Already her body was thrashing against her will, as if she could climb him, as if she could climb the peak—but she couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her until he was good and ready.
If there was one thing the man had most of all, it was patience. He drew out their lovemaking to last hours. They were both sweaty and exhausted by the time he was done. And most of all, incredibly sated. She longed for those nights as much as she feared them. They were more than a sexual act, they were a test, and sometimes it felt like they would break her.
He nibbled at her pussy with his lips and with light touches of his teeth that made her squirm. He spread her wide with his fingers and feasted, leaving no part of her untouched. He bathed her with his tongue until she could only clench and clench at nothing, could only keen in helpless unfulfilled desire.
It might have been minutes or hours or days that he played with her, tasting her and teasing her. Barely brushing her clit and then roaming back down to her slit. He fucked her entrance with his tongue like it was a cock, and it felt somehow sweeter than his cock—but less fulfilling too. She’d never come this way, never come at all, she’d be forever strung up on his tongue and fingers and relentless, bittersweet patience.
Only when she’d come again and again, when her body was wrung out, somehow tighter and more needful after climaxing three times, did he raise his head. She panted on the bed, clinging to the pillow, fabric clenched and sweat-damped in her hands.
“Take me,” she said, her voice soft and broken. He’d done that to her.
He pushed up, onto his knees, and for one heartbreaking minute she thought he would leave her like this. His eyes flickered with that distance, that darkness—the same one he had after every one of his nightmares. His broad chest expanded, and his breath came out in a harsh groan of giving in.
He was on her a second later, firm hips pressing her thighs open, chest looming over her, expression hard. His hands were on either side of her shoulders. He didn’t touch himself, didn’t guide himself inside. There was no need for that, not when their bodies fit together like sea and sky, like light and dark. His cock nudged her entrance and slid inside, stretching her walls, filling her up and making her clench down around him.
She gasped out a wordless thanks, gratitude and desire all tangled up in the physical sensation.
He bent his head. A whisper in her ear, hoarse and hungry, “Come for me. One more time, beautiful. I need to feel it around my cock. I need that hot liquid all around me and trickling down my balls. Can you do that for me?”
But he didn’t need to ask the question; she was already coming, already squeezing him tight and bathing him in her wetness. And then he was coming too, pushing back against her with heavy pulses of his cock and thick spurts of come deep inside.
She blinked once, twice, and the book came into view. It was large, with that old library smell she loved to breathe in. Even though she liked the smell of the book, she couldn’t say the same for its contents. They hadn’t managed to keep her awake—and she’d been reading out loud.
“Sorry,” she said, feeling sheepish. Bad enough that she would doze off while reading a book. Much worse to have been caught by Blake, who had read The Philosophy of History multiple times.
“I’m the one who should feel bad for boring you. I picked the book.”
“That’s only fair. I got to pick the last one.” Her choice had been the diary of novelist and eroticist Anais Nin. He’d read it to her while she’d attempted to bake homemade bread. It had turned them both on so much—explicit words in his deep voice, her hands plunging into soft dough—that they’d made love on the kitchen floor until the bread had burned.
So when they’d loaded the car for their trip, she’d offered to read him his choice while he drove.
He smiled faintly, his hands steady on the steering wheel. “Fair or not, I’m more than happy to have you pick our books from now on. I’ll save the Hegel and the Kant for my students.”
“Kant? I’m thinking you’re a bit of a sadist.”
“Only with books. And only in the classroom. When it’s just you and me, I only want to make you feel good.”
Her cheeks flushed, and judging by the amused expression on his face, he knew it too. If only there was a kitchen floor nearby. Unfortunately they were far away from Blake’s ranch-style home, with its seclusion and comfort. With every mile they drove, her stomach had tightened another notch. She’d hoped reading would distract her, but it had only put her to sleep.
Blake reached over and took the book from her lap. He put it in the backseat without taking his eyes off the road. Her gaze followed the lines of his muscular arms, his torso as it was exposed to her. How did he make even ordinary actions so sexy? She would catch him stroking the spine of a book or reaching for something on a high shelf, and her body would heat up.
“You should sleep,” he said gently. “We have another hour to go.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to trade off?”
“I’m sure. Go ahead and rest.”
“I’m not sure I can,” she admitted.
He glanced over, concern darkening his expression. She hadn’t said anything particularly revealing, but maybe he’d heard the tremor in her voice. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”