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“And yet, you’re dripping.” He adds another finger, stretching me. “Is this all for me, cupcake?”
I glare at him, trying to deny it, maintaining some semblance of control, even as my hips twitch towards his touch. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I don’t need to.” He withdraws his fingers, and a needy whine that I want to take back escapes me while my body clenches around nothing, both betraying how much I want him.
He sinks to his knees, and the sight of Brandon Milton on the floor between my legs steals my breath. His eyes never leave mine as he hooks his fingers under the delicate lace of my thong. The fabric slides down my thighs, past my knees, pooling at my feet, and I nearly whimper again. Nearly.
But then his warm breath fans across my center. “Your body’s doing it for me.”
“Brandon…”
“Shhh.” His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider and holding me open. “Remember. Not. A. Sound.”
Then his mouth is on me, and I have to slam my palm against my mouth to keep from crying out. His tongue licks a hot stripe up my slit before circling my clit. Once, twice. My head thunks back against the mirror, eyes squeezing shut.
How is this better than a vibrator? I’m going to fucking lose it.
He pulls back just enough to murmur, “Eyes on me. I want to see you.”
Following his command, my eyes flutter open immediately, meeting his heated gaze, and the sight of him between my legs, his lips glistening with my arousal…
He’s hunger personified like he’s starving, and I’m the feast laid out before him. Exposed, vulnerable, and yet I’ve never felt more powerful.
Holding my gaze, he lowers his mouth again. My nails dig into the marble as he builds a rhythm that leaves me breathless. Each stroke of his tongue, each demanding suck, draws desperate sounds I have to swallow back. My thighs tremble against his grip, and my heels clatter to the floor, forgotten.
His fingers dig deeper into the flesh of my thighs, holding me in place as his mouth works me with a skill that should be illegal. So illegal, that I’m sure I’ve bitten my lip hard enough to draw blood.
His name is a litany in my head, a prayer and a curse all at once.
Brandon. Brandon. Brandon.
“Brandon,” I gasp out.
“I told you to be quiet.” His voice is a low growl, vibrating against my sensitive flesh. “Do I need to gag you, cupcake?”
My heart pounds in a frantic rhythm that matches the throbbing between my legs. I should tell him to go to hell. I should push him away and get the fuck out of here. But instead, I find myself shaking my head, my breath coming in short, sharp pants.
“No,” I manage to say. “I’ll be quiet.”
He rewards me with a slow, deliberate thrust of his fingers, filling me and curling against that spot deep inside in a way that has me squirming.
Low in my belly the tension coils, a spring wound too tight. My hands fist in his hair, pulling just enough to let him know I’m close. He responds by increasing the pressure, the suction, and adding another finger.
So close, just a little more. “Brandon…”
He stops.
My eyes fly open. “What the fuck?”
His fingers keep up a slow but steady rhythm inside me. “You broke the rules.”
“You’re an asshole.”
He smirks. “I’m the asshole currently knuckle-deep inside you, so I’d be nice if I were you.”
“Fu—”
His thumb presses against my lips. “Ah ah. Watch that pretty mouth before you get yourself in trouble again.”