inside me, now, nudging my legs apart to make room. Meanwhile, I began to stroke him in earnest. His breath was ragged, urgent and mine rose to match it.
“I’m going to make you come again,” he declared.
“I’m going to make you come, too,” came my riposte.
“You’re coming first, Kat.” To back up his words, his fingers did something inside me, twisted or curled or something. There, he reached a spot that few men—at least in my experience—knew about. Holy shit.
My entire body went stiff with new, more intense waves of pleasure. Damn he was right. I was going to come first—and very very soon. Then his thumb got involved, flicking against my clit to work in concert with his other fingers—nimble fingers kept strong and skillful from playing the piano.
They played me equally as well.
I saw burning meteors streaking across the black skies behind my closed eyelids. My breathing stopped just before wave after wave of satisfied release every bit as intense as the climax he’d evoked with his mouth the other night.
Um. What the fuck…
He hadn’t even fucked me yet and yet had given me two of the best O’s I’d ever experienced. I may have rolled onto my back and forgotten about everything, drowning in an afterglow almost intense as the orgasm itself. I would have done it, had my hand not been so tightly clamped around his cock. It was almost as if I were holding on for dear life—a fact that reminded me of my promise to him.
I wanted to make him come. So instead of rolling back, I leaned forward and caught his mouth with mine, then moved my lips across his whisker-rough cheek to whisper in his ear. “Now you’re going to come, Lucas. Come inside me.”
His breathing stuttered as if the suggestion hadn’t even occurred to him. As if he’d already figured there would be no penetrative sex between us. I was about to disillusion him of that assumption right now.
“Please, Lucas, I want you inside me.”
“No,” he said gruffly as if it pained him to say it. He blew out a rough breath. “We can’t.”
I sucked his earlobe into my mouth, gathering ammunition for my own assault. “We can. We should. I can’t wait to feel this inside me.” I squeezed him to leave no doubt about what I meant.
“Fuck,” he said gruffly, then put his hand over mine, showing me how to move it, how he liked it. “Like this, Kat.”
“But—”
“No. We are not fucking tonight.” His voice was tight and urgent. His tone—unmistakably final.
I blew out a breath in frustration and he drew back, searching for my gaze in the dim light. “Make me come like this,” he said in that same voice that brooked no argument. Like a commanding general’s order.
So my hand moved, stroking his cock softly, slowly, deliberately attempting to drive him to madness. His breath was ragged against my neck, his hand and fingers getting their fill of exploring my chest.
But when I wouldn’t vary my stroke, he grew desperate, grinding against my hip. “Faster,” he muttered.
After another half second of protest, I complied, quickening my stroke, enjoying the feel of his cock swelling even larger in my hand as he neared his own release.
But that wasn’t enough for him. In the last few seconds before climax, he pushed me onto my back, set himself between my legs and ground himself against me, frenzied and raw. As he stiffened and held his breath, he found his own release, spilling his hot semen onto my nightshirt.
Welp, I guess I was sleeping naked tonight. And if that didn’t lead to more sex, I’d be utterly shocked.
Almost immediately, Lucas rose from the bed and grabbed washcloths from the washroom for us to clean up with. Without caring what he’d see, I pulled off the nightshirt. “Not a bright move if you didn’t want to see me naked again,” I said lightly with a wicked smile. The little devil on my shoulder would have heartily approved had she not already gone to bed for the night.
Without looking at me, Lucas moved to his dresser, pulled out another pair of pajama pants and a big t-shirt, which he tossed toward me, again without looking. Then he disappeared into the washroom.
I sighed, anticipating more of the post-sexual emotionally unavailable freeze-out he’d shown me before.
When he returned, it wasn’t exactly like that. More like gentle awkwardness. I looked up at him before he flipped off the light, weariness clear in his eyes.