Chapter 32 - Molly #2
He presses his lips together and shakes his head.
‘Nah.’ He plays with my nipples, his fingers sending electric pulses so delicious around my body that I clench my jaw and attempt to arch my back.
He’s no longer looking at my face. I stare in fascination at the expression in those eyes as he scoots backwards on his heels, scrutinising every inch of my body as he moves down it.
His hand nudges my knees apart, and he kneels between them so he can peruse the area where my legs have fallen open in surrender.
The male fucking gaze.
This is it.
It’s so blatant, so deeply possessive, entitled, even, that every feminist part of my being retreats in shame while every nerve ending, every cell remotely connected to my sex organs veritably sings.
Max crouches between my legs in all his gorgeous, golden glory, his cock now rock-hard and ready to go again, those magical amber eyes exploring every inch of me with a heady edge of ownership.
And I can’t get enough.
I stretch my arms luxuriously over my head, my body arching off the bed again. It’s cosy in the room, but my skin is covered in a layer of goosebumps, and my nipples are so tight as to be on the verge of snapping off.
‘So fucking beautiful.’
Those magnificent muscles in his shoulders contract as he braces on one arm, running his other hand down between my breasts, its fingers splaying over the skin of my stomach, before it drags on down and vanishes between my legs. I jolt as he swipes a finger through my wet folds.
‘Jesus.’ His gaze flits back to me, his eyes darkening. ‘You’re fucking soaking, sweetheart.’
‘That’s what you do to me,’ I tell him.
‘For that,’ he says, ‘you get this.’
This is the delight that is having Max crouch further over, dipping that dirty blonde head of his between my legs, his tongue slicing through my core in one decadent lap from my entrance to my clit. Oh my God. I moan my appreciation.
‘I will never, ever get enough of doing this to you,’ he says, his breath teasing my exposed flesh.
It strikes me as a funny thing to say. And by funny, I mean long term. But I’ll grant the guy a free pass. After all, in a few short seconds I’ll barely be aware of what’s coming out of my mouth, either.
His tongue moves over me, again and again, in luxurious sweeps that have my entire body thrilling, and when he adds a couple of fingers without warning, I gasp.
Having Max’s fingers inside me, his skilful tongue roaming over me, is sensory heaven, and I’m not going to last. He reaches a hand up to palm my breast, alternating between kneading it and rolling my nipple between his fingers.
It’s magic. Pure magic. My body’s on fire, desperate to continue the upward ride of this rollercoaster. Every nerve ending is braced for that thrilling peak, the insane exhilaration of that downward rush.
‘Please make me come,’ I beg him. ‘I need to.’
He pauses, and it’s outrageous, and infuriating, and excruciating.
‘The problem is,’ he drawls, ‘there’s not much you can do about it if I leave you hanging.’
I pull my head up with effort, just in time to see him smirking at me from between my legs.
My arms may be tied, but I could probably bring them down on top of his smug head.
I settle, however, for lifting my leg and delivering a firm kick with my heel to that annoyingly pert arse of his. He laughs.
‘Getting frustrated?’
‘Make me come,’ I tell him, more nicely, this time. ‘Please.’
‘Like this?’ He runs his tongue smoothly over my clit again.
‘Harder.’
He chuckles. ‘Whatever the lady says…’
I’m not sure I’m that ladylike, trussed up like this and begging for him to tongue-fuck me into oblivion, but right now, I could not give a shit, because Max’s fingers thrust harder inside me, and his tongue goes taut, just the way I like it, and begins a relentless onslaught that has that upward tick of my orgasm rollercoaster going practically vertical as it shoots me into the sky.
Holy shit. Behind my closed eyes, fireworks explode in a world of colour, heat courses through my body, and I go under, submerged in wave after wave of bliss as Max’s magical body parts make my body sing.
Enough mixed metaphors for you?
Told you I wouldn’t be responsible for coherent words. Or thoughts.
Let’s just say, it’s fucking amazing, and the fact of being tied up makes that climax all the sweeter, gives it that edge that takes it from a run-of-the-mill orgasm to one that steals the very breath from my lungs.
When Max is sure I’m safely on the downward run, he slides up my body and lines his cock up at my entrance, those hazel eyes staring down at me from inches away. ‘Ready, baby?’ he asks.
Ready? I need this man’s dick ruining my vagina so badly it’s ridiculous. Need him taking away that emptiness.
I nod, but my face must telegraph fuck me now! because he laughs. ‘Okay, then.’
And then he’s moving, and pushing, and filling me up, and oh my sweet Jesus, it’s incredible.
He frames my face with his elbows, one of his hands going to squeeze my hands (and probably to make sure I haven’t escaped my bindings) as his face lowers to mine.
His kisses are hungry. His tongue devours me, and I taste myself on him.
A part of me wants my hands free so they can roam over this man, having a good grope of his skin and his muscles and digging into his arse so I can get him as flush against me as possible, but a larger part loves it this way.
Loves that he has me right where he wants me.
That he’s in control.
That my body is his to do what he likes with.
And right now, what he likes is driving deep, deep inside me, over and over, with wicked rolls of his hips that have me arching to meet him. To take whatever he feels like giving.
Whatever control he has is slipping. His movements grow more needy, his kisses more desperate, and my state of emotional overwhelm rises in tandem. It’s too much, this. My body doesn’t know how to bear the weight and privilege and gift of having this man consuming me.
Max sucks on my bottom lip before pulling away so he can bury his face in the crook of my neck.
In my tangle of hair. One of his hands comes down to cup my arse and pull me against him as he drives home.
I grow fuller, the overwhelm in my body building and morphing into more of an ache as a second orgasm builds, deep inside me this time.
‘Fuck,’ he groans into my neck. ‘God, I love you so fucking much, Mol.’
They’re like an electric shock, these words, and my body responds violently as Max ramps up the pace and depth of his thrusts. There’s nothing except for this man and his skin and dick and weight and heat and his words.
And then I’m falling over the edge as he comes apart on top of me.