“How do you know what color my nipples are?” she said in a raw voice. “It’s dark in here.”
“You know I’m a very bad man, poppet. I may have peeked when you were asleep. Believe me, I’ve suffered for my sins. I haven’t been able to stop thinking of them in days.” His thumb flicked the other nipple at the same time, and she let out a small squeak of shy pleasure. “Oh, you like that, do you?” he murmured. “I thought you might. This will probably be even better.” He leaned over her, and she felt his long hair on her breasts, and then his mouth went where his thumb had been, latching on to her breast and sucking it deep into his mouth.
She jerked, stunned at the pleasure rippling through her. He had told her to keep her hands at her sides, and all she could do was clutch the sheets to keep from moving as the first swirls of something dark and dreamy began to stir through her body.
The more he sucked at her breast, the more she wanted, and when he moved to the other one she cried out, until he covered the abandoned breast with his hand once more, using his thumb and fingers to make her half-mad, and she could feel the sheet in her hands as she clutched it.
He lifted his head, and then blew softly on her wet nipple. “I want to put my mouth everywhere on your body, poppet. I want to taste you all over. And then I want my cock to follow. I want to do things to you no one has ever dreamed of doing. I want to have you so completely that no one else has ever existed, only you and me.”
She made a soft, whimpering sound. He slid his hand over her stomach, and then down between her legs, in that wet, messy part of her, and she tried to close her legs, to keep him away, but he just laughed. “This is us, precious. Nothing to be shy about.” And he slid his finger inside her.
She arched off the bed with a muffled shriek. His thumb touched her, higher up, and she began to writhe, feeling the darkness pulling closer, dark and sweet and rich, and he pressed harder, so cleverly, and she hid her face against his shoulder and let go, as wave after wave convulsed her body, sharper and harder than last time.
He moved, and he was between her legs, and just as the last tremor died down he slid inside her. She was so slick from their earlier time that nothing stopped him, and he went in deep, so deep, and the tremors started all over again, and she could feel her body squeezing him tightly as he held still inside her.
They slowed, those wicked tremors, and just as they died he began to move, thrusting inside her, taking his time now, moving slowly, deliberately, pacing her, pacing him. He seemed to know just when she was about to explode again, and he would back away, slow the pace, then build it up again, so that she was no longer able to control herself. She let go of the sheets and clawed at him, begging him, and finally he lost his restraint, thrusting into her, over and over, and the final release caught her just as his did, and she opened as he filled her, her hands digging into his hips, trying to take even more of him. Greedy, selfish, wanting more.
This time he was the one who fell asleep, still inside her. She lay still, feeling some of the wetness leak out, and she wanted to reach down, push it all back into her. She didn’t want to lose anything of him. But she stayed still, and while he slept he grew hard inside her again, bigger than he’d been before, and he was already moving when he awoke, stroking into her as he held her, his hands covering her breasts, his thumbs rubbing the tips, and as this final climax swept over her she gave in, to the darkness, to the rich, dark dream, and she was lost.
He was lost. He felt it ripping through him, and he pulled out of her arms, shaken. She slept on. He’d worn her out, and they’d had nothing but the most pathetic of traditional sex. Her on her back, him on top. And he felt as drained