Page 58 of Beyond the Bright Lights

I swallow hard, only nodding my response because this man has me surrendering—my voice, my body, my will.

“Good. Slip off those sandals and then I’m going to undress you.”

I suck in a breath and Mylan smiles. He gives me a brush of a kiss, and I squeeze my legs together because I'm so dang anxious at the idea of Mylan taking control. Because all my past sexual experiences have been beyond horrible that I’ve been the one to voice my needs and guide the men. Yet, they never satisfied me.

Mylan clucks his tongue. “Spread your legs, baby. I’ll give you your relief. Don’t you worry.”

I do as he says and stifle a groan as my arousal leaks onto my thighs—because I didn’t wear underwear tonight.

After I shimmy off the sandals, Mylan slips his fingers underneath the fabric of the black, short-sleeved crop top I wore.

“Arms over your head.”

I lift my arms, and he peels the top off, sending my tits bouncing free.

Mylan’s sharp whistling breath tells me he enjoyed that. “No bra,” he whispers, cupping my breasts with his large hands. His skin is warm as he squeezes. He does this for a few seconds before his mouth finds my painfully tight nipple. I throw my head back at the wet and hot sensation of his breath. He sucks and flicks his tongue over the hard peak, and I arch into him.

“Yes,” I moan.

He switches and gives the other breast the same wonderful attention. I'm so worked up, I’m panting. My knees will surely go out at any moment, so I dig my nails into his sides, holding myself up.

Mylan teases my nipple with a graze of teeth, and I jerk with a grunt that makes him chuckle.

“You’re being so patient, Lana.”

He rewards me by twisting my nipple between two fingers, making my stomach tighten and my cunt pulse. Then he moves his soft lips up my chest, across my shoulders, and to my neck all while he skims his palms over my sides and around my back, up and down before squeezing my ass.

Worshiping my body.

His fingers hook the band of my black high-waisted bodycon skirt. The stretchy fabric allows him to tug it down over my wide hips and ass. He pauses. “No panties, either?”

He gets on his knees and leans in, inhaling my scent, then proceeds to huff hot air on the sensitive area. I nearly keel over at the sensation. Mylan hums, satisfied with how my body reacts to him as he continues to strip me. He rolls my skirt down with such deliberate, unhurried movements that the anticipation has me electrified with want, ready to explode at any moment. He taps my ankle and I lift one leg, then the other to step out of the skirt.

He peers up at me—his pupils blown out and darkening with . . . something. Not desire, because that was already there. No. This is . . . beyond carnal. The look he’s giving me is as if he’s been without water, food, and oxygen for months, struggling to breathe, struggling to survive, and my naked body is bringing him back to life.

His now scorching palms skim along the inside of my leg, from the ankle all the way up until reaching the wetness of my inner thigh.

“Fuck, Lana,” he breathes.

“All yours,” I pant.

I hold onto his shoulders, convinced my knees are about to give out, as the tip of his finger strokes my soaked entrance, teasing me.

He growls. Literally growls and stands.

“Get on the bed.”

I do, falling onto my back. When Mylan starts getting undressed, I hoist myself up on my elbows, watching. He's going slow. Too slow. So, I start touching myself, twisting a nipple with one hand while moving the other hand down to my pussy, holding Mylan’s stare the entire time.

“Don’t you dare take what’s mine.”

My hand stops as my fingertips reach the top of my trimmed bush.

“I’m going to be the one to make you come. Understand?”

I nod and let out a slow, shaky breath.

“Good girl.”

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