Page 48 of Delta

I feel my traitorous tongue ghost over my lips, and the flavor of my own juices bursts on my tongue. "Yes."

I've forgotten what it was he wanted me to do that I wouldn't do or say. I don't know. He scrambles my brain.

He slips one finger inside me and swirls it around, pulls it out. Pops it into his mouth. "Mmmm. Sweet as sugar."

Again, that finger dips into me, and again he tastes me as if sampling the finest dessert. I whimper every time he takes his touch away, the sound ripped out of me against my will. He does it again, but this time instead of tasting me, he smears my essence over my clit and circles. Circles. Swipes. Brings me to the edge, until I'm shaking and panting, knees dipping every time he makes contact with my clit.

And then, an instant before I topple over the edge into release, his touch vanishes and he's licking his fingers clean.

I growl in desperation. "Rush!"

"What, love? You need somethin'?"

"Dammit!" I press my thighs together in a vain attempt to get more friction, more pressure. "What do you want, Rush?"

"Hands over your head against the window. Spread your legs apart. Don't make a sound."

Holding his hot gaze, which is now a greenish-gray shot through with streaks of brown, I slowly drag my arms over my head, clasp them together, and press them against the glass.

"Good girl," he murmurs, and dammit all to hell, the praise makes my thighs quake. "Spread your legs for me, now. Let me see all of you."

Gritting my teeth in embarrassment, I wiggle my feet apart inch by inch until they're about shoulder width.

"Wider."

I comply, taking another half step until I’m in a sumo squat stance; Rush stands in my space, gazing down at me, smirking. "Now what?" I ask.

"Now…" he taps his foot against mine, nudging it further, and the other side; my balance is compromised, now—one wrong move and I’ll fall over. "You stay just like that until I say otherwise. Don't move. Don't make a sound." He drags his finger against my clit—I gasp involuntarily, and his touch is instantly gone. "Hush, now, Lovely. The quieter you are, the more you get what you want."

"I want you,” I hiss, hating how needy and pathetic I sound.

"Then you'd better not make a peep, ey?"

One finger slips inside me, squelching deep. His other hand steals to my chest, carving up my diaphragm, cupping my breast. He pinches my nipple, hard—I grit my teeth and hiss.

"Good girl," he whispers. "Just like that."

Fuck, this is hot. It shouldn't be. I should hate it. But I want his touch. I want to come—I need to come. I need him. I need more. So, I play his game.

And I find myself liking it.

He dips at the knees, lifting my breast to his mouth and suckling my nipple between his teeth, flattening it between his tongue the roof off his mouth; all the while, he's slowly drilling his middle finger in and out of my pussy, slowly and teasingly fucking me with it.

A whimper crashes against the gate of my clenched teeth as he tongues my nipple and teases my clit—it takes all of my self-control not to use my hands to push him down, to guide his mouth where I want it. Fuck, at this point, I'm close to begging. His finger isn't nearly enough.

I'm breathing hard, my knees dipping every time his finger drives into me, every time his mouth assaults my nipples.

Within a few minutes, I'm on the cusp of orgasm again, shaking all over, panting hard through gritted teeth, hips rocking, pushing, driving into his pumping finger while I arch my back to press my tits against his seeking, licking, nibbling mouth.

"God, you're a greedy one, aren't you?" he whispers. “Need more, do you?"

I don't answer out loud, but I do meet his arrogant, aroused gaze and nod.

"Want to come, Bryn?"

I nod again.

He laughs. "Nah. Not yet. You're not ready yet."