Chapter 27 Table for Two #3
The aftershocks still shivered through me, a low hum in my veins, but beneath the tremors, there was a heat building.
His fingers, wet with me, were still at his lips. His eyes were dark with primal satisfaction, but I saw the hunger there too. The taste of my own desire on his skin was a brand, a flag planted deep in my psyche. Mine, he'd said.
But so are you, I thought.
The fire he'd lit in me roared back to life, hotter than before. This wasn't just about surrender anymore. It was about taking. About marking him in return.
My hand, which had been limp against his chest, moved. It slid down the fine wool of his suit jacket, over the rapid beat of his heart, past his belt. My fingers found the cool, polished metal of his buckle.
His breath hitched. A small, sharp intake of air was more telling than any groan. He watched me, his eyes narrowing, his body going perfectly still. A predator observing its mate's next move.
I didn't break eye contact as my fingers worked. The leather strap slid free with a soft shick. The button of his trousers came undone. The zipper's low rasp was obscenely loud in the quiet car.
“What are you doing, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice a graveled warning.
I didn't answer with words. I slid my hand past the waistband of his boxer briefs, feeling him, thick and heavy. He was already so hard for me.
His hand, which had been stroking my hair, stilled as I lowered myself from the seat, my knees finding the carpet of the limo's floor.
The position was awkward, cramped, but I made it work, my black dress pooling around me.
I looked up at him from between his thighs, my face level with his straining cock.
“Look at me,” I said, echoing his earlier command.
His knuckles were white where they gripped the seat. But his eyes were molten, fixed on mine with ferocious intensity. He nodded once.
I bent my head.
My tongue touched the flushed, velvety head of his cock. A tentative, testing lick. The taste was clean, masculine salt, and underneath it... me.
A full-body shudder rocked him. “Fuck,” he hissed, the word strangled.
I opened my mouth and took him in. Just the head at first, swirling my tongue around the crown, tasting, savoring him. He groaned a raw, helpless sound that vibrated through the space between us.
I took him deeper, my lips stretching, my jaw relaxing. I sank down inch by torturously slow inch until I felt him nudge the back of my throat. My eyes watered, but I held, breathing through my nose, letting my body adjust to the delicious, stretching fullness.
One of his hands came down, his fingers spearing into my hair. Not a gentle caress. A grip. He fisted the strands, not to hurt, but to guide.
“That's it,” he growled, his voice thick and rough. “Take it. Take all of me. That perfect mouth... It's mine, too. I want to feel you choke on it.”
The dirty words, the rough ownership in his touch, sent a fresh flood of heat to my core. I moaned around him, the vibration making him curse and buck his hips. I pulled back, dragging my tongue along his rigid length, then sank down again, faster this time, finding a rhythm.
My world narrowed to the scent of him, the salty-bitter taste on my tongue, the heavy weight of him against my palate, the tightening of his fingers in my hair telling me what he liked.
I slid one hand up to cradle the tight, heavy weight of his balls, rolling them gently in my palm.
My other hand worked the base of his shaft in time with my mouth.
“God, you look so good like this,” he rasped, his hips beginning a shallow, involuntary thrust. “On your knees for me. Your pretty lips wrapped around my cock. You were made for this. Made to suck me, to take me, to worship me.”
His praise was filthy and perfect. It wrapped around me, a dark, silken rope pulling me deeper into the act.
I relaxed my throat, taking him deeper on the next downstroke until my nose was buried in the crisp hair at his base.
I held there, swallowing around him, and felt his entire body bow taut as a wire.
He tugged my hair, pulling me off him with a wet, obscene sound. A string of saliva connected my lips to his glistening tip.
“Look at me,” he demanded, his chest heaving.
I looked up, my eyes blurry, my lips swollen and slick.
His smile widened. “Good. Now show me.”
A fierce, feminine pride surged through me. He wasn't just using me; he was giving himself to me in this raw, vulnerable state. He was letting me claim him back. I locked my eyes on his, held his gaze, and took him back into my mouth with a deep, hungry suction that made his abs clench.
I worshipped him then. With my lips, my tongue, the hollows of my cheeks. I sucked him with a fervor that bordered on desperation, lapping at the salty drops that beaded at his tip, humming with pleasure at the way his grip on my hair tightened, at the way his breaths became ragged, broken gasps.
“I'm going to come down that tight throat,” he warned, his voice strangled. “I'm going to fill you up. Mark you from the inside. You want that? You want to swallow every drop? To know you did this? That you made me lose control?”
I couldn't speak. I just moaned, the sound vibrating around him, and doubled my efforts. My hand moved faster, and my mouth sucked harder.
His thighs trembled as a string of curses, low and reverent and filthy, fell from his lips. “That's it... just like that... your mouth is a fucking dream... my dream... mine...”
The hand in my hair became an iron clamp, holding me in place as his hips jerked off the seat.
“Swallow it all,” he commanded, his voice cracking. “Take it. Take every last drop of me.”
The first pulse hit the back of my throat, hot and bitter.
I swallowed instinctively, milking him with my throat muscles.
The second was stronger, a flood of salt and heat that I greedily drank down.
He groaned, a long, shattered sound, as his release poured into me, each throb of his cock a testament to his surrender.
I kept my mouth on him, working him through the last tremors, until he was spent and sensitive, his grip in my hair softening to a caress.
Slowly, gently, I released him. He was still half-hard, glistening with my saliva and his release. I sat back on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, my chest heaving. The taste of him, of us, was stark on my tongue.
He looked wrecked. His suit was rumpled, his hair a disaster, his eyes glassy with spent passion. He reached for me, his hand shaking as he cupped my cheek.
“Come here,” he breathed, pulling me up from the floor and into his lap. He held me close, his face buried in my hair, his breathing still ragged. “You’re incredible, perfect…” He couldn't finish. He just held me, his body trembling against mine.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, and a dark smile tugged at his lips. “You took your claim, didn't you?”
I nodded, unable to speak, the taste of him still heavy in my mouth.
His smile widened as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a husky whisper against my ear. “Good. Now we're even.”