2. Dark Fantasy #4
"Should we test that, then?" He murmured, before his hand reached down and lifted her skirt clear up over her waist. Exposing the skimpy underwear he had chosen for her.
Garters and all. With deft movements, he slid the material to the side, exposing her core to the cool air of the office.
"I find that I am feeling generous. And that little, gentle orgasm you just had failed to make you choke on my cock.
You barely moved, the sounds so soft and quiet.
I think you need a better one." His crude words did unspeakable things to her. "Don't you agree?"
With wide eyes, there was nothing she could do but nod her head. Her body was still pulsing with gentle waves of pleasure, but she knew she wanted what only he could give.
"You need what I can give you, don't you?" He murmured wickedly. "Those little fingers of yours are a pale imitation of me, aren't they ma fleur?"
Again, she was helpless to do anything but nod her head.
"We'll have to fix that, won't we?" He drawled, with a cold fire burning deep in his blue eyes.
With those words his fingers dove deep, honing in immediately onto that spot hidden deep inside he always seemed to know just how to find. With deliberate strokes, the fire inside Iris climbed once more.
"You want to play with fire?" he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. "Well, let's see how much heat you can handle."
His other hand slid down to meet his first, his fingers finding her wet core and focusing on her clit while the other maintained his steady rhythm.
The moment his fingers touched that little bundle of nerves, she arched her back, moaning loudly in the quiet office.
Her body was overstimulated from her recent orgasm, but she couldn't find it within herself to ask him to stop.
No, instead, she urged him to continue. And with a fire burning in his eyes, he did just that.
His movements picked up speed, his fingers working her hard and fast. Her moans become louder and more frantic, her body responding to his every touch.
She could feel herself getting closer, the pleasure building up inside her like a tidal wave.
She knew it was only a matter of time before she reached the edge, and she wanted nothing more than to give in to the sensation.
Blindly and without thought, she reached out and pulled his face down to hers.
Her mouth covering his sloppily, kissing him deeply.
Their lips came together with near animalistic intensity.
His moans joining hers in the office were deep and masculine.
They told the story of a man on the edge.
Lust and desire driving him hard. It was everything she remembered about him and more.
The all-encompassing passion. The lust. She was almost there, right on the edge, and she was ready to fall over.
But as she reached her climax, Warrick stopped suddenly, his fingers leaving her core and leaving her wanting more. She opened her eyes, surprised and disappointed to see him standing there, a devilish smirk on his face.
"Not yet, ma fleur," he said, his voice low and sultry. Her eyes sprung open in outrage.
"Nash?" she shouted at him. "What the hell do you think you are doing? Finish me, now." She growled at him, demanding he give her body what he promised.
But her words had the opposite effect on him. He laughed, and slowly stroked her, keeping her fire banked but with no hope of completion.
He leaned down, nipping her ear with his sharp teeth, and whispered to her. "Wrong name, ma fleur." She tried to jerk free of him, but he was prepared for that and he tightened his grip. Preventing her withdrawal. With a strong, fast thrust of his fingers, he had her right back on the cusp.
"Say it, say it, and I'll give you what you want." Her breaths came in a big, crashing lungfuls. She met his gaze and knew in this moment he could ask her for anything and she would give it. He had her just where he wanted her. At his mercy.
"Ricky, please. Give it to me." She breathed into his ear. And with a return of his devilish smirk, he did just that. Her moans became louder and louder as he began his movements once again. Her world narrowed, and all she could focus on was the waves of pleasure his strokes invoked.
With one final thrust of his finger deep inside and just the right amount of pressure on her clit, she felt herself fall over the edge.
She came over his fingers. Her muscles locking tightly as the pleasure was almost too much.
Dully, she registered his wicked laughter that shook his body that she was leaning against. It rang with masculine triumph.
Her reaction told him exactly what he had done to her, and he loved it.
Her voice was high and keening, the sensations wrought by him were almost too much to handle.
She couldn't bite back her moans even if she wanted to.
She let them free. Comparing this to her previous orgasm seemed like a crime.
They were as similar as spring shower was to a hurricane.
Lost in the pleasure he had given her, she knew that there was much she would do, much she would sacrifice, to keep him doing that to her as frequently as possible. And that thought should terrify her.
But at that moment? She just didn't have it in herself to care.