Page 30 of Keeping The Virgin

He rests a hand on my neck, and my pulse kicks against his fingers. After if he feels how keyed up I am, he skims down over my collarbone, between my breasts, over the center of my stomach, then my tightening belly. Just as I think he’s about to stroke me between my legs, he moves to my thigh. He slides off the bed, sinking to his knees on the floor.

The desire in his eyes is imprinted on my mind, even though he’s out of sight, and the deep blue color glows inside of me, burning until I shift my hips in agitation. He cuffs his fingers around my ankles.

I stare at the ceiling, my heart scuttling.

“Easy,” he says in that low, persuasive voice. “Just lie back and let me make you feel good, baby.”

“Okay.”

I relax a little, and he rubs his thumbs at the sensitive spot just above my ankles.

“When I fuck you,” he murmurs, “you’re going to forget all about being nervous. You’re going to moan and gush until my cock is dripping with your cream.”

I never imagined a man would talk to me like this and that it would get me going so hard that I want to sob for him to continue.

“What’re you going to do to me?” I ask, my voice wavering.

His thumbs are still petting the inside of my ankles, and I rock my hips on the bed.

“I think we should start right here,” he says. “Does this feel alright?”

I only moan.

“And if I were to do this…” He runs his palms up the inside of my calves, then walks his fingers slowly between my knees, parting them a little farther. “What would you think?”

“I think…” God, I’m starting to pant, and it’s the only sound in the room besides my overwhelming pulse. “I can’t think, Cage.”

“Good. Because this isn’t about thinking.”

His fingers dance their way up between my thighs, and the blood thumps between my legs. My labia feel plumped, drenched, and he hasn’t even gotten there yet.

He pauses in his journey, caressing the inside of my thighs with gentle strokes, up, down. Each time his fingers inch under my negligee, my hips shift, responding to his every movement.

I feel as if I’ve had a glass of wine and the alcohol has infiltrated my body, giving me a sexy buzz. But I haven’t had anything. Only him.

“Good?” he asks me.

“Yes.”

As he gets to his feet again, he runs his hands over the tops of my thighs. He continues upward, his thumbs skimming my pussy, giving me a little shock. He lifts my negligee as his light fingertips come to my belly, making tiny muscles jump there. He roams up my stomach, and when he cups my breasts, I squirm.

His large body blocks out everything else in my sight, his heat encompassing me.

“Damn,” he says, fondling me. “Your tits…”

I rest my hands over the backs of his as he squeezes my breasts, his thumbs dragging over my nipples to tease them to hardness. My feet are braced on the mattress now, giving me the leverage to move with his caresses. I’m one long line of slow flowing lava.

The moonlight shows me what’s in his eyes—demons that are chasing him, even in this bedroom. I wish I knew what they were, but I can’t think right now. All I can do is make impatient, delighted sounds that seem to drive him on until something snaps in him and he suddenly flips me over on the bed.

I heave in a startled yet turned-on breath as the mattress dips with his weight and he works the negligee up and then over my body and arms. With one practiced move, he wraps the nightie around my wrists over my head, and my clit gives a violet jerk. A spurt of wetness coats my pussy.

I can feel the bare tip of his cock brush my bottom. The towel has obviously fallen away from him, just as surely as so many other things have fallen away.

His composure.

His cool.

“Tell me to stop if you want me to,” he says darkly.

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