“Not yet.” His mouth leaves my breast. “You don’t get to rush this.”
He flips us. My back hits the mattress, and he’s over me, one knee between my thighs, and his hands go to the button of my shorts. He pulls them down my legs with my underwear in one pass.
I’m naked on his bed, and I don’t care about anything other than this man’s hands on me. He pulls back and slides off the bed, standing at the foot of it, looking down at me. His chest is heaving.
“Spread your legs.”
My knees fall open. No argument from me.
His eyes travel from my face to my throat to my breasts to the space between my thighs, and the look on his face is ravenous. Stripped of every ounce of restraint.
He drops to his knees at the edge of the bed. His hands close around my thighs and drag me to the edge of the mattress. The rough calluses on his palms scrape the soft skin of my inner thighs, and I’m already shaking.
“Duke, I want you to fuck me.”
“You kept your pussy from me for too long.” He presses his mouth to my inner thigh. Teeth. Tongue. A bite hard enough to leave a mark. And my core pulses with need. “So, right now, I’m in control.”
And I like that. I want him to be in control right now.
I open my legs wider.
His mouth moves higher. He’s kissing and biting a path up my thigh until his breath is hot against my center. I’m grippingthe sheets with both fists, and I’m already trembling. The anticipation alone is unbearable.
Finally, he puts his mouth on my pussy. He’s not gentle. He eats me like punishment. His tongue is flat and wide against me, dragging up with enough pressure to make my hips buck, and his hands pin my thighs open. He sucks my clit between his lips and flicks his tongue against it. I can’t control the sounds that come from me, and I don’t care who hears me through these walls.
“That’s it.” He pulls back an inch. His lips are wet, and his eyes are savage. He looks up at me from between my thighs. “Let every man in this clubhouse know who you belong to.”
His mouth comes back between my legs, and this time he’s relentless. His tongue works me in patterns he already knows, driving me wild. He hasn’t forgotten a single thing about my body, and that is almost more devastating than the physical sensation.
His tongue pushes inside me, and my hips lift off the bed. He pushes them down, and I’m spread open at his mercy. His beard is rough against me, and his tongue is fucking me in slow, deep strokes while his thumb moves up to press circles into my clit. The sensation unravels me from the center outward. The pressure builds at the base of my spine, coiling tighter, winding up like a spring about to snap.
He replaces his tongue with his fingers—two at once, with no warm-up and no easing in. He crooks them forward against the spot that makes my legs lock around his head. His mouth seals over my clit again, and he sucks. His fingers curl inside me, and I’m gone.
My orgasm tears through me from the inside out. It starts deep, at the center of my body where his fingers are buried, and radiates outward in waves that roll through my stomach, my chest, my limbs, until my toes curl.
My fingers are fisted in his hair, pulling hard. His name spills from my lips, over and over.
I am nothing but sensation.
He doesn’t stop. He works me through it, tongue and fingers, until the aftershocks fade and my legs are trembling and my grip loosens in his hair.
He stands. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are locked on mine, and the raw possession in them makes every hair on my body stand up.
He unbuckles his belt. Pulls it free from the loops. The leather hisses. He sets it on the dresser. Then he unbuttons his jeans and shoves them down with his boxer briefs.
His cock is thick, hard, and perfect.
I push up on my elbows and reach for him, and he catches my wrist.
“I already told you that I’m in control.” He brings my knuckles to his mouth, bites the ridge of them, and drops my hand. “Tonight is mine. Turn over.”
I roll onto my stomach. His hand lands on my hip and lifts, positioning me on my hands and knees at the edge of the bed. His palm runs down my spine, slow, pressing each vertebra like he’s counting them, and his other hand grips my hip. He traces the dip at the base of my spine with his thumb, and the tenderness of it makes my arms tremble.
His hand slides down to my ass. “You took three years of this from me.”
His palm cracks across my left cheek. Hard. The sting blooms hot across my skin. I gasp, my arms buckle, and my face drops to the mattress.
“Again,” I breathe out. “I’m so sorry for everything.”