His lashing tongue slowed with her shudders of release, but he continued to lick and suck her juices greedily even when she sagged into his lap, satiated and half-senseless.
“No one tastes like you. No one comes like you.”
Her eyelids blinked open at his hoarse voice. He kissed her wet, overly sensitive outer sex once before he lifted his head.
“Can you stand up?” he asked, stroking the sensitive sides of her body.
“Yes,” she said thickly. When she came off him, he stood and took her into his arms. She moaned softly when she saw how slick his lower face was with her juices. She tasted them on his kiss, closing her eyes in quiet bliss at their intermingled flavor.
He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed like he might a baby. She was glad. She wasn’t sure if her legs would work properly. He sat her on the edge of the mattress, for a moment just staring down at her as she panted. He began stroking her with his hand, caressing her back and hip and thigh, soothing her. As she recovered, his touch turned demanding versus reassuring.
He cupped her breast, molding it to his palm. Her eyelids flickered open and she met his stare.
“Better?” he murmured, still massaging her breast.
She nodded.
“Then stand up,” he said.
He helped her, since her wrists were bound. When she stood before him, he pulled her between his legs and clamped her hips between his strong thighs. He immediately began to play with her breasts, his manner deliberate, his blazing stare making her whimper in helpless arousal. She was bound and could go nowhere, do nothing but be the target of his need. Ian’s desire was always monumentally focused and precise, but it seemed to have grown exponentially since they’d been apart. He gently squeezed her breasts, making the nipples protrude between his thumb and forefinger.
“I can’t tell you how much I missed your lovely breasts,” he said, plucking at her achy nipples, making them stiffer. He lifted the globes with both hands and let them fall, then lightly slapped at the outer curves, seeming to enjoy the shiver in firm flesh. Arousal stabbed at her clit—yes, even though she was half-insensate from her previous orgasms. She experienced a nearly overwhelming urge to shove her hands between her thighs to alleviate the pinch of lust. She sensed his hunger growing, saw the greedy gleam in his blue eyes. He gathered both breasts in his hands, pushing the flesh together.
She cried out raggedly when he leaned forward and tongued both nipples at once. She watched him with a tight focus, absorbing the image of his red tongue running over the beaded flesh, stimulating and sensitizing the nerves. Pleasure tore through her when he slipped one of her nipples between his lips and sucked strong enough to hollow out his cheeks.
“Oh . . . Ian,” she moaned shakily after he’d sucked on her for a minute or so, her muscles tensing again with renewed arousal. He drew on her nipple, but she felt the tug in her womb. He continued to massage her breasts in his large hands, holding the flesh captive while he consumed her, sucking first one nipple, then the other, until the crests were unbearably sensitive, rosy, and glistening and Francesca was crying out once again in stark arousal.
He lifted his head and looked at her face, his nostrils flared. A flush had grown on his cheeks. He placed one hand on her inner thigh. She shuddered and clamped her eyes shut. She’d grown so wet her juices were wetting her thighs. The subtle evidence of her rampant need both shamed and aroused her, the mixed emotions creating a sharp friction inside her.
“Open your eyes,” he demanded, his fingers still moving on her slick skin, amplifying the burn in her clit.
“No,” she whispered.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, lovely.”
She twisted her chin, keeping her eyelids clamped shut. She disagreed.
His fingers paused and she restrained a moan.
“Very well,” she heard him say, his voice rough with desire and frustration. “I can see you want this done and over with. Come onto the bed. I’ll take my pleasure of you and put us both out of our misery.”
Lust rushed through her at his words along with a fresh surge of shame. Damn him. No other man could say something so singularly selfish and make her so aroused. He knew she loved it when he finally let go and sought bliss in her flesh with a single-minded focus. He knew saying that would turn her on.
Standing, he released her from the grip of his thighs. She cracked open her eyelids cautiously. “Get on the bed, belly down, hands above your head. You won’t have to look at me in that position,” he said, his mouth pressed into a grim line.
“Fine,” she replied, equally edgy with anger and arousal. Why should she protest? It was true. She didn’t want to gawp at his savage beauty as he gave himself. It was all an illusion anyway, wasn’t it? He wasn’t giving anything. Not really.
He helped her onto the bed. She lay prone, her bound hands above her head. He gently extricated the pillows from under her forearms. She bit her lip to stifle a moan when he shoved them under her hips, elevating her ass. He parted her legs. She felt the air lick and kiss at her wet sex and thighs.
When he didn’t immediately get on the bed with her, she twisted her face around to peer at him. She wished she hadn’t. He was undressing. Completely. Forget about the fact that they’d been apart for a half a year, the vision of him naked was always compelling. Addictive. Ian usually only removed all of his clothes during the most intimate moments of lovemaking. She often wondered if he did that to make her crave the vision of his naked male glory all that much more.
If he did it for that reason, it worked. In spades.