High Stakes (High Stakes #1) by Lory Wendy

Author:Lory Wendy [Wendy, Lory]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Goodreads: 39888841
Published: 2018-07-04T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Our mouths meet and touch, mold and move against each other’s.

Lips and teeth nip and suck.

He rolls over to reposition us. I’m on my back; he’s resting in between my thighs.

The wine tastes sweeter on him than it ever could from the bottle. I can’t stop from wrapping my lips around his tongue, sucking softly on his bottom lip, and pulling the flesh away from him, biting, then giving him soft licks and kisses to lessen any possible stings.

Thick fingers slip down my panties, and Julian leans back slowly, locking eyes with me. “Why are you so wet?” He smirks. “Were you thinking about it?"

“I've been thinking about this since the first time I saw you.”

“Oh, yeah?” He brings his mouth back to mine, leaning us both to the side. My head hits the arm of the couch, and while his hands continue their assault on me, his tongue works over the flesh at my neck.

“You know what I keep thinking about?” he murmurs against my skin, sliding his fingers up and down, up and down, moving the drenched fabric to the side. Soft, yet rough hands come in contact with wet skin, and he continues speaking, completely unfazed by my arching back, my moans, and my pants. “The night at Armand’s and the way you were moving. The look you were giving me. Actually, no…”

“Oh God.” I gasp when I feel a finger prodding, twisting and pushing inside of me.

“The night I first met you, I came home and couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop thinking about this.”

He hovers over me, with one arm over the back of the chair. Barely coherent, I manage to gather enough wits about me to realize he’s doing this to anchor himself—gain more control.

“I wasn’t sure if…” He leans forward, and because of the way my legs are thrown over his hips, they open wider in response. His belt buckle digs into my side, almost uncomfortably so, but it’s so whatever at this point. It’s a welcome discomfort.

He doesn’t finish what he was going to say, and I don’t push him to.

Like magnets, our mouths find their way back to each other. A push and pull happens. I’m trying to lean up and hold on to his shoulders with one hand while reaching for his dick with the other hand.

Meanwhile, he’s trying to lay us down and focus solely on me.

In the end, he wins out as I sag against the couch. My legs wide, my mouth agape in a silent scream, letting him work me over with his magical fingers. I’m a squirming mess, moving along with him as if I’m attached to a string and he’s the puppetmaster. When one finger becomes two, then he tries for three, I stiffen and dig my nails into his shoulder.

“Like that,” I plead, then I’m instantly quiet again. It’s good; so good there are no words. So I don’t offer them. My mouth stays open wide, little noises escaping. I’m close, so close, but then .

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