Page 94 of Raven

Tonight, he orders me on my hands and knees on the bed.

It’s not the first time.

He stands behind me and studies me for a while and makes me so aroused that I feel myself swell with need.

Tonight, I’m still in my dress when he lifts my skirt and slowly pulls my panties down my thighs.

“Wider,” he orders softly.

I know he is taking his time to enjoy the view. Then his palm glides over one side of my butt, then another, in the slowest caresses, pushing the hem of my dress up and above my waist. His palm slides to my inner thighs and pushes one of them.

“Wider,” he orders again.

Shame and desire twist inside me with such force that I think my entire body blushes. My center throbs with need, the proof drenching my junction.

His fingers skim along my center just barely, then spread the moisture up between my butt cheeks, rubbing the sensitive spot between them.

He doesn’t say much when he plays with me. Often doesn’t let me look.

“Touch yourself,” he instructs in that low, husky voice that drives me wild.

I drop to my elbows and slide one hand between my legs. I can’t see him, but I know he watches as I start rubbing my clit. His hand joins in, brushes over my own fingers, and spreads my lips, sending a jolt of need through me.

“Slow down,” he orders when he sees me frantically rubbing myself.

I’m so close. I whimper in need when he coats his fingers in my slick, then drags them slowly between my butt cheeks again. Shivers run through me. I start rubbing myself feverishly, squirming with the need to come.

When I’m almost there, he suddenly orders, “Stop.”

And he repeats the torture several times, edging me, until I’m frustrated and give up.

“This was a sex deal,” I pant as I sit back on my haunches, pull at my dress, and peel it off me. “Not a torture deal, Rave.”

He’s amused, watching me when I push him, still fully clothed, onto the bed.

He rarely takes his shirt off. Often, I sneak my hands under it, letting my palms feel his every cut and scar, trying to map it out. He doesn’t want skin contact? Fine. I’ll fuck him through his jeans. I’ll fuck his hand. I’ll fuck myself as long as he lets me finish.

But the little mocking glint in his eyes riles me up as I straddle him.

He cushions his head with his hands locked behind his head and watches, amused, as I hurriedly unzip him and pull his jeans down his hips. His gorgeous steel eyes narrow just slightly when I take him in my mouth.

His patience is astounding. I’ll give him that. I pull away from him and let my hand take over, watching his gaze leisurely study my nakedness. But I don’t work him methodically. Instead, I try to figure out which little movements get him off the most. When I play with his tip, or kiss his thighs, or—yes, that one—when I cup his balls and tug them just lightly. His jaw tightens. His chest stills. His eyes snap at me, and I repeat it and notice his hips nudge just a little upward, pushing his erection into my hand.

I love his taste, the smoothness of his skin against my lips and tongue. I suck him a little and love when he brings his hand down and cups my chin as I lick him. I love when he strokes my hair as I take him in my mouth. Love when he tells me to stop when I start sucking faster, and he brings his fingers to my lower lip and strokes it as I let my tongue play with his head.

I do it enough times until his lips part involuntarily from pleasure.

And then I stop.

And then I take him in my mouth again, working him slowly, licking him, letting my tongue play with that slit. I tease him just like he teases me.

Until he loses patience.

“My turn,” he says and fucks me multiple times in a row.

36

MADDY

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