Page 26 of Wolfish Player
He stares at me, a slight smirk on his lips. I feel my cheeks warming under his gaze, so I pull the covers over my face.
The edge of the couch dips and I feel him sitting at the end.
“Has anyone ever told you that you talk in your sleep?” he asks.
“I’m not here, Mr. Wolfson.”
“You tend to say a lot of things that are quite inappropriate.”
“If you keep talking to me, I don’t want this to count as time taken off…”
He suddenly slides the heels off my feet, stunning me into silence as his palms press against my calves. The heat of his hands makes my head fall back against the couch before I can stop it, a low sound slipping from my throat.
“You really should be more careful about what you say when you’re asleep,” he murmurs, his thumbs digging harder into my muscles. “Something about how much you hate me… and how much you want me to fuck you anyway.”
My eyes snap open. “I did not say that. I was thinking about you ‘tasting’ me while going down on me, so that doesn’t make any sense.”
“I stand corrected,” he says. “That’s a better option anyway.”
My cheeks flame, and I suck in a gasp as I realize what I’ve admitted.
His smirk deepens as his hands move lower, his thumbs sweeping along my ankles, then sliding back up in slow, deliberate strokes. “You also begged me not to stop, you said you needed it.”
“Lies.” My voice comes out higher than it should.
“You moaned when you said it.” He drags his hands higher, thumbs pressing just above my knees, holding me there a beat too long before pulling away. The loss of contact leaves my skin prickling.
“Is that what you really need?”
“That’s a really inappropriate question, Mr. Wolfson.”
“You can call me ‘Adrian’ for this…Is that what you need?”
“Maybe.”
“Yes or no?” He loosens his tie.
“Yes…”
He doesn’t wait for another word. His hands slide up the insides of my thighs, spreading me wide as he drops to his knees at the edge of the couch.
“Adrian—” I choke out, but my protest melts into a gasp as his mouth finds me through my panties, hot breath soaking straight through the fabric.
“Shut up and let me taste you,” he growls, yanking the lace aside.
His tongue drags a slow, torturous line up my slit, then plunges deep, and I buck so hard against his face that he pins my hips down with both hands. The sound is obscene—wet, greedy, unrestrained—like he’s starved for me, like he won’t stop until he’s devoured every part of me.
“Fuck…” My hands claw at the couch cushions, then his hair, pulling him closer, but he doesn’t need encouragement. He eats me like he owns me, tongue circling, plunging, sucking my clit until my thighs shake uncontrollably.
“Don’t you dare close your legs,” he warns between licks, voice low and wicked. “You do, and I stop.”
I force myself open wider, gasping when he groans against me, like the taste of me is better than anything he’s ever had.
He slips two fingers inside me without warning, curling them at just the right spot while his tongue lashes harder. I cry out, helpless, grinding shamelessly against his mouth, the heat building so fast it’s unbearable.
“Yes… Adrian, don’t stop—please don’t stop?—”
“That’s what you begged for in your sleep,” he murmurs, lips brushing my swollen clit. “Beg louder.”
