Page 97 of My Sweetest Agony
Every brush of his lips against my ear. Every breath fluttering across my skin. Every drive of his hips designed to worship me in a way that makes tears burn in my eyes again.
He releases my arms, and I reach back to tangle one hand in his hair as he nuzzles my cheek. My other hand drifts down to the mattress, clutching at the sheets, seeking a way to ground myself when he expertly tries to make me spin out of control with every move he makes.
The roll of his hips. That extra little thrust at the top that catches the head of his cock inside me. The sweep of his tongue and lips and scrape of teeth against my neck and shoulder.
Then he lifts my leg, dragging it up and back, giving himself a better angle and exposing me more as he thrusts up in that same rhythm I’m convinced is a slow form of torture.
I bite my lip to contain the whimper that tries to slip out, and Cam slides his hand across my stomach to the apex of my thighs.
“Tell me how you want it, Ivy. Like this?” He rolls his finger over my clit, and I jerk, clenching down around him. “Slow and steady?” His grin presses to my neck. “Or do you like it fast and hard, like before?”
The whimper falls out.
God, I like it all.
I want it all.
Tonight is truly the first time that I’ve felt alive. The other night, my world was collapsing around me, and what happened between us was tangled in grief, guilt, frustration, and regret.
But not now.
All of that is gone.
All that exists is the feel of his cock filling me, his calloused hands gliding across my skin, and his hot, frantic mouth all over me.
“Answer me, Ivy.” He keeps pumping in that dangerously languid pace that’s more like torture, thrusting up, languidly dragging his fingers across my clit, not giving me what I desperately need…
But God, it feels so good.
His teeth scrape along the column of my neck, his lips following with so much care that the tears finally slip free.
I can’t breathe, let alone speak, to offer any sort of answer.
And he just keeps going, setting a completely unhurried pace, as if he has nothing else to do, nowhere else to be but right here.
Where I want to be.
I don’t want him to move from this exact spot.
Something about being spread out across him like this, feeling every move of his chest, his tightening and flexing abs, his rolling pelvis, his tense legs braced to give him leverage against my own as he works me up, heightens everything.
My skin feels too hot.
Too tight.
Every brush of his fingers across my clit too intense.
The drag of his cock inside my cunt too damn good.
But it never crests.
A languid build that doesn’t seem to lead anywhere but my extended purgatory.
“Cam, please.” My plea comes out as a whimper, the kind of noise that I never like making, that makes me sound so needy, so desperate.
But I am.
For him.
