An Offer He Cant Refuse - By Christie Ridgway Page 0,100
onto the countertop.
It was cold beneath her bare bottom, but she had only a brief moment to register the sensation. Then he was pushing her knees apart to stand between her thighs.
"Open your eyes, Contessa," he said, his voice rough, "and watch. Because I'm not going to just look at this either."
Surprise and excitement gave her another hot jolt as he knelt between her splayed legs. "Oh, God," she whispered. Her breaths went no further than her throat.
The silk covering his shoulders brushed against the insides of her thighs. Johnny stroked through her folds with his fingers, opening her to his gaze. She knew she was slippery and could see her wetness already coating his fingers. Embarrassment started edging in on her arousal, but he glanced up, as if sensing her mood.
"I see you, Tea," he said. His breath brushed against her wet flesh. "All of you."
His fingers slid over her aroused flesh again. "I taste you, Tea." He sucked two of the fingers into his mouth. "All of you."
"I want you." He ran his palms up the inside of her thighs, opening her wider. "All of you."
Then he put his mouth there and wrenched away the last of her control and the last of her inhibitions.
She fell back to her elbows. She would have screamed if she could have found air, but the room was devoid of it. Instead there was only the soft-rough sensation of Johnny's tongue exploring her sensitive flesh, the incredible sight of his blond hair against the olive-toned skin of her thighs, the curling, twirling, climbing path that he drove her along as he encouraged her, cherished her, laved her toward orgasm.
She was almost there, his tongue had found that perfect spot and he fluttered against it.
"Johnny Johnny Johnny." Her muscles were tense, everything inside her clamoring for relief.
"All of you," he said against her wet flesh. "Everything."
Then, catching the bit of flesh between his teeth, he slid long, hard fingers inside her.
Her body shook with powerful spasms. Her head fell back.
She heard a distant thunk and saw only stars.
"Tea. Sweetheart." Johnny was standing up and she was in his arms. His palm was gentle against the back of her head. "Are you hurt? You hit the top cabinet pretty hard."
"No wonder I saw fireworks." She leaned into him, feeling satisfied, relaxed, and yet still very, very sexy. Her hands stroked up his bare chest, over his shoulders, then down the sleek muscles of his back. "Johnny, I think I need to lie down."
He looked into her face, and she saw the faint alarm there evaporate into something else entirely. His nostrils flared as her hands came back up his chest and her fingertips found his nipples. "Let's get you to bed then," he said.
In the master bedroom, he suggested lighting the candles he'd bought before, claiming they'd help her "headache."
She played along because... well, because she felt like playing.
And she did. In the candlelight ringing the bed, with their reflection flickering in the mirror overhead, she watched him make love to her. She watched herself make love to him.
Without shame. There was no shame in this.
Her hair rippled in untamed waves down his wide chest. It swirled around his lean thighs as she swirled her tongue over his erection. It draped both their faces as she straddled his waist and rode him.
Groaning, he gripped his fists in the wild stuff. "Contessa. God, Contessa."
She straightened, changing the angle, changing the pleasure. She shook her hair back and undulated. She was a contessa. A princess. No, a queen.
His hands circled her waist and held her down against him. She undulated again.
He palmed her breasts and groaned again. "I can't hold on anymore, Contessa."
"I don't want you to," she whispered, from her place above him. The beautiful man between her thighs was her serf of passion, her slave of sex. Hers to command.
She cupped her hands over his. "I order you to come."
And as he did, so did she.
She awoke a long time later. The candles on the floor around the bed were guttering in their holders, with wide puddles of wax around their bases that looked as warm and formless as she felt. Johnny lay sprawled on his back; she was curled on her side, her head pillowed on his arm.
I know who you are.
He'd said that. Oh, God.
He knew who she was.
Her heart tripping, she tried to shift, but then realized a swathe of her hair was trapped beneath his bicep.