maleness, because I’m right there. Balanced precariously on that tight wire. Only seconds away from doing what he asked, demanded.
His watching me makes me lose my balance, and I fall. My eyes close, my hips rise, and my core ripples around my fingers. I cry out, gasping for breath. I haven’t had such an intense orgasm in forever.
Now my forever includes him.
My climax only took a slight edge off my desire, but now I have the real thing in front of me.
He’s built like a sculpted dark god. An angel in shadows. I can find very little softness along his lines and planes. His erection juts from his pelvis, long and thick. His hips are narrow, his thighs heavy with muscle. And once I reach his toes, I work my way back up, slower this time. Over the distinct muscles in his stomach, the curve of his firm pecs, his small, dark nipples, his wide shoulders, the visible veins in his hard biceps, the crook of his elbows, the powerful forearms, and then his long, elegant fingers. I realize at this moment… those fingers can wreck me.
They are capable of doing all kinds of things to turn me into a puppet. A play thing. They can control me.
When my gaze finally stops on his face, he smiles. It’s a knowing smile. He knows I like what I see.
How could I not? He said I’m perfect. But he’s wrong.
He is the one who’s perfect.
And he is all mine.
He steps in between my thighs and lifts my now slack hand to his mouth. He slips the two fingers I had deep in my pussy between his lips and sucks them clean. His tongue swirls around my digits, and I swear I almost come again. It’s one of the most erotic gestures I’ve ever witnessed.
“The appetizer was delicious, but I’m ready for the main course.” He releases my hand and lowers himself to his knees between my legs. Wrapping his arms around my open thighs, he pulls me right to the edge of the mattress. I fall back onto my elbows, watching as his head lowers and his face disappears.
As with everything else, Kane takes his time, slowly stroking between my folds with
his tongue. I open to his touch like the petals of a flower. A rush of pleasure overcomes me as he nuzzles my clit, licks it, flicks it, sucks it hard. My head falls back between my shoulders and my eyes roll in my head at the heady sensations his mouth invokes. A strangled moan escapes me as he separates my swollen labia with his long fingers, so his tongue can glide in and out of me. Heat builds at my center as he slides two fingers into my slick pussy, his tongue swirling around my clit now.
Fuck. I can't take any more. I'm wet, hot, and on edge. Getting dizzy and breathless, I lift my head and watch what he's doing to me as if just feeling it isn't enough. It's a heady sight, seeing the top of his head move in the same rhythm as his fingers. And as he sucks my clit hard, my heartbeat pounds in my ears, my body tenses, and then surrenders as a climax crashes over me. I cry out his name, this Kane with a K. And he stills as the last of the waves subside. He lays a gentle kiss on my now sensitive nub before pulling away and sitting back on his heels, studying me.
“That is the look I noticed when I first saw you sitting in the coffee shop’s corner.”
His soft words pull me out of my passion-induced stupor. Do I really look like I’ve just orgasmed when I write? Maybe I do while writing a steamy scene. I wonder how many other customers have noticed. I should feel embarrassed, but there is time enough for that later. Right now, I don’t care.
I don’t care about anything but Kane with a K and what he will do next.
As he pushes to his feet and stands over me, his eyes look intense, his lips shiny from my arousal, and his cock appears painfully hard. When it twitches under my gaze, I let a smile slide across my face.
“Where do you want my mouth now, Lila?”
He keeps including my name, and I enjoy hearing it come from him. It's like part of a game I'm willing to play. And want to play along, too.
I point to my mouth. “Here, Kane.” Then I cup my breasts, pushing them together. “And then here.”
Forever Him (An Obsessed Novella Book 1) Page 3
