The Negotiator (Professionals, #7) - Jessica Gadziala Page 0,57
the flames of need in my system, making the pressure on my lower stomach almost unbearable before he pulled me away once again, going up the stairs, down another hall, into a room, the door slamming behind us.
Inside, he made his way to the bed, turning, dropping down with me straddling him, giving me all the power.
And I used it. To drive myself up, to move against him until my whimpers became too much for him, making his hands greedy, yanking at the skirt of my sundress, pulling it up, allowing his hand to slip underneath, slide over the patch of material covering me, working my clit through it, driving me up and over before I could even draw in a steadying breath.
"Again," he demanded, fingers slipping under the material, moving up my slick cleft, circling over my clit until it felt swollen and too sensitive, then moving back downward.
Two fingers tapped against the entrance to my body, making my thighs clench the sides of his hips, making low, mewling noises escape me, wanting the pressure, needing the invasion.
"Christopher, please," I demanded as he continued the torment.
Dark eyes on me, his fingers pressed inside, slow, all the way, pausing, refusing to budge.
On a grumble, I lifted up a bit, then rolled my hips, feeling his fingers press against my top wall as I did so, making that shock of G-spot contact tighten my walls around his fingers as he started to gently thrust as I continued the circles, both of us driving me up, then sending me crashing over once again.
Christopher's hands left me once more, grabbing my dress, bunching the flowing fabric up, inching it upward, exposing my belly, my bra, pulling it up over my head.
Greedy fingers reached out, fumbling with his shirt buttons, yanking at the fabric of his shirt to free it from his waistband, so I could spread it wide, slide it off of his magnificently tanned shoulders.
He always looked good with his shirt off. In the mornings before he got dressed for the day. During and after his workouts. But he looked especially good right there, right then, for my eyes and hands only.
My fingers traced over his shoulders then inward and down at his chest, over the muscles of his abdomen, feeling them twitch at the contact.
My fingers snagged the side of his belt, working it out of the loop, slipping the prong out of the hole, sliding it free from the rest of the loops, dropping it down on the floor beside me. When my fingers sought his button and zipper, though, his moved behind me, slid up my back, snagged my bra, working the clasps free, exposing me, then distracting me from my task as his fingertips grazed the undersides of my breasts, thumbs moving out to stroke over the hardened peaks, working them into tighter buds.
A shiver started at the base of my spine, worked upward and spread out, taking over my whole body as he leaned forward, lips sealing over one of my nipples, sucking hard. Then, before I could take a deep breath, he moved across my chest to continue the sweet torment before suddenly anchoring his arm around my lower back, lifting me up, turning, dropping me down on the mattress, body moving over mine, lips sliding between my breasts, tongue moving out to stroke an unhurried path downward, stopping only when he met the waistband of my panties, lifting up to remove them from me before dropping down again.
His fingers traced slow circles over the ultra-sensitive skin of my inner thighs until he had me writhing, begging for more.
Then and only then, did his head dip again, lips closing around my clit, sucking in short, uneven pulses, keeping my body guessing, refusing to let it get used to the motion.
"Not yet," he said in a hushed, husky voice when I begged for release, fingers scraping at his neck, shoulders, arms as he moved away from me, going to stand off the end of the bed, eyes roaming over me hungrily.
Gaze finding mine, they held as he reached downward, worked his button and zipper free, slid his pants and boxer briefs down over his hips, thighs, discarding them, then standing there gloriously naked.
My eyes broke contact first, too desperate to take him all in to not appreciate the whole view. The thick lines of corded muscle, the dark smattering of hair, the hard desperation of his cock, promising fulfillment.