Page 60 of Brazen Deceits

“This isn’t funny.”

He lowers his legs, my knees drifting back together in the deep tub, the change in position almost pushing me over the edge, but it’s not quite enough. Damn it.

I try to snake out of his arms, but he holds me tight despite the slippery water. “Antsy, princess?”

Shifting so my ass rubs against his dick, I nip his jaw. “Yes, you asshole.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Let’s move to the bed.”

Reaching for the towels, he lets go of me. I debate forcing the issue, coming while his back is turned, but he keeps his eyes on me, guessing that I’m tempted to ruin his game from pure frustration.

We dry off, draining the tub, and I take a sip of my wine, watching the bend and flex of the muscles across Walker’s body, a tattoo stretching from his ass up over one hip. How did I miss that?

A snake slipping from its coiled skin, escaping from a drab black and white sketch to a vibrant orange and black as it inches up his hip. His towel blocks my view, and I want to yank the thing off, to lick this new piece of him, this confirmation that my imagination claimed his form before I knew it. I recognized this mercurial beast clinging to me for warmth.

He holds out a hand for me, his wine cradled in his palm, a smirk on his face as I tuck in my towel. If I can’t look, then he can’t either. I stroll forward, his hand warm around mine as he tugs me out of the bathroom and across the room to the bed.

Placing me between him and the side of the bed, he tugs loose my towel, the cotton pooling at my feet. He takes another sip of his wine, scanning me from head to toe, eyes glazed as he pauses his perusal right where I want to be touched, my jagged orgasm hovering just out of reach.

Moving the goblets to the nightstand, he hoists me onto the bed, my ass barely on the mattress, my heels wide on the edge as he fits himself between my knees. “Oh thank God,” I murmur, my head falling back as his breath tickles my damp folds.

A finger trails his breath, tracing the lines of my sex, dipping in, everything warm and wet and ready. I prop myself up on my elbows. “Stop teasing.”

Walker’s smirk is all the answer I get, his focus entirely on whatever game he’s playing. I reach down to take care of it myself, but he clasps my fingers. “No. Wait.”

“Why?” I’m whining. I know I’m whining. But I can’t think, my mind hazy with arousal and the desperate need for a shattering orgasm followed by a swift and thorough fucking. Why is he torturing me?

A gentle kiss presses against my clit, and I buck into his lips, chasing the sensation, any sensation. His chuckle tickles, tormenting me further. “Because I want you shaking, crying, begging to come. I want your tears, Clara. I want my name to be the only thing echoing in this room by the time we’re done.”

He brushes another kiss across me, his fingers slipping into me, coaxing the hum of my orgasm to a roar. His lips and tongue slip over, around, torturous kisses leaving me panting, shaking, desperate. He pulls back again. “Fuck you, Walker.”

“Close, but not quite what I was hoping for,” he says, lapping up the inside of one thigh, then the other, waiting, keeping me simmering, all my skin achy and sensitive, the brush of his thumbs down my calves rumbling through me, making me twitch from a casual touch.

I whimper. “How many? How long?”

“Until you can’t anymore, Clara.”

My hands clench his hair, dragging his gaze up to me. “I can’t, Walker. I feel like I’m about to combust.”

“If you’re talking, you’re not close enough. Lie back. Tug on those perfect nipples. I want them so peaked they ache.”

I groan, flopping back, taking my breasts into my hands, doing exactly what he asked as his tongue gets back to work teasing me, two, then three of those delicate artist’s fingers rocking into me, my hips canting, yearning.

Three more times, he brings me to the edge. Three more times he stops me from falling off it, and I can hardly see, all my focus on that one elusive moment. A creature of moaning, shaking need inhabits my overheated skin, every touch of his hands and mine bringing agony and pleasure, anticipation and thwarted release.

“Please, Walker, please,” I plead, the tears he wanted blurring my vision, my bones tingling, my fingers plucking at my nipples, my nails leaving trails across my skin, the sting barely keeping me anchored.

He kisses my inner thigh in response, his teeth scraping my skin, lighting a point of reality in my haze.

His fingers plunge into me, and I yowl, bucking, wanting, needing.

His tongue laps at me, his fingers pounding in and out as he pulls my clit into his mouth, the suction new and thoroughly overwhelming.

I scream as I fall apart, my body out of my control, limbs shaking and spasming, wave after wave of bright, agonizing ecstasy rolling out from my core, my lungs unable to hold air, my knees squeezing Walker’s head, locking him against me, his tongue and fingers forcing more waves across my body, not done, never ending, time shattered.

Then he’s there, plunging into me, and I gasp, not enough air to scream as a second orgasm tears through me, or maybe it’s still the first, I can’t tell, but he’s with me, eyes dark as he slams into me, cheeks and chin glistening.

“Oh,” I manage, sliding my legs up over his back, the hair on his thighs almost painful on my hypersensitive skin. I lock my ankles behind him, working to meet him with every thrust. I’m still shivering, still alive with ripples of blinding pleasure.

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