His head lolled back on a groan as she did so.
So she did it again. Last time, at the Ritz, he’d been so focused on her, and she’d just lain there limp, overwhelmed with sensations—first pleasure, and then panic as he’d pushed her to the brink of an orgasm in record time. This time, she wanted to show him that his pleasure mattered, too. So she pushed him back to sit on the bed and sank to her knees.
The groan that ripped from his throat was pure sex, and it thrilled her. “Oh, fuck me,” he rasped as she closed her mouth over him, taking him as deep as she could.
“I think that’s the idea,” she teased as she released him at the top of a stroke and then took him into her mouth again. He practically roared then, and clenched his hands into fists that he lifted above his head as if he were trying not to hit something.
She had just closed her eyes, the better to revel in the delicious hardness of him, to marvel over how beautiful and powerful she felt at this moment, when his hands hitched under her armpits and he tossed her back on the bed. “I can’t allow that to continue.” When she mock-pouted, he climbed on top of her and whispered in her ear, “If you keep doing that, I won’t be able to deliver what was advertised.” A thrill shot through her, but she didn’t know if it was from his wicked words or from his hand, which had begun roaming through the curls between her legs. Propping himself above her with one elbow, his other hand and his mouth worked for a minute in torturous synchronicity, drawing circles around her clit and one nipple respectively.
“Oh my God,” she moaned, sparing a thought for whether she should be embarrassed at how wet she was. But when he entered her with a finger, she abandoned any self-consciousness, rocking her hips in time with the thrusting rhythm he was establishing with his finger. “What was advertised?” she gasped, with her last rational thought.
“Fucking,” he said without hesitation. Never letting up with his hand, he moved his head to nestle in her neck and dropped a kiss on her collarbone before whispering, “Everything okay?”
Tears gathered behind her eyes because the answer was yes. Everything was okay. There was no panic, no uncertainty, no overthinking. Just this galloping need that felt like it was going to run her off a cliff. She swallowed hard. Maybe another reason for this rush of emotion was that he was so thoughtful as to pause and check on her. Whatever image Dax liked to project, he was a good man. So she grabbed his head, one hand on either cheek, and brought him up so they were eye to eye. Then she smiled and said, simply, “Yes.”
The hand between her legs stilled as he smiled back. A genuine one, not one of his wicked grins, though she liked those, too. “I’m trying to go slow,” he breathed, dropping his forehead to touch hers.
“Why?” She arched her hips against his hand, trying to incite him to get back to doing those wonderful, terrible things to her.
He kissed her, on the lips, and then on the forehead. “It seems the polite thing to do.”
No. She didn’t want that. “I don’t think polite is in the spirit of what you said we were going to do.”
His eyes darkened. “Remind me again what I said we were going to do?” When she didn’t answer right away, he levered himself fully off her, kneeling between her legs on the bed and not touching her. She wanted to scream at the injustice of the lost sensation. “Remind me,” he commanded. “I want to hear you say it.”
He looked like a god, some kind of water god on land, towering over her with his chiseled chest and his dark presence.
“Fucking,” she said, without hesitation.
Maybe he was a god because the speed with which he found and donned a condom suggested some sort of supernatural power. Then he was—“Oh!” she cried—inside her. Dax was finally inside her. Once he was fully seated, filling her completely, he stilled and pressed the base of his palm against her mound.
“You don’t know how long I’ve thought about this.” He ground his hips, and though it should have been impossible, seemed to work himself even deeper inside her.
She let loose a low moan. It had been involuntary. “I think I do know.”