Page 67 of Lust
“Uncuff me.” He shuddered as she found his ear.
But did he want to be freed?
Not with her mouth on him, taking what she desired. Perhaps she read his mind because she denied him, instead opting to slide her bewitching slick tongue down his neck, to his throat, to his collar. With a low, throaty growl, she ripped his shirt open, popping the fastenings.Jesus. Buttons landed on the bed, rolled, and tinkled to the hardwood flooring. Seeing her lust-filled, feminine appreciation caused the swell of deep satisfaction in his chest.
“When did you get so fucking hot?” The low pitch of her voice connected with his cock, hardening it to steel.
She scraped nails down the coarse hair on his chest, circled his nipple, and scratched the ridges down his abs. A shuddering hiss burst from his lips. She kneaded his flesh as though taking her due, touching and tantalizing him everywhere. Then her lips were back, savoring him. Wet, hot, and cool sensations followed her mouth until she found his belt and unbuckled. He thrust into her touch, threw his head back, and rolled his eyes to the ceiling.Yes. There. Put your lips there.
“I’m so fucking hard for you, Liza,” he groaned.
“I need to see. I have to know.” She frowned as she worked his fly, lowering the zipper. “I can’t sense you. I—sweetJes—”
Her words abruptly cut off. Her fingers wrapped around his raging cockstand. His mind blanked. His heart kicked in his chest, thumping like a bucking bull.
“Put your lips on me,” he pleaded softly.
A breath. A pause. She took him into her mouth. There was nothing else. Just her and a thousand sparks of paradise shooting through his body. After two slides of her tongue, he knew he wouldn’t last.
“Uncuff me,” he insisted and struggled against the restraints. “Now.”
She dug into her jeans pocket, retrieved the key, and then fumbled behind him to unlock a single wrist. Metal tinkled as he brought his arms to his front, intending to take the lead, but she captured his cuffed wrist.
His brows shot up. What…?
She smirked and then cuffed his hand to hers—his right to her left. She threw the key. It clinked down the bed’s headboard and sifted between the wall space to land somewhere beneath.
“In case you feel the urge to run away again,” she explained.
A low growl of intent rumbled through him. “Honey, I’m not going anywhere for a very long time.”
Liza’s eyes turned lazy and full of carnal promise. She threaded her cuffed hand into Joe’s and held it firm at the side of his head, pressed against the quilt covered mattress. They stared at each other, almost in disbelief—they were finally here, doing this—and then he lost all sense of reason. He rolled them so he was on top and kissed her hungrily. He pulled at her blouse with his free hand, and she helped wrench it off with hers. The cuffs prevented it coming all the way off, so they left their tops dangling between them. They were a team, thinking as one. Next were her pants, and then his, until he was naked and she was in her provocative black lace bra and panties.
She lay beneath him, looking like his dream. He tugged the tie on her hair and helped it unravel.
“Perfect,” he muttered as brown cascading softness fanned out on his bed. She was everything he’d imagined and more. She watched as he slid his cuffed hand down her smooth as satin front. She echoed his movement with her trapped hand, so they touched her together as one. Her low moan of desire hardened him to the point of pain.
He had to have her now. His fingers rasped over the lace between her legs and felt the wetness there. He stroked the fabric. She thrust upward, needing more sensation. His eyes rolled when her hips hit his erection.
“I’m leaving these on,” he said hoarsely, looking at her lace. “It’s the least you can do after teasing me with them at the station.”
A wicked, self-satisfied grin curved her lips, and it was that smile he wished he could capture to remember forever. It sent his heart hammering against the black doubt that had kept it caged all these years. He guided her cuff-free hand to her panties.
“Hold it aside,” he ordered.
She used the fingers to hook onto the lace at her crotch, tugged, and gave him an unhindered view.
He slid his blunt tip over her slick center until she squirmed and begged him to fill her with whimpered pleas. She was his. He claimed her. He showed her by tunneling into her tight heat with a hard thrust to the hilt.
All senses shut down. Both of them stilled. He felt nothing but the simple sensation of her surrounding him. When the irresistible stillness became too much, he dropped a hand to either side of her head. One holding hers, joined irrevocably, gripping tightly. He pumped into her. She encouraged him with her legs kicked high, pressing into his rear.
Their first time was supposed to be a marathon, to last like he’d promised. He loved her more than anything, and he wanted to show it. But it was hopeless. Her sweet smell, her smooth skin, and glowing cheeks. She barked demands for him to go faster, to hit her deeper. He was powerless to her whim. He always would be. With hard pants, cries, and sweaty movements, they reached their bliss together.
He collapsed onto her, still grinding absently, wringing the last of their throws, kissing her neck, muttering sweet nothings until their breathing returned to normal and they entered a different kind of quiet. A shared stillness.
For long moments they stayed silent, simply holding each other, and then she spoke.
“I didn’t puke.”
