The Player (The Game Maker #3) - Kresley Cole Page 0,28
he teased my entrance with a fingertip. “Do you want it inside?” Somehow he grew even harder beneath me.
“Yes,” I panted. “Yes. . . .”
He adjusted my body so we faced the same way, my spread legs over his knees, his hands resting on my thighs. “Then raise your arms and clasp your hands behind my neck. Keep them there no matter what I do.”
I had no choice; I obeyed.
“Good girl.” In reward, he sank his middle finger between my soaked lips.
I cried out as my pussy contracted around it.
He gave a rumbly groan. “Ah, God, you are tight. And so slick for me. You love to come, don’t you?” He rotated his finger inside, stirring me. Then he began to wedge in a second one. “There you go,” he rasped. “Take them for me into your sweet little pussy. Do you want me to finger-fuck you? Then take them both deep.”
That dirty talk in his sexy accent made me melt!
With his other hand, he pressed down on my pubic bone and above, which made the fingers inside me feel even bigger. He withdrew them, then thrust. Again. And again. “I would give anything to replace these with my cock.”
My body ached for that hot, swollen rod. Though he hadn’t touched my clit, I already neared the brink. “Dmitri, I need to come!”
He ignored my plea, never increasing his maddening pace. He twisted his fingers as they plunged, then twisted them again as he withdrew.
I marveled at his skill. Even as he gave me more pleasure than I’d ever felt, in the back of my mind, I wondered how I was going to live without this.
As if he’d read my thoughts, he said, “You’re going to have to keep me around just for this. You fingered your pussy in the shower, but you can’t do this to yourself. You can’t twist and get deep, hitting all these sensitive spots.”
“Make me come, please!” Or fuck me. I imagined him impaling me on his big, pierced dick.
“I will. Eventually.” He made a beckoning gesture deep inside me.
I shot upright. “Oh! Ohhh. I can’t take much more of this!” I could bring myself off in a nanosecond, was tempted to. Yet I kept my arms back. “I know what I said about sex, but I didn’t mean it! Do you have condoms? I’m on birth control, but we should probably double-up.”
Between breaths, he said, “I’ve never had sex without one, so I can with you.” He wasn’t lying.
“Does that mean we’re going to?” My tone couldn’t have been more eager.
He groaned again. “I would do murder to fuck you. Think of what I’d do to possess you completely.”
I gasped—because I didn’t think he was lying about that either.
“Which means I must keep my word.”
I panted with frustration. He’d kept me hovering right at the brink for what must be years! “I’m going to come apart!”
“That’s the idea. This is BDSM,” he said at my ear. “Dominance, edging, play. I won’t always whip you.” He withdrew his fingers.
“Nooo! Need those. Put them back in.”
He used two fingers to make a V around my clit, trapping it, pressing the sensitive nub outward.
I undulated over his lap, his cock. “Touch it,” I whispered, “touch it. Baby, please, please touch my throbbing clit.”
With a growling sound, he used his other forefinger to slowly rub the exposed flesh.
My head lolled back against him.
“You would do anything for me right now, wouldn’t you, beautiful?”
I made unintelligible sounds. He owned me. He controlled me.
This man had broken through all my barriers until I was nothing more than raw, dripping need.
My approaching orgasm felt bigger than ever before. Deeper.
Frightening.
Right when I was about to crash over the edge, I spied a man enter through the curtain. “S-stop, Dmitri. We’re not alone.” I dropped my arms.
The guy—a blond surfer type—told someone unseen, “Back here.”
A pretty redhead and a handsome dark-haired male followed. They looked as buzzed as I felt. The trio sat across the room from us in another booth. The two men put the redhead between them.
They would be able to see me from the waist up! My tits were nearly spilling out, lit by the glowing collar I wore. “You can’t do this!” I hissed to Dmitri, even as I rolled my hips.
“They can’t see underneath our table. Do you really want me to stop?” He kept rubbing. “Say, ‘Dmitri, stop touching my pussy.’”
I couldn’t say the words, couldn’t do more than whimper.