Page 66 of Haunt the Mall
I giggled breathlessly and steadied myself on his shoulders. It wasn’t too often my ass was out like this.
He pulled my hips toward him and nipped my upper thigh.
Gasping, I sank my nails into his shoulders. Was that a punishment for laughing? His sucking kiss to the same spot as his bite submerged me back in the mood.
My eyelashes fluttered as blood rushed south. “Victor…”
Pushing my dress up, he hooked my leg over his shoulder. His eyes glimmered as he trailed kisses up my thigh. Teasing. Wanting. He caressed each inch of flesh on his way to the pooling desire between my legs. Then, he paused.
My knees wobbled with anticipation.
What was he waiting for? My permission?
I stroked his bangs away from his eyes. What an intuitive, beautiful man. He could bite me any day and I’d thank him for it later.
His breath misted across my skin.
“Go ahead,” I whispered, my heartbeat pounding between my legs.
He kissed my pussy, then licked his lips, savoring it.
I shivered and sank into his embrace.
Each flick of his tongue tortured me with pleasure. He suckled my need, feeding on the desire he’d been stoking all evening.
How long had he hungered for this? For me?
Just thinking about him lusting sent me spiraling into depraved fantasies. In one, Victor drenched my tits in melted butter and squeezed them until I screamed. In another, he bent me over the theater wall, then railed me until my legs gave out. Hell, I could imagine him attaching clamps to my tits and clit, tugging any time I paid attention to a movie instead of him. It was so fucked up. Somehow, he sensed I needed to dance on that knife-edge of risk. After all this, I trusted him not to cut me with it.
I groaned and spread my legs, my pussy quivering in bloom under the attention of his devilish tongue. He stroked my entrance with his fingers, then thrust inside. Oh, god, I loved having him inside me. Thrusting, spreading…feeling. My inner walls clamped down, loving him to the bone. I was hungry for pressure, for more of him, all of him.
He moaned and kissed my clit, the reverberations shaking my core. “You’re so fucking wet,” he said.
Hell yes, I was. I struggled to relax, but after a few gentle thrusts, my body relinquished its death grip.
His two fingers made way for another. They slid down to the knuckles. I was so ready he could’ve fit his fist in me with a delicious, fluid stretch.
“Oh, Victor,” I breathed, raking my hands through his hair. He was inside of me, and yet still not close enough.
The more he pumped and licked, the more my mind frayed at the edges. Every nerve ending canted to his tantalizing rhythm. He worshiped my clit and conducted sermons between my legs, my broken moans serving as a vulgar amen.
He crooked his fingers and beckoned me closer to the edge.
My legs trembled. But if I let go, I worried I’d crush his shoulder with the weight of my orgasm.
“Victor,” I hissed, grinding on his face despite scrambling to hold myself up. “I can’t.”
Not like this. I’d collapse.
He took my doubt as a challenge. My man surged forward with newfound enthusiasm as if he could eat me out into the next dimension. In some ways, he did.
Gone were the languorous strokes and teasing flicks. My Spider-Man relentlessly stoked my senses. He sucked my clit and tapped that ridged spot inside of me so fast my brain shut off in white-hot pleasure. I keened and cried out, curling over his body. My shoulders slammed into the door. It was too much. It was perfect. The divine ecstasy of an orgasm pulsed through my veins and crowed from my lungs. It leaked out my eyelids. Wetness clawed at my cheeks. I clung to him, shattering. My mind was a million beautiful pieces we could put back together.
Once I wilted, he eased from between my legs and stood. His chin glistened beneath a slightly feral smile. Without his shoulder propping me up, I swayed, still woozy from orgasm.
He helped me upright. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” I said, slurring with pleasure. His forearms were so sexy. So flex-y. I played with the edges of his cuffed sleeves.