Page 83 of Wild Card

I moved to reach for him, but he snagged my wrist and put my hand back on the counter.

“I want you to sit there like a good girl, Duchess.” He reached for the bowl of whipped cream, and a slick rush dampened my underpants. “The game is, you can’t touch me with your hands. But I can touch you.”

To demonstrate, he cupped my breast and leaned in to put his hot mouth on me, drawing my nipple in for the most delectable moment. I gasped. I wiggled. But my hands remained where they were, gripping the edge of the counter.

“That’s right,” he said, giving my breast one more squeeze before dipping a finger into the whipped cream. It crested on his index finger, fluffy and wet, and I watched it disappear into his perfect lips and come out clean.

“It’s good, Jess. Wanna try?”

With another swipe, he offered his creamy finger.

I opened my mouth.

“Say it. Yes, please.”

“Yes, please.”

“Good girl.” He slid that thick finger into my mouth as my reward, and I licked the sweet cream off of him, wishing very much that it was his cock instead.

I sensed he did too, judging by the moan in his throat.

“I told you how much I love your manners.” He set the bowl next to me, scooped out a dollop with the hook of two fingers and settled the cream on one of my nipples, then the other. “So polite.”

Breast in one hand, he brought his mouth to one nipple, licking and sucking and lapping the cream from the tender peak. I hissed and writhed, hanging onto the counter with one leg twitching a little. My eyes had rolled so far back in my head, I wasn’t sure they’d find their way back. In the brief moment it took for him to switch breasts, I gulped a breath, and thank God because he sucked every bit of air out of the room when he debauched my other nipple with that criminal mouth of his. He let it go, leaving it slick and shining, my breast giving a little jiggle from its sudden release.

“Jesus, fuck,” I rasped.

“What do you say, Duchess?” The question was expectant, and I smiled.

“Thank you. May I please have another?”

His laughter was evil and wonderful. “Yes you fucking may. But take those goddamn shorts off or I’ll ruin them.”

“Too late,” I answered, shimmying out of them.

“Goddammit,” he said, grabbing and throwing them on the pile of garments he’d collected, leaving me naked and at his mercy.

And then he was covering my breasts in whipped cream so he could devour them. Only this time, his free hand found its way between my legs, fingertips circling my clit. And like the good girl he claimed I was, I kept my hands to myself, hanging onto the counter so tightly, my fingers ached.

I whimpered when he backed away, hooking my leg around his waist to pull him close again.

“Lay back,” he commanded on a laugh, picking up a fat, fresh strawberry and dipping it into the whipped cream. With one hand, he spread my legs, taking a good long look at my pussy, drawing his bottom lip into his mouth to wet it.

I ached, fighting the frantic urge to maul him and get what I wanted. But I wanted to torture myself more.

And so, I whimpered, doing my best to keep still as he dragged the wet end of the strawberry up the inside of my thigh. He met my eyes, biting into the berry before lapping up the creamy trail. By the time he reached the end, I was a quivering mess.

“Can I touch you?” I begged, hands fisted.

“Depends on what you want and how nicely you ask,” he said from between my thighs, tracing my pussy lips, dipping into me with fluttering fingers, one tease after another after another.

“Your cock in my hands, your mouth on mine. May I please?”

“Anything you want,” he said roughly, reaching for me as I rose to meet him, our lips colliding in a noisy, violent kiss. Our hands fumbled blindly with his jeans until they were gone. I wasn’t sure when the kiss ended, but I watched my hands fist that glorious cock as he pulled his shirt off in my periphery. Though I didn’t get to look as long as I wanted—he was kissing me again, hand cupping the back of my head, his tongue seeking the depths of me.

As much time as I’d spent thinking about his cock, and as much teasing as he’d done, touching him wasn’t enough. I wanted his dick in my face. I wanted him in my mouth. I wanted to taste him and feel him and tease him. So I urged him back with my hands on his chest until there was enough room to climb down, my eyes on his cock again.

“You took what you wanted,” I said, dropping to my knees. “Now it’s my turn.”

---