Page 49 of Delta

Not ready yet? Bastard. I’m losing my mind over here. I clench hands into fists and press them against the glass—it only occurs to me now that it’s broad daylight and my bare ass is up against the glass for everyone on the sidewalk below to see.

Why does that turn me on even more?

Maybe I am, as he puts it, a slag.

He brings me to the edge again with his fingers plunging inside me and his mouth on my nipples, taking me to the shaking, shuddering edge of climax before abruptly taking away his touch.

This time, I can't keep a scream of infuriated frustration from escaping.

Rush just laughs. "Gettin' closer." He pops his finger into his mouth again, eyes closed as he hums his enjoyment of my taste. "Dunno if I can hold out anymore. Need to taste you for real."

I pant desperately, hips rocking against nothing, a keening whimper seeping out of me.

"You're gonna come all over my face, aren't you?" he asks. "You can answer, Gorgeous."

"Yes!" I cry. "God, yes."

He drops to his knees in front of me, staring up at me. "When you come for me, I want to hear you scream my name, all right?"

I nod.

"Tell me what I'm gonna hear when I make you come."

"I'm gonna scream your name."

"Yeah, you are." He flicks his tongue against my clit. "What's my name?"

"RUSH!"

He growls, one hand raking up my body to clutch at my tits, the other fitting under his chin, driving one finger and then two inside me. His mouth fuses to my clit and for a few moments, it's all syrupy slow touches, his fingers slicking into and out of me in slow motion, his tongue lazily flitting against my clit.

When I buck and gyrate, he growls ravenously, and now there's no more teasing, no more games.

Just his mouth ravaging my clit, his fingers fucking my pussy and pinching my nipple. Helpless to stop myself, I knot my fingers in his hair and buck against his mouth.

"RUSH!" I cry, shaking as the orgasm builds to a wild crescendo. "Oh fuck…fuck. Fuck!”

Closer…closer—I'm rocking, bucking, grinding, wallowing in ecstasy as the orgasm starts to shatter through me.

And then he stops.

"FUCK!" I scream. "Rush, goddammit! I did everything you asked."

He's on his feet in front of me, ripping his shirt off. "Hands over your head, Gorgeous."

I move so fast the window shudders when my hands smack against it.

Lazily, he bends and unties his boots. Tosses them aside. Socks, next. His eyes hungry on my body, he flips open his fly, lowers the zipper. Steps out of his jeans. Shoves his underwear down and kicks them up, catches them, and tosses them aside.

He's naked, at long last.

And holy god, the view was worth the price of entry.

He's a god.

Truly.

Carved from marble, he's a sculpture of male perfection. Thick, heavy muscles, hard, broad shoulders, massive arms, corded forearms. A rippling, shredded eight-pack. Those fucking grooves at his obliques—I want to run my tongue along them, taste that huge hard cock that bobs at his belly, swaying with his breathing.