12. Amal #2
With his eyes locked on me, he unbuttons his shirt. He tugs it out of his slacks and strips it off, tossing that, too, over the chair and I can’t help but take in all that skin and muscle and those scars and tattoos. I think I could study him for hours. Days. Hell, forever.
My throat goes dry and when he steps toward me, I take an unconscious one back. A corner of his mouth curves upward because he likes this game of cat and mouse.
Or cat and his little virgin.
“No drink first?” I ask, trying for casual. Still backing away.
“Would you like one?” he asks, no break in his approach.
I shake my head. “Tell me something,” I start as he unbuckles his belt and lets it hang open. He raises his eyebrows waiting. “What are you going to call me when I’m not a virgin anymore?”
He smiles wide, eating the last of the space separating us as the backs of my knees hit the bed.
“Don’t worry about that. You’ll find I’m very creative.”
I put my hands against his chest, feel the heat of him beneath smooth skin and hard muscle. My heart races my head spinning. This is all happening so fast. Too fast.
“Jet, I think…” I start, but trail off, not sure what I mean to say.
He gently unbuttons my cloak. “Stop thinking.” He strips it from me. He’s so close I have to crane my neck to look up at him and I can see in his eyes that he likes this imbalance of power.
And no matter how I may try to deny it, butterflies flutter their wings in my belly, and I press my legs together because I like it too.
I like his power over me. I want tonight to happen.
I’ve wanted it for a long time. I’ve always been attracted to Jet, from the beginning.
There’s always been a pull between us. Maybe it was the fact that he and I were on the outside, standing on the sidelines as Allegra and Cassian’s impossible love grew and we bore witness to it.
Maybe it’s that we both want that too. To some extent.
In some version. Even if we don’t deserve it.
Even if I don’t.
But it doesn’t mean I’m not nervous. I have never been with a man. Any man. And I have no doubt that Jethro Blackstone does not make love. He fucks.
“But tell me.” He bends down so his mouth is at my ear.
“What is going on in that mind of yours, Little Virgin of mine?” he scrapes his teeth over the lobe of my ear and when he draws it out, I gasp as my hands curl around his biceps, moving over hard muscle to his shoulders, my stomach twisted up in knots.
He straightens, hands sliding down over my arms to take my wrists, moving them behind my back. He shifts both into one of his hands and he holds them there as his eyes move over me.
“Are you wondering what my hands will feel like on your body?”
He runs his fingertips over my collarbones and to the back of my neck and goosebumps follow along as he unzips my dress.
The air around us is charged, our eyes locked, his dark, mine?
I don’t know. All I know is my heart is beating out of my chest as he bends his head to my neck and kisses the curve of it before bringing his mouth to my ear.
“Breathe, Little Virgin,” he whispers as he pushes the dress from my shoulders.
Once the dress is gone, he lets his gaze move over me then spins me around so fast, I gasp, falling forward onto the bed. Before I can straighten, his hands close over mine and he bends over my back.
“Stay,” he commands, drawing in a deep breath at my neck before straightening, fingertips moving up over my arms, fingernails scratching skin as he unhooks my bra and lets it drop. The straps slide down my arms and catch at my wrists.
I dare a glance back as I feel the lightest touch of his fingers down my spine, pressing on my lower back, forcing me to arch my hips high.
Licking my lips, I watch him, see the desire, the raw want, in his eyes as he looks over every inch of me. I expect him to strip off my panties, but he doesn’t. His hands move up over the backs of my thighs, his touch light, making me shudder before he drops to his knees behind me.
“Jet—”
He kisses the inside of my thigh, pushing my panties over to bite the softest part of one cheek.
I cry out not from pain but something else, pulling at the duvet when he grips the cotton roughly and tugs it over, fully exposing me to himself. It’s somehow dirtier, more exposing, this way than if he’d stripped me bare.
I squeeze my eyes shut, mutter a curse or a prayer, I’m not really sure which. I hear his deep inhale, feel the scruff of his jaw and the softness of his wet mouth as his tongue dips inside before sliding over me, all of me, tasting me.
The sound he makes is an unmistakable moan of utter pleasure and I’m left panting, my knees buckling, legs unable to hold me up.
Jet stands, grips a fistful of hair and draws me upright turning me to face him.
His eyes are full black ringed with a green so dark there’s almost no contrast. I’m out of breath and out of my mind as my hands come to his shoulders, his neck, fingernails digging in when he forces my head backward and closes his mouth over mine, our eyes open, my taste on his lips, his tongue invading my mouth, taking it, claiming it. Claiming me.
His free hand slides down my back to cup my ass, and I yelp when he lifts me off my feet, still kissing me. I wrap my legs around his hips holding on tight, hands in his hair now, our kiss dripping with a need so raw, it aches.
When he rips his mouth away, he’s as breathless as me, eyes wild.
He drops me onto the bed, and I lean up on my elbows, pulling my knees up and watching him.
He wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb, the hunger in his eyes so intense, so dark, it thrills and terrifies me at once.
He looks around the room as if searching for something, then crosses to the windows to tug the long silk tieback of the curtain free.
He stalks back toward me, and I instinctively crawl backward away from him.
He grins, grabs one ankle and climbs up onto the bed, kneeling over me.
“You won’t run away from me, Little Virgin.
Not tonight. Not ever again.” He tugs me toward him and I yelp.
When I’m flat on my back, he straddles me, eyes never leaving me as he traps me with his knees.
He takes my wrist and wraps the silk length once, twice around then repeats on the other, circling through the center before weaving it through one of the rungs of the headboard, only releasing me once I’m bound.
I tug at the restraints as he sits back on his heels to watch me. The silk doesn’t hurt, but it doesn’t give, either.
“Almost there,” he says, walking backward on his knees, eyes moving over my bare breasts, my stomach, to my panties. He takes hold of them slides them down over my thighs slowly, purposefully, until I’m fully naked before him.
He tosses the fabric aside and looks me over.
“Now, you’re perfect,” he says, and without warning, grips my thighs to push them wide, bends his head and closes his mouth over my pussy.
It’s so unexpected and so utterly overwhelming that I can’t think, my mind a blank of sensation.
My back arches, my body needing to be nearer him as I throw my head back, eyes squeezing shut.
All I can do is feel. Feel him. Feel his mouth on me.
Tongue wet as he licks the length of me before circling my clit, taunting, making my breaths come in pants.
I blink my eyes open and look at him and find his eyes locked on me.
He’s watching me come undone. I shudder when he licks once more, eyes never leaving mine when he closes his mouth over my clit and sucks hard and I cry out, fingernails digging into my own palm.
I tug on my restraints, on the verge of orgasm.
I need to get closer, closer, pushing myself into his face, wanting more.
More. Fuck. More. I’m so close. So close.
And just as I’m about to come, just when I open my mouth to scream his name, he draws back and I’m left cold.