21. Primrose #2
“More,” I gasp, tightening my hand on his hair.
“More suggestions?”
“Oh fuck!” I squeal as his tongue swirls my clit.
“Open your legs,” he growls. Not waiting for my compliance, he hooks his hand under my knee. “Open your legs so I can eat this pussy.”
“Jesus, your mouth.”
“Dieu, this pussy.”
I rock into him, biting my lip against the noises building in my chest.
“I’ve been dreaming of your taste. You make me feel fucking deranged.”
His words are a low rasping French—confessions, I realize.
I am the inadvertent keeper of the truths he doesn’t want to reveal.
The witness to the things he craves. Maybe I should feel bad, but it’s hard to feel anything but good as he feasts on that most private part of me like a starving man at a lavish meal.
“Oh God, yes!” My breathing turns rapid as my body begins to move with his mouth as he licks and laps, not as though I’m something to be savored but a thing to be consumed. To be devoured as his tongue works harder, faster, and my cries grow louder, echoing through the vaulted room.
“You taste so sweet.” French again. “You taste like you’re mine.”
“You—you.” It’s all I can manage.
“That’s it. You’re going to come for me, aren’t you, little flower?
” he coaxes, is words a honeyed English purr now.
I should hate the confidence in his tone and the way his lashes cast dark half-moons against his cheeks as he swirls his tongue around my clit again.
“You’re going to flood my mouth. Make me drown in you. ”
My fingers tighten as my body chases his tongue. “That—that’s not what your mouth is for.”
I squeak as his teeth deliver a reprimand to my inner thigh. The squeak turning into a carnal moan as he instantly sucks the swollen bud of my clit between his lips.
I cry out, my body spasming and almost jolting from the countertop as, simultaneously, he parts my flesh and drives inside.
Each thrust, each press and flick compounds the ache inside me until filaments—reality—seems to stretch in front of me, catching the light.
Higher. Brighter. Harder. In the moment before I break, I’m blessed with a moment of absolute clarity: it wasn’t a fluke, and it wasn’t Ardeo. The key to my pleasure is him.
A man I don’t even like.
The thought pops like a bubble as this sensation continues to twist and twine, crawling through my body until fit to burst. Distantly, I can hear myself encouraging him, telling him exactly what he’s doing to me as I climb and climb.
As I peak. Break into a million glittering shards as I fall apart.
I come back to myself, to my body, panting as though I’ve been running. My skin feels electrified, my body overstimulated. “Enough,” I whimper, pushing at his head.
“Arrête.” He growls the command into my core as his tongue slows but doesn’t stop.
“It’s too much,” I mewl, trying to twist away. The feeling is too intense. Every one of my nerve endings seems to scream for release.
“I’m not done.” His gaze crawls up my body, the attention like hot, caressing fingertips as his tongue licks into me again.
I close my eyes to the sight and swallow thickly.
Another carnal groan and I’m twisting under him like a hooked fish. “I think… I think your… your mouth should come with a warning label.”
He presses his smile into me, his tongue licking, long and lush. “And you should come again, I think.”
“I don’t think I can,” I whimper. Once is enough—more than I expected. More than I hoped for.
His dark laughter echoes through to my core. “I do love a challenge.”
I watch as his head dips, though his eyes hold mine as his tongue licks into me, so dark and clever. I expel a hiss, my insides reacting like a ribbon drawn across the blade of scissors.
“So fucking good,” he groans, his eyes falling closed.
“Oh my God.” His touch, his pleasure, dials everything back to a nine. And in that instant, a now familiar sensation begins to build.
“That’s it.” His demand is a honeyed purr, his tongue working me harder, faster. “You’re going to come for me again, little flower.”
“No.” I moan aloud like that’s somehow more convincing. “I can’t—”
“Yes, for me you can.” His tongue swirls my clit, and I practically levitate from the marble. He sucks, and his teeth threaten, his attentions rougher this time around, somehow matching the swell of desperation inside me.
I curse as I slide my hand into his hair, wanting to share this pleasured pain, this sublime torment as I begin to buck into his face.
“That’s it, give yourself to me.”
It’s too much—an overload of sensation I can barely take. But I do take. I take it all as Luc pleasures me with his mouth and with his compliments, his true thoughts revealed in soft bursts of French.
You make me feel delirious.
I want you out of my thoughts and into my bed.
Jesus, what are you doing to me?
His name on my lips is a plea for mercy as he suddenly thrusts two fingers inside me, curling them to stroke that secret place that makes my skin feel electrified. I cry out as I press into his hand, thrust for thrust, my cries reverberating through the cavernous space.
“That’s it. Let me drown in you.”
My insides quicken, and my body begins to convulse as something sleek and hot rushes through me. I cry out, my climax unceasing.
I come to with a mewling sigh thanks to the last lingering stroke of his tongue. I watch almost out of myself as he stands, his hair a mess from my hands, and his mouth smeared lewdly with my pleasure.
My God, he is beautiful.
“Not a fluke,” he says, not without a little smugness. Or a ton of the stuff. He wipes the back of his hand across his wet mouth and even that elicits another round of pulsing. “And you’ll stay for the month.”
I push up onto my elbows, thoughtless words escaping from my mouth. “After that performance, you might never get rid of me. I mean—” My brain is three parts mush, no gray matter. “But I counted twice.”
He makes to dip but not before I bring my knees together. “No!” I sound truly panicked.
He’s no less smug as he cups the back of my neck, pulling me closer. “Give me your mouth, Primevère.”
I feel his smile and can taste myself in his kisses. It’s not odd, exactly, just—
“Oh!”
He pulls me upright, and I slide my arms around his neck. Quite suddenly, I can feel him pressed quite solidly between my legs.
And I did that to him. Me.
Gosh, is he really that big?
He gives a sandpapery sigh as his arms wrap around my back, my breasts pressed to his very solid chest. Heat flickers through me as he holds me there.
I grab his T-shirt between his shoulder blades and pull, and he chuckles as I struggle to drag it over his head.
He isn’t laughing as I slide my hand down the hard plains of his stomach, or when I tug on the waistband of his shorts.
“Primevère.” He captures my questing fingers. “I don’t have condoms here.”
“I just want to”—I can’t believe I’m about to admit this—“see.”
Oh, the cringe.
“Then come to bed with me,” he whispers oh-so temptingly. His teeth graze the lobe of my ear, and I give a little sigh, but I already have the button open. It would be a shame not to—
“Oh!” My gaze jolts upward to his. Shock, I think. Disbelief? “You don’t have any underwear on.” Good save, I think.
“I’m aware.” His dark taunt curls around me like smoke, his smile pressed into my hair.
“And you’re—” I clamp my lips together.
“I’m what?”
“Nothing.” And by nothing, I mean hung like a fucking horse!
“Come to bed with me,” he whispers again. “Come upstairs, and I’ll let you tell me all the things I’m not.”
“Like modest and humble?”
“Immune to you.”
My heart goes pitter-pat, even though I wasn’t supposed to understand.
“Chicken,” I taunt, dipping my head so he can’t see the width of my smile. Everyone wants to be wanted, but to be craved? It’s something else. Something I’ve never experienced.
“You don’t like it when I speak French?”
“How is that even a question?”
And he doesn’t supply an answer. Not as I drag my fingers down the hard planes of his stomach, muscles contracting under my fingertips, taut and warm.
I take him in my hand, and his shuddering groan is everything. Satin over steel, his isn’t the first penis I’ve ever touched, but it is the first I’ve ached to feel inside me.
No, not his penis, my mind whispers. His cock. Nothing so real and so huge and so rude should be referred to as anything else.
His cock. I give an experimental tug, and he groans, his eyes shuttering as I lightly graze my fingertips over the silky head.
“Fuck.” His throat works with a deep swallow. “Yeah. Harder. Tighten your grip.”
“Say please.” Wow, where did that come from?
The flash of his eyes might be mildly concerning but for the quirk of his lips. “Please.” He presses his palm to my cheek, his words a soft burst against my lips. “Tighten your hot little hand around my cock.”
Good Lord.
“Yeah, that’s it. A little faster now.” He gives a grunt as I do just that. “Good, that’s such a good… ungh… girl.”
In a moment of genius, I bring him closer, swiping his crown where I’m wet. The curses that fall from his mouth are very inventive.
“Mon dieu.” He presses his forehead to mine. “Primrose, please. I don’t have a condom.”
“I know,” I whisper. And I do it again, the sensation toe-curlingly magnificent. “Just…”
“Let me take you to bed.”
“I’m happy here,” I whisper, loving how desperate he looks and how French he sounds. I want this moment. I want him. I shouldn’t, I ought not to, but I so want to give in.