Page 88 of Playing Dirty
Slowly, I crawl toward him, my eyes never leaving his face. With each movement I feel more turned on than I've ever beenin my life, and by the time I reach him, I'm trembling. Not from fear, but from anticipation.
Kneeling at his feet, I look up at him, waiting.
For a long moment he just looks down at me, two fingers tracing along my lower lip, and my mouth parts instinctively. All I can feel is his gaze, heavy and possessive, making every inch of my skin prickle with awareness.
When he slides his finger into my mouth, I close my lips around it, sucking gently. A soft moan escapes me, no words left anywhere in my head, and he pushes deeper, testing. I take it, relaxing my throat, showing him what I can do, and something flickers in his expression.
Approval. Hunger.
He pulls it free, wet and glistening, and traces it down my chin, my throat, leaving a damp trail on my skin that makes me shiver.
Then he steps back and reaches for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion and dropping it to the floor. God, he's beautiful.
Broad shoulders, a chest defined with muscle, scattered with hair that trails down his stomach and disappears beneath his waistband. Abs that flex and tighten as he moves. Arms that I know can lift me effortlessly, can pin me down, and can hold me so gently I feel like the most precious thing in the world.
I want to touch him so badly my fingers are actually trembling.
The rest of his clothes come off unhurried, like we have all the time in the world, like he isn't fully aware of what the waiting is doing to me. He is. I can see it in the curve of his mouth.
"Patience, sweetheart," he says, low. "Tonight we go at my pace. And I intend to take my time with you. Would you like that?"
"Yes," I whisper. "God, yes. I want that. I want everything you want to give me."
Reaching down, he cups my face in both hands, tilting it up toward him. The gesture is surprisingly gentle after the commanding words, and it makes tears prick unexpectedly at my eyes.
He's so tender with me, even now. Even when he's ordering me around. Underneath it all, he's still taking care of me.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Look at that pretty pussy on my bare floor. Are you wet already, sweetheart?"
"Yes," I manage, my voice shaky. "All for you. Only for you."
"That's right." He reaches down and strokes my cheek. "You're mine. That perfect little pussy. These perfect tits." His hand comes down to cup my breast, squeezing gently. "Every inch of this body belongs to me. Say it."
"Every inch belongs to you," I gasp as he rolls my nipple between his fingers. "I'm yours, Cillian. All of me."
"And I'm going to take such good care of what's mine." He pinches my nipple, making me cry out. "But first, I want you to see what you do to me. I want you to see how crazy you make me."
His hands move to his zipper, and I watch with rapt attention, my mouth watering, as he works it down. His cock springs free, thick and hard with a bead of moisture glistening at the swollen head.
I've had him inside me so many times now, but the sight of him still makes my breath catch, still makes me wonder how I ever take all of him.
He wraps his hand around himself and strokes slowly, lazily, letting me watch. His thumb swipes over the head, spreading the moisture there, and I make a sound in the back of my throat.
"You want this, sweetheart?" He strokes himself again, his eyes locked on mine. "You want my cock?"
"Yes." The word comes out broken, desperate, barelyrecognizable as my own voice. "Please. I want it so badly. I need it. Please let me taste you."
"Then open your mouth," he orders, stepping closer until I can feel the heat radiating off his body, until his cock is inches from my face.
I open my mouth obediently and he groans at the sight. He guides himself forward, rubbing the head of his cock along my lower lip, smearing the moisture there, painting my lips with his pre-come. The taste of him bursts across my tongue—salt and musk and something essentially him—and I moan.
"So eager," he murmurs, watching his cock slide back and forth across my lips. "Such a hungry little mouth. You want to suck my cock, sweetheart? You want me to fuck this pretty throat?"
"Please," I beg against his flesh, my tongue darting out to lick at him. "Please let me. I need it. I need to taste you."
He pushes forward in one smooth motion, sliding past my lips, over my tongue, filling my mouth with the thick heat of him. I moan around his length, the sound vibrating through both of us, and his hips jerk.
"Fuck." The word comes out strangled, wrecked. "Your mouth, Margot. So fucking hot and wet. Like you were made to suck my cock." His hand comes down to cup the back of my head and holds me how he wants me. "Take more. Show me how deep you can go. Show me what a good girl you are."
