“You want to come, don’t you?” His voice is a sexy, raspy whisper in my ear. He slows his hand down, barely moving inside me. I press my sex against him, needing him to keep going, but he doesn’t move, and holds me back from riding on his hand.
“Yes …” I try to kiss him but he moves his lips away from mine, teasing me, taking everything away. I struggle not to whimper with want.
“Beg.”
All pride goes out the window. “Please …”
“Again.”
God, he’s a cruel bastard. “Please, let me come.”
He groans and thrusts his fingers inside me, swirling them around my core, his thumb working my clit as if his life depends on it. His lips find mine again and he kisses me so deeply, so passionately and so demandingly, it’s as if we have to kiss just to breathe and survive. I’ve never felt such intensity in a man’s kiss before and it drives me further to the brink and then pushes me over the edge. I’m tumbling into orgasm, my muscles clenching around his fingers buried deep inside me. He holds me tight as my body quivers against him, my legs threatening to give out. His kisses slow until they are soft and lingering, his lips just barely touching mine, our breathing slowing together.
Gently lowering me down onto the bed, he holds me while I come down from the orgasm high.
“I think dinner is ready,” he says, breaking the silence. “Let’s go eat and then I can play with you some more.”
Damn, is he serious? I don’t think I can take any more.
“Be right back,” he says, and disappears down the hall. He returns with the clothes he bought for me and lays them on the bed.
“Get dressed and come join me for dinner.” He kisses me once more. “That was perfect, by the way. I love making you beg and come.”
My limbs are wobbly, like wet noodles, as I get dressed. I really feel like I need a nap to recover after that escapade, but the smell of the food is making my stomach grumble so much that for the first time in months I actually want to eat.
I find him in the kitchen, and he looks so out of place to me with his long hair and tattooed muscles standing over the island stove. Sterling is at his feet, literally howling at the top of his tiny lungs.
“Oh my, what’s up with him?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “It seems he is yelling at the smells. I think it woke up his tapeworm or something.” He looks down at the kitten, who’s rubbing at his ankles. “I don’t know what the fuck Evelyn was thinking, giving me this cat. I don’t know what to do with him.”
“That girl who was here gave him to you?”
“Yeah. She volunteers at some pet rescue or something. I don’t really pay attention.”
“Why would she give you a blind kitten?” I wonder again if maybe something is going on between them. Giving someone a pet is kind of an intimate gift.
He fills two plates with rice and chicken and carries them over to the table. “She thought he would help me. At least, that’s what she said.”