7. It’s an Order
7
IT’S AN ORDER
Elodie
There will be no DNFing.
I want the opposite. I want to finish him. I want him to finish me. Over and over, again and again. In all the ways.
The second the brass doors to the hotel elevator shut, I back up to the corner of the lift. He stalks over to me, prowling, eyes hard, dark with desire. He cages me in, grabs my face, and crushes his lips to mine.
It’s aggressive in the way I fantasize about. A man in control. A man who’ll hold me down, pin my wrists, fuck me hard.
He kisses like he knows precisely what he’ll do to me tonight. I’m outrageously wet in seconds. I loop my arms around his neck, trying to tug him closer when he stops abruptly.
He breaks the hard kiss and pulls back, but doesn’t quite end it. Instead, Gage downshifts with his lips still on me. His kiss turns slow, seductive, a long tease of a kiss.
That throws me off in a brand new—and not at all unwelcome—way.
Maybe he’s not only a rough, hard man in bed. Maybe he’s many things in bed. Perhaps he can play many parts. He’s kissing me now like a man who’ll take his sweet time, draw it out deliciously, fuck me slowly.
Make me beg for every inch of his hard cock.
And my god, is it hard and thick against my hip.
My head goes woozy as the reel of possibilities plays out.
Then the car slows at the fifth floor, and he breaks the kiss. I can barely think from the most thorough, mind-bending kiss of my life. I’m shocked it only lasted five floors. I feel a little lost in time and space with him as he takes my hand and leads me down the hall. We reach the room, and he slides the key over the door.
Once it’s open, he says dryly, “Want a tour of the room?”
I shake my head as the door shuts and the soft glow of a lamp lights the room.
I grab his face, running my fingers along his scruff, loving the feel of his stubbled jaw. “Not at all.”
“Good. Because I don’t give a fuck about the room. I care about one thing right now,” he says, his voice rough, raspy, and full of heat.
“What’s that?”
“Tasting you, cupcake. Because I bet you’re as sweet as I’ve been imagining. Now, why don’t I get on the bed, and you sit on my face? We can take a great sex challenge.”
“Yes. Please. Now,” I murmur as all the breath whooshes from my lungs.
Maybe fantasies do come true.
He hauls me up, tosses me over his shoulder, and carries me to the king-size bed, then sets me on my back.
The covers are dark blue.
Maybe.
Or navy. Or black.
Who cares?
Gage is taking off my low heels, pressing a kiss to one ankle, then the other. Murmuring sweet nothings against my calves. Pushing up my skirt, then climbing between my thighs, gazing wantonly at my soaked panties. “So fucking wet,” he praises, then shakes his head. “But these really need to go.”
I reach down to slide them off, but he’s faster, a hungry man, determined to feast.
He presses a hot kiss to the panel of my damp panties, then unleashes a greedy groan. “Mmm. Yes,” he says.
He kisses me through the slick panel once more, flicking his tongue against the soaked fabric. “Baby, how long have you been like this?”
“Since you kissed me in the shop,” I admit, my voice pitching up with need, just like my hips.
I’m arching for him, eager for him.
No, I’m dying.
“Well that won’t do,” he says, then slides my white lace panties down my thighs, his face lighting up in filthy delight as he stares savagely at my wet pussy.
“So beautiful. So fucking wet,” he rumbles. Then he sits up, smacks the outside of my thigh, and unbuttons his shirt.
“Leave your clothes on. That skirt’s been giving me unholy fantasies all night.”
I push up on my elbows. “It has?”
“All through dinner, I thought about crawling under the table and eating you. Then I thought about you crawling up on me in a bed like this one, and demanding I eat you out.”
Can I clone him and have him fuck me every night?
He’s shrugging out of his shirt, and his chest is firm, toned, and I want to run my hands all over his torso, drag my nails through the dark, wiry chest hair, explore the ink along his arms.
Lick his abs.
Taste his cock.
But again, he’s faster than I am. He flops to his back, settling into the pillows, patting his chest. “Fuck my face, baby. Do it now.”
I obey. I climb over him, clothes on, straddling this gorgeous stranger who’s hardly a stranger in some ways.
He grabs my hips, then tugs me down on his mouth. I brace my hands against the headboard. “Gage,” I moan from that first tantalizing lick.
He goes down on me like he’s French kissing me. It’s luxurious. Sensual. Erotic.
The sounds he makes are filthy. The carnal noises that come from his mouth send pulses of electricity from my core all the way to my fingertips. His hands curl tight around my hips as he pulls me closer, a man determined to devour me.
But I’m cautious. I don’t quite move or rock. I’m a little afraid to. I’m five nine, have curvy hips and generous boobs.
He must sense my reticence since he stops licking and stares up at me with lust-glazed eyes. “You like this?”
“So much,” I gasp.
“Then you want to fuck my face a little harder?”
“Are you sure?”
His lips quirk into a naughty grin as he glances down, nodding toward his body. “Yeah, but why don’t you check?”
I turn around and gasp. His hard-on is making a serious dent in his jeans.
“Believe me now?”
I turn back. “Yes.”
“Good. Use me as your toy. And do it now, woman.”
Well, then. “Since it’s an order,” I say.
“It absolutely is.”
With my black skirt rucked up and my thighs framing his face, I rock my hips back and forth.
The second I do, his fingers dig into the flesh of my ass. His moans against my pussy tell me how much he loves it.
And I let go.
Rocking, riding, and finding my pleasure. Using him like the best kind of sex toy. That’s how he eats me too. Like it’s his one job. Like he read all the instructions from Risqué Business. Like he’s learned exactly why I’d buy a toy that simulates oral.
And he gives it to me like that.
Greedy, focused, determined. And full of so much passion. His tongue is an eager explorer. His lips are hungry.
He kisses deeply, then flicks his tongue against my clit, and soon I’m lit up, sparking everywhere. Pleasure’s rising higher in me, spreading from my center through my whole being.
Grabbing the headboard harder, I ride his face with abandon. I use him. I take everything his tongue and mouth and lips have to give. I rely on his scruff. I enjoy everything about his face as I fuck him recklessly, seeking one thing and one thing only—an orgasm that’ll obliterate my senses.
And it’s barreling toward me. Heat roars through my body. Bliss knocks on my door.
And this man eats me like it’s the Fourth of July carnival and he’s entered a pie-eating contest.
He doesn’t hold back.
He’s all in, kissing and sucking and consuming my wetness till pleasure tightens, coils, then bursts.
“Oh god,” I cry out, as an orgasm slams into me like a wave against the ocean shore, then crashes beautifully, powerfully, before it rolls out to sea.
I don’t know how long it lasts, but a minute later, I’m panting, murmuring, lying next to him. “I’m going to need some new theories.”
“That so?” he asks, stroking my hair.
“Yeah. Men who return sex toys and read all about them perform better than one.”
“Better than a toy? That’s high praise,” he says.
“The highest,” I say, then roll to my side, my hand exploring his firm abs. “Mmm. I think it’s my turn now, Mister Cocktail.”
And right as my fingertips reach his jeans, an idea pops, fully formed in my head. What if our idea that we played around with earlier turned into a business? “We should do a chocolate and cocktails pop-up shop.”
He cracks up. “Did you just come up with a business idea before you’re about to free my dick?”
“Well, your cock is very inspiring,” I say as I run my hand along the ridge of his erection. “Mojitos and martinis.”
“Truffles and toffee,” he says, getting into it.
“We could do taste tests,” I say.
“Theme nights. I can see the marketing now.”
“Yes!” I rub a little harder. “They do go together.”
“Like your hand on my cock,” he says, then lets out a long groan.
But before I can finally unzip his jeans, my phone rings. Amanda’s calling.