With his other hand, he undid his trousers as he distracted her by sliding two of her fingers in his mouth. Her lips parted, glimmering with the leavings of his kiss. Her eyes became stormy and hooded and he watched her relish the memories of how his tongue had slid through the folds of her sex the very same way it now slid in between her fingers.
Leaving her fingers good and wet, he drew them from his mouth. “Touch me, lass,” he murmured, lowering both of their hands to where he’d freed himself from his trousers.
He wanted her to know him, to feel what she did to him. To consider his manhood not as a weapon he could use against her, but as an extension of his desire. She could hold him, wield him, drive their pleasure, and use his body to sate her own needs.
They both gasped when her hand closed around him, though his was the sharper inhale. Her lithe fingers encircled his turgid shaft, testing the girth. Her eyes flicked up to his in surprise, but quickly darted away as she used her moist fingers to explore the hot skin.
Liam shuddered as she slid her fingers to the round tip, treading the ridge before sliding all the way to the root. He groaned and shook, lowering his head to her throat, wishing her damned gown weren’t high-necked. That they were naked and alone.
But their only bare skin was his cock and her hand, her soft, curious, magical hand that not only held his sex in her delicate grip, but his heart, his black soul.
His salvation.
Lifting up on her toes, she pressed a soft kiss to his panting lips, and when he would have captured her mouth, she pulled away and shocked him by dropping to her knees.
* * *
Mena’s hand remained gently locked around his cock as her skirts flared around her, creating a puddle of dark silk and muslin. She wanted this. Wanted to give him the pleasure that he’d so lovingly shown her. Wanted to use her mouth to convey the things she could not yet bring herself to say.
She needed to reclaim this act as one between lovers, not as a memory of domination and humiliation.
“Please,” she whispered, arching her neck to look up at him. “Don’t pull my hair.”
“Mena,” he groaned, his massive chest sawing beneath his gray vest with wolfish panting breaths. “Ye doona have to—och, Christ,” he bit out as she closed her lips over his thick shaft.
Every muscle in his body shuddered and locked in a splendid, animalistic movement. He tossed his head back, baring his thick neck and blindly reached down for her.
Stopping himself just in time, he groped behind him, gripping the molding on the train wall, his fingers turning white with strain.
A victorious thrill shocked Mena as she drew him deeper into the warm cavern of her mouth. Even through the haze of his passion, he’d heeded her request, and she’d reward him for it.
She kept her hand around the base of him, gripping what her mouth could not fit. Slowly, she ran her tongue around the engorged ridge of the blunt head, reveling in the coarse sound he made. He fascinated and tantalized her, such unyielding hardness covered in pure silk.
The rhythm of his furiously pumping heart beat rampantly in the flesh contained by her mouth. She felt giddy, powerful, and astounded by her own body’s wet and throbbing response to her bold action.
He tasted sumptuous and salty and completely masculine. Her mouth watered and she used the rampant moisture to ease his cock as deep as she could take him before drawing him out again.
The responding catches and clenches in his abdomen were visible even beneath his shirt and waistcoat.
Her tongue made an expedition of him, finding the curious veins beneath his thin, smooth skin. Stroking him rhythmically with her hand, she allowed her mouth more leeway, pressing kisses to the weeping tip and teasing him with little licks and nibbles using only her lips.
He growled down at her, baring his teeth in wordless demand. Some of the molding gave way beneath his hands, splintering beneath the pressure of his grip.
Foreign guttural words escaped him, though whether blessings or curses, she couldn’t begin to speculate.
With a mischievous smile, she pulled away just a little, enjoying the mindless thrust of his hips as he followed. The pleading tilt of his brow. The unbidden sound of protest.
She gave him what he wanted, taking him so deep her jaw ached with the effort of it. Covering her teeth with her lips, she used her hand and mouth to simulate what their bodies had done. Her tongue glided on the underside of his shaft, finding the large, tender vein there and exerting extra pressure.
Now she knew his words to be ferocious blasphemies, as he growled them harshly to the ceiling. When her hand dipped into his trousers, discovering the nest of dark hair and palming the pendulous weight of his potency, his language dissolved into little more than grunts and her name on helpless catches of breath.
Though she knew he fought it, his hips bucked forward, driving himself farther into her mouth. She opened her throat to accept him, held her breath when he reached too deep. He ravished her mouth with desperate thrusts, pulsing, throbbing, growing larger until her fingers could no longer contain him.
Mena prepared to receive his release, to let his seed slide down her throat in glorious pulses and lap like a kitten at what she could not initially take. But she suddenly found herself seized by the arms and hauled to her feet.
His mouth crushed hers in a predatory kiss filled with a paradoxical, worshipful sentiment. He gathered her skirts in desperate, bunching handfuls and she found herself falling, though he caught her before she landed and gently pressed her into the edge of the seat.
Features taut and eyes burning with abysmal flames, he swept her undergarments down and roughly pushed her knees upward and apart, exposing her utterly.