“As opposed to a man?” She moaned, leaned into him. “Bet I can do everything to you here as easily.”
“Shush. Tonight I feast on you, savor you, drain you of every spark of pleasure your lethal weapon of a body is capable of. I’ll play with you, torment you, madden you, make you beg, then stop your heart with more pleasure than you can stand.”
In response to his erotic threat, she twisted around, rubbed herself against him, purred low with aggressive surrender. “That’s nothing special, really. You do that every night. And day.”
“I’ll show you nothing special.” He took her wading into the pool that reflected the columned arches and the candles that crowded the walkway beneath them. They emerged to walk below those arches, their shadows dancing in the illumination coming from every direction.
At one arch he stopped. She squinted up. “Uh…Leandro, I think whoever hung that swing had no idea what you wanted it for.”
“I hung that swing. And I know exactly what I want it for.”
Then his large hands circled her thighs above her knees. She gasped as he raised her with unbelievable steadiness and strength until her hips hit the swing’s seat. She clutched the silken ropes, shimmied into place, looked down as he kneaded her thighs apart. And she got it. His head was level with her core.
His hands did everything, went everywhere but where she was combusting for their touch. He waited until she clamped her thighs around his neck, arched backward in the swing, open, abandoned, mindless, then gave her a sharp flick. With his tongue.
She cried out, the pleasure a slash through her system.
She tried to press her mound to his mouth, but he unlocked her thighs, kept only her heels around his neck. Then he pushed her away. She swung back the length of her legs before her hooked heels brought her hurtling back. To his waiting tongue. It found her opening, slipped inside her. Her cry was sharper, louder this time, the stab of pleasure too much, over too soon. Now she knew why he’d emptied the complex. With the way this place was open to the outside, her screams would be heard for a mile.
She receded from him on the swing’s next excursion, and every time she came back, he did something worse to her. When she was begging him to finish her, he let her gather him tighter, making her swings shorter, her return to his torture faster, harder. Then he took over, held her hips and began rocking her back and forth on his plunging tongue, until she bucked, ground herself against his mouth, convulsed in furious rhythms, choking out his name, her eyes streaming with the force of her orgasm.
He lapped her to quivering satisfaction. Then he repeated the torture using his fingers alone, then again using a combination until she collapsed in a backward arch across the swing, her legs dangling on one side, her head and hair on the other. With a whirr, the swing descended, bringing their loins level.
He pulled her up, began a striptease that stopped maddeningly with his shirt. She tried to touch his ridged flesh but he caught her, produced satin ribbons from his back pocket and tied her hands to the ropes. She wouldn’t fall back now if she fainted. And she felt she was about to. He was drinking her, rubbing her inflamed nipples with his hair-roughened flesh, undulating against her. Keens spilled from her. Arousal roared inside her again at her helplessness to reciprocate the exquisite torture.
Then he painted her with honey and kneeled before her, licked it all off starting from her toes, working his way up until he burned out all her stimulation centers. When she couldn’t writhe anymore, cry out anymore, he tongued her to another climax.
And instead of being sated, all she wanted was him.
She struggled from her slump, croaked, “Leandro…if you really want this night to be for me, you’ll give me you…in every way.”
He looked deep in her eyes, his own emerald in the candlelight, supernatural in beauty and influence. Then he smiled and everything collapsed in a domino effect inside her. He undid her satin shackles, carried her to one of the sunken tubs, rinsed her off, then took her to a couch as deep as a double bed.
He stood between her legs, his erection level with her mouth. His bass rumble shook her insides. “This is for you, remember. Use me for your pleasure. I’m yours.”
He was indeed hers. Her fate. “Too bad you’re going to enjoy it, too, huh?”
He smoothed his hands over her head, massaging her. “You may not believe me, but I enjoy your orgasms more than I do mine.”
“I believe you. Same here. So selfish in a roundabout way.”
She reached for him, kneading and nipping him through his pants, and he rasped, “Release me.”
She undid his zipper with shaking hands. Her mouth watered as he sprang forth, hit her waiting lips, a work of divine beauty.
She explored him, smelled and tasted and touched, lost in sensory nirvana, unable to believe that she could take all of him inside her. She circled him. Her hand wouldn’t close. She traveled up and down the silk steel shaft, rubbed her lips around his head, suckled it, her tongue shuddering all over his satin hardness with the pleasure he intensified with his uninhibited vocal response. Then she had him, all his power and virility, filling her in yet another way. She took all she could of him inside her mouth. He groaned his mounting pleasure, the sound creating another rush of liquid desire between her legs. It felt as if he was making love, so gently, so languidly, to her mouth, to her through it. But soon each thrust was another stab of need, until the emptiness where he wasn’t occupying her started to hurt her.
Suddenly, his hand in her hair stopped her. But she wanted it all, his seed, his pleasure, his abandon. “Come for me, darling.”
“I feel it. You need me. Say ‘please’ now, Phoebe.”
“Oh, thank goodness. We’re back to pleasure for both of us.”
“Only because it’s what you need now. Then it’s back to only you”
“I’ll just keep saying…please…”
“Then I’ll please you until you can’t say please anymore.”
He propped himself at the back of the couch and stretched out the miles-long power of his legs on its width. He was still following his “for her” theme, inviting her to use him for her pleasure. And she couldn’t draw another breath if she didn’t.
She trapped air inside her lungs as she slid over him, slithered down until she felt his width at her entrance. He held her eyes, her waist, caressing her, his massive body trembling. She should torment him like he did her. She couldn’t.