Page 110 of Possession

He turned me around and peeled down my panties. His lips and tongue trailed down the backs of my legs, stripping my stockings with the panties. When he got to my ankles, he lifted my foot out of my shoe, removing the hose before settling my foot back into my skyscraper heel.

I could wear them with him. He still towered over me, but not so much when I wore my four-inch Diors. And here and now, it helped for what he wanted.

I shivered as he did the same with the other leg. He gripped my hips, his fingers massaging my thigh and ass before he opened me for his mouth. I gasped at the thorough taste he took. Endlessly patient where I was not.

I bashed my knuckle on a tool case and shoved it out of the way to grip the edges of the table. My hips moved restlessly and still, he stayed back there, his clever tongue searching out every blessed inch of me.

“Blake,” I growled.

“You asked for this.”

“The time for patience is gone. Just fuck me already.”

“You need to be ready.”

My nipples scraped over the burn scars of my table. “I’m ready.” I was dripping, for God’s sake.

He lifted my knee onto the table. “Not even close.” He drew me wider and farther apart until I was on tiptoe.

The moonlight intensified as the clouds moved and the trees rustled in the breeze. The shadows of the clock face striped over my table and my arms.

As exposed to the night and the endless vistas beyond his glass house as I was, I hoped like hell he’d used that special opaque Carson glass in his design.

Sweet Jesus, he’d created a 360-degree view of me.

He dragged his thumb over my slit and up to between my cheeks then my hips were jammed into the table with the force of his first thrust.

I screamed.

I was ready for him, but there had been no warming. The endless sweet touches and whisper kisses were a pale comparison to the length of him stripping me inside and out. I could feel each curve and vein of his shaft and flared head. He hollowed me out with each long, sure stroke.

I gloved every inch of him and ached for more with each bone-jarring thrust. He coasted up my back to my hair and dragged my head back. My name was a feral groan as his grip intensified.

Pleasure spiked through me as he nailed me to my table. I became the hands of his clock in this silver-streaked night. I reveled in every pass, accepted each frustrated and longing filled pump of his hips into my thighs.

He lifted my knee higher, pulling me taut so there was no space between us. My mind was an incoherent mess and the rush to the finish line felt as if I was swimming through an underwater current.

So close.

The rocks were battering me with every thrust, and the pleasure came with each reach for the surface. His hold tightened in my hair, and I arched back to him.

“Right there,” I gasped.

“No. Not yet.” He pulled out and I screamed his name as my thighs shuddered and spasmed. I needed him inside me, that fullness only he could provide.

He whirled me around and sat me on the edge. I wrapped my legs around his hips, reaching between us to get him inside my greedy body again.

I’d never been this wild for any man in my life.

It had to bethisman who held the ultimate release for me time and again.

He gripped the back of my neck, and our foreheads touched as he drove into me.

My nails dug into his flanks as the spike of pressure returned. The racing heat up my spine melted my brain, and I tried to tip my head back to get lost in it, but he didn’t allow it.

He used the angle of the table to reach into every corner of me. My scream was swallowed by his hungry mouth. Sweat slicked between us as the friction grew.

Suddenly, I was airborne again. He fumbled once before he crossed the room to the gilded stained glass. His cool grays and silvers should have clashed with my golden and green tones, but they didn’t.

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