My pulse jumps at the cold note in his voice. Is he punishing me for something? “What—”
“Hush.” His fingers press on my lips, silencing me. “Not another word.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly feeling dry. He’s not touching me anywhere but my lips, yet my body ignites, my earlier arousal returning despite my growing nervousness.
Or maybe because of it. It’s impossible to tell.
“Suck on my fingers.” His whispered command is accompanied by increasing pressure on the seam of my lips. “Now.”
Obediently, I open my mouth and suck two of his large fingers in. They taste clean and slightly salty, the edges of his short nails rough against the tender roof of my mouth. I swirl my tongue around his fingers as I would over his cock, and his hand jerks, as though the sensation is just as intense for him.
Just as I’m starting to get into it, Julian withdraws his fingers and runs them down the front of my body, leaving a cool, damp trail on my skin. I shiver in response, my inner muscles tensing as his fingers circle my navel, his nails scraping lightly over my belly. Lower, I will him silently, please, just go a bit lower, but he lifts his hand instead, depriving me of his touch.
I open my mouth to plead with him, but then I remember that he doesn’t want me to speak. Swallowing, I suppress the words, not wanting to displease him when he’s in this unpredictable mood.
If Julian is indeed punishing me for something, I don’t want to provoke him further.
So instead of begging, I lie still, waiting, my breathing fast and shallow as I try to listen to his movements. I can’t hear anything. Is he just standing there watching me? Staring at my semi-naked body stretched out and restrained on the bed?
Finally, I hear something. A scraping noise, as if he picked up something from the nightstand.
I wait, listening tensely, and then I feel it.
Something cold and hard sliding under the tight band of my bra, pressing between my breasts.
I almost flinch in shock, but manage to remain still, my heart beating frantically.
Snip. The noise is unmistakeable.
It’s the sound of metal cutting through thick fabric. Julian just used scissors on the front of my bra.
I allow myself a small exhalation of relief, but then I tense again as I feel the cold scissors sliding down my body.
Snip. Snip. Both sides of my thong are cut, the dull edge of the scissors pressing into my hipbones. I feel the warmth of Julian’s hand as he pulls the mangled scrap of fabric off my body, and then I hear him suck in a breath. He’s looking at me. I know it. I picture what he’s seeing as I lie there naked, with my legs wide open, and a flush heats up my skin at the pornographic image in my mind.
“You’re already wet.” His voice, low and thick with lust, makes me burn even more. “Your pussy is dripping for me.” He accompanies the words with a butterfly-soft touch on my aching clit. His fingertips feel rough on my sensitive flesh, yet fire rockets through my veins, filling me with desperate need. Unbidden, a moan escapes my throat, and I lift my hips toward him, silently begging for more.
This time, he answers my plea.
I feel the mattress dip again as he climbs onto the bed, settling between my legs. His hands, large and strong, grip the top of my thighs, and then he lowers his head to my sex. I feel his hot breath wash over my open folds. I almost whimper in anticipation, but I hold back at the last second, not wanting to do anything to cause Julian to change his mind. I want his touch. I need it. It’s agonizing to be without it.
And then I feel it—the soft, wet pressure of his tongue between my folds, the pressure that both quenches and intensifies the ache. He doesn’t lick me; he just holds his tongue against my clit, but it’s enough. It’s more than enough. I rock my hips in small, spasmodic movements, creating the exact rhythm I need, and the tension within me grows, the pleasure gathering in a hot, pulsing ball within my core. His tongue moves then, his lips closing around my clit in a strong sucking motion, and the ball bursts, shards of ecstasy blasting through my nerve endings as I cry out, no longer able to stay silent.
Before my orgasm is completely over, he starts licking me. Just soft, gentle licks that extend the pleasurable aftershocks coursing through my body. It feels good, even with my clit swollen and sensitized, so I lie there, enjoying it, limp and content from my release. It’s not until a minute later that I realize that the pleasure is sharpening again, growing stronger, transforming into that aching tension.
I gasp, arching toward his mouth, needing more pressure to bring me over the edge, but he keeps touching me with those light licks, his tongue just barely grazing over my clit.
“Please, Julian . . .” The words escape before I can remember the restriction on speaking, but to my relief, he doesn’t stop. Instead, he keeps licking me, his tongue moving in a rhythm that slowly and torturously winds me tighter, pushing me closer but not letting me get what I need. I try to push my hips higher, but I can’t gain much leverage, stretched and spread as I am.
All I can do is endure, utterly at the mercy of whatever pleasure-torment Julian chooses to dole out.
Just when I think I can’t bear much more, he shifts to the side, moving his right hand from my thigh to my throbbing sex. His large, blunt fingers probe my entrance, and I moan as he pushes two of them in, penetrating me with startling swiftness. I’m almost there, it’s nearly what I need . . . and then his thumb presses hard on my clit.
I fly apart, acute pleasure rippling through my body as I convulse, gasping and crying out.