Page 20 of Going Deep
The answer seemed so awfully important, so she gave him the truth. “I don’t know.”
“So honest,” he murmured. “Does it turn you on to see it?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to come?”
Unable to speak, her voice caught in her throat, she nodded.
“I know you do,” he crooned, soothed. “Ask me."
“Ask you?” she echoed, not understanding.
“I can make you come, Ginger.” His hand on her throat was warm, the arm under her breasts firm. “But you have to ask me.”
She shouldn’t—she knew that. This was the deep end of the pool, and she still needed a lifejacket. But the need was so huge, and she couldn’t see past it. “Yes.”
“Yes, what, Ginger?” His lips brushed her neck, the faintest of caresses. “Ask me.”
Oh, God. She swallowed, just to feel his hand flex against her throat. “Please make me come.”
“What a good girl you are,” he praised, soothed, and turned her around with steadying hands. She stared up at him with wide eyes. He looked so stern, eyes glittering, jaw clenched, and when she raised her hands to grasp his shoulders for balance, he shook his head.
“Put your hands behind your back,” he ordered in that crooning voice, so at odds with his harsh expression, and she obeyed without question.
His hands shifted, one sliding down to circle her wrists, the other tangling in her short hair to drag her head back. Her breasts pressed into the hard planes of his chest, her pelvis tipped forward to cradle the hard curve of his dick. She jolted against him, sensation spiking, and her eyes drifted closed, her thoughts swirling away like water down the drain.
A yank on her hair forced her eyes open. He was staring down at her, his heavy eyes glittering. His heart hammered against her breasts. When she licked her lips, she would have sworn she tasted him.
“Please,” she whispered. She arched into him, desperate for the aching hunger to ease. “Please.”
He nipped her bottom lip with sharp teeth. “Say it again.”
Pain bloomed, then heat. Desperate with need, with lust, she stared into his eyes. “Please.”
“Good girl,” he growled against her mouth, then gave her what she wanted.
The kiss was deep, consuming, his hands hard. He held her firmly, the unyielding plane of his chest crushing her breasts, the hard jut of his dick digging into her belly. The height and angle were wrong for direct contact with her clit, and for a moment, frustration threatened to boil over. But then he dragged her to her toes, planting his dick right where she needed it and grinding against her, and that was all it took.
Tension in her belly twisted painfully tight, then burst, exploding outward. She jerked against him, whimpering into his mouth when the spasms hit, her pussy clenching rhythmically. They went on and on, pleasure on top of agony, echoing with the pounding of her heart, of his.
She sagged in his arms, dazed, when the last spasm faded. His mouth gentled, soothing her as she came down from the orgasm. His hands released their hold on her hair and wrists, shifting from holding fiercely to stroking gently. She sighed into his mouth, and with a last lingering stroke of his tongue, he pulled back.
“Okay?” he murmured, continuing to stroke her arms, her back, while holding her secure.
“I’m alive,” she managed, her words slightly slurred. She kept her eyes closed, her head on his chest. “I think.”
His chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Oh, you’re definitely alive. Wonderfully, beautifully alive.”
She sighed. “Okay.”
He chuckled again. “Thirsty?”
She was, she realized. Wildly so. “Yes.”
“Let’s go find you a drink, then.”
“Okay.” She raised her head, blinking her eyes. He slowly swam into focus. As the orgasm haze started to fade and awareness returned, mortification came with it. Cheeks heating, she buried her head against his chest again.
