Perfect Strangers

34

His hand slides down my jaw to my throat, and he gently squeezes.

Why do I like that? Why should that small gesture of dominance make me clench and shudder? Why should it make me moan?

In his dominant voice, he says, “Get your fingers in your panties and take that c**k all the way down your throat.”

Balancing on one hand, I shove the other hand between my legs, fumbling with my damp panties, pushing them aside. As soon as my fingers glide over my throbbing c**t, I relax my throat and slide my lips as far down his shaft as they’ll go.

He groans, then curses, his hand hot around my throat. Tightening.

I withdraw slowly, opening my eyes to look up at him when I suck on the crown. His eyes are hazy and he’s breathing hard, licking his lips as he watches me.

He reaches down and fondles my breasts through my shirt, first one then the other, rolling my hard n*****s between his fingers, pinching them, squeezing their fullness with a rough, needy grip. I start a rhythm, my hips rocking against my hand as I take him deep down my throat and out again, my heart hammering like mad.

“I’m gonna s***k you,” he pants. “Don’t come.”

Don’t come? What does he mean don’t come? Isn’t that the whole—

CRACK!

I jump, sucking in a hard breath through my nose. When he s****s me again, I whine at the sting and work my fingers faster between my legs. I’m so wet I can hear the sound it makes in the room, even above the gentle drumming of the rain. I suck harder on his c**k, greedily swallowing as much of it as I can.

“Christ, Olivia. You’re so f*****g beautiful. Jesus Christ.”

Every other word is punctuated by a pant. He leans over and slaps my ass again, six times in hard, quick succession. My o****m approaches like a cresting wave. Naturally, he knows.

“That o****m belongs to me. It belongs to my c**k, not your fingers. Don’t you dare come before I’m inside you.”

Or what? You’ll s***k me?

I’m delirious. I must be. The only reason I don’t laugh is because I’ve got a twelve-inch steel pipe rammed down my throat, but I feel as high as an untethered kite, pinwheeling recklessly through the sky, tumbling into a bright, dangerous nothingness.

Then suddenly his c**k is gone and I’m flat on my back, blinking in surprise as James looms over me.

“I’m not trying to punish you by not letting you come,” he says raggedly. “It’s just that if we delay as long as we can, it increases the pleasure. It’s called edging.”

Edging smedging! Let’s ride this baby all the way home! Lying under him, I’m sweating and shaking, unable to speak.

“Okay?”

I groan in protest, closing my eyes.

He kisses me on the neck, whispering, “Tell me what you want. If you really need to come right now, tell me. You know I’ll take care of you.”

I open my eyes and gaze up at him. He’s staring down at me with intense focus, his dark hair falling onto his forehead, his face shadowed and beautiful and filled with concern.

Something inside my chest unlocks. A heavy door squeaks open on rusted hinges, letting light flood in.

“Okay,” I say, my voice almost inaudible. “Let’s do the edging thing. I trust you.”

He falls completely still. He doesn’t even seem to be drawing a breath. But underneath all the stillness and perfect control something massive is churning and burning, blazing out from the dark, searching depths of his eyes.

“You trust me?”

“Yes.”

He says my name in a reverent whisper, lifting a hand to tenderly brush a lock of hair off my cheek and tuck it behind my ear.

I say, “Don’t get all weird on me now, lover boy. I haven’t had s*x since Duran Duran was topping the charts. Let’s do this.”

He shakes his head, laughing softly. “Were you even alive in the 1980s?”

“Yes.”

“So you were having s*x as an infant?”

“No. Gross. Will you please put your mouth on me now?”

“Sure.” He drops his head and kisses me softly on my throat.

“Not there.”

Lifting his head, he sends me a lazy and knowing smile. “No? Where, then?”

“Between my legs.”

He c***s his head and arches his brows, as if he has no idea what I’m talking about.

“On my pussy.”

He whispers mockingly, “Oohhh, there.”

“Yes, please. Now, please. Unless you want to s***k me there instead, because I love that.”

Looking down at me, his smile fades. He examines me, his intensity growing by the second, until he says in a low, terse voice, “It’s a good thing you’re not here long. Otherwise, I’d make you mine.”

His words thrill me and so does the passion in his eyes. But the passion is tempered by that darkness that wells up at unexpected moments, the darkness that should frighten me but instead makes me want to dive in deep and lose myself in it.

“You say that like being yours would be a bad thing.”

“It wouldn’t be good, Olivia. Not for you.”

“Why not?”

After a tense hesitation, he murmurs, “Touchy subject.”

Outside, thunder rumbles. A c***k of white lightning briefly illuminates the room. I push aside the eerie and irrational feeling that nature herself is warning me away from him and frame his chiseled jaw in my hands.

Gazing deep into his beautiful blue eyes, I say, “You can’t see yourself like I can, James. Any woman would be lucky to belong to a man like you. You’ll find the right one someday. And whoever she is, I hope I never meet her, because I’ll be so envious I’ll want to punch her right in the face.”

He inhales, nostrils flaring. His eyes narrow to slits.

Then, with startling ferocity, he crushes his mouth to mine.