Page 56 of Butterfly

“I’d rather not tell.” At least I’m not lying to him.

His mouth contracts in displeasure. Now that I know him better, I recognise the tiny, muscular twitches on his face. “It has to do with your foster parents, I suppose.”

“I don’t want to talk about that, either.”

His arms steel around me, but he doesn’t ask any more questions. “I’d love to have you with me for Christmas. Since my dad died, my mum has felt lonely. They were in love, real love, I mean.”

“He had a heart attack, right?”

He hesitates, toying with my fingers. “A sudden one. He never showed any symptoms, never had any health problems. It simply happened, and he didn’t recover.” He leans his head back on the sofa. “My parents always laughed when they were together. Now Mum doesn’t laugh so often, but our Christmas dinner is important to her. Having you with me would mean a lot. Besides, I’ll be busy from now until Christmas. It’ll be an occasion to spend some time together.”

The frost around my heart melts a little at the intensity of his voice. “All right. But you must help me find some Christmas presents for your family.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Yes, I do.” I jab a finger at him. “That’s my condition. I won’t sit there and watch as you exchange presents. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” he says after a pause. His hand slips under my skirt. “I’m looking forward to it.” Lust darkens his grey eyes to a hard silver.

The skin of his palm is rough and calloused against mine, creating a delicious friction that sends shivers up my body. He runs his hand up and down my leg, slowing every time he’s close to the junction between my thighs.

“I can spend the whole evening caressing your legs.” My dress bunches up when his hand reaches my waist. “They’re so silky, like the rest of you.”

Wetness is pooling between my thighs. It’s his voice, not only what he’s saying. He could read the sacher-torte recipe and still get me all wet and bothered. He opens my legs until his hand fits perfectly between them, as if it belongs there. A deep groan rumbles out of him when he touches my wet knickers. My hips push against his hand of their own accord.

“I have to taste it,” he half-whispers, half-hisses.

The frisson of excitement rushing up my legs freezes me. A breath heaves out of me. Before I can say anything, he’s picking me up again, slipping from underneath me. He sets me on the soft cushion and kneels in front of me, radiating a predatory menace. I sink my fingers into the smooth fabric, my pulse spiking with a feeling halfway between dread and anticipation. With his hands on my hips, he draws me closer. Then he hooks his thumbs into my lacy knickers—I came prepared this time, just in case—and slips them down my legs. Oh, my. I fight the urge to close my legs when he pries them open. Thank goodness I stretch regularly, or his wide frame wouldn’t fit.

Cold air hits my heated core when he lifts my skirt. His eyes flare wide as he pushes my legs apart until I have nothing to hide from him.

I was wrong. Surviving the embarrassment of the incident at De Ville is nothing compared to this moment. Now I’m sure I’m going to pass out from embarrassment because he’s looking at me as if I’m his next meal.

His thumb runs up and down over my wetness, slipping inside occasionally. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

I might come by hearing his voice alone. And feeling his touch. My back muscles arch as he rubs me in lazy circles. He dips his head and his tongue darts out, tearing a deep gasp of pleasure out of me. My hips jerk up. I had no idea it could be so powerful. He licks, kisses, and bites me gently, each time pushing his expert tongue deeper. The rough pad of his thumb replaces his tongue before his lips are on me again.

It's torture. It’s heaven.

I bite my bottom lip hard as he sucks on me. God, every nerve in my body is on fire. All the tension that usually lurks in a corner of my mind dissolves with each lash of his tongue. My toes curl. My chest heaves. As he slides a couple of fingers inside me, I can’t remain quiet. Husky, croaky noises come out of my mouth. Moans and cries of pleasure leave my lips, and he never stops. The tips of his dark strands of hair tickle my skin every time he digs deeper. His assault keeps going with fingers, lips, and tongue. The orgasms—as in two of them—that shatter me are overwhelming. Wave after wave of clenching pleasure shoots to my head. Ecstasy rips through my core and slices through me. White stars flash behind my closed eyelids.

And he doesn’t stop. He kisses me, rubbing me with his lips until energy builds up inside me again, and he draws out another powerful release from me. His name flees my lips on a scream as I close my fists over the sofa. Only then does he scatter kisses over my trembling inner thighs, inching up. I’m wheezing, shocked by the pleasure and the quivering in my muscles.

He buries his face in the crook of my neck and kisses me there. “You taste like heaven.”

There’s no chance that I can speak any human language at this moment. I lie down, panting underneath him, smelling myself on his skin. He gathers me in his arms and holds me, as if I were the most precious thing he’s ever seen. He doesn’t demand anything from me. He doesn’t pressure me to do more. I’m boneless against his body, and he’s happy to hold me, letting me bask in the light of the orgasm. He caresses my hair while kissing my jaw, careful not to touch my back. The way he cares about me is probably the most romantic thing that has ever happened to me.

When his hard length presses against my thigh, the post-orgasm shock lifts. Without thinking, I run my hand over him, feeling the hardness underneath the fine material of his trousers. Heck, he’s huge. He lets out a growl, sounding like he’s in pain. Maybe he is. I fumble with his zipper until I open his trousers and touch the waistband of his boxers. We both groan when I lower his underwear and touch him, skin against skin. Lust is burning in the depths of his eyes as I close my hand around him. He’s enormous, long and thick, silky and hard. The blunt tip is wet, and I spread the moisture around. He reclines his head, exposing his delectable Adam’s apple bouncing up and down under his skin. His fists are tightly clenched at his sides, and his chest is lifting and lowering. It’s my turn to slip between his powerful legs. I want to see him undone and squirming under my tongue.

He groans deep in his chest when I take him into my mouth and taste the saltiness of his skin. I have to open my mouth fully to accommodate him and use my hand to guide him inside me. That’s the first time I’ve done a blow job, but judging by his grunts and the way his thighs tense, he doesn’t seem to notice it. I run my tongue over his tip and length and suck on him, alternating a gentle stroke with a sharp suck.

“Sienna.” He’s staring at me now, his gaze dark with lust.

I suck harder while stroking him. Coordinating my mouth and hand isn’t as easy as it seems, given his length. But I fall into a rhythm as he watches me, caressing the top of my head. I push him down my throat until tears fill my eyes and choking noises come out of me. He groans and grunts in pleasure every time I go deep. I take him as deep as I can, using my tongue and stroking him until he pulls me up. His body jerks as he grits his teeth. The warm rush of his release soaks my fingers. His muscles contract under the power of the orgasm. I can’t help but smile at the way he’s coming undone for me.

Then his hungry mouth is over mine again, devouring my lips, sucking at my tongue, and conquering my mouth with deep lashes. He’s no longer exploring. He’s claiming me as his in a more powerful way than his little speech about me being his girlfriend did. His hands run up and down my body, squeezing my breasts, fondling my bum. With a quick flip, he exchanges our positions so that I’m underneath him.

When he lowers the straps of my dress, my breath catches. He stops immediately, wheezing. “I’m not going to touch your back, but I want you naked underneath me.”

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