shut off the alarm that was about to go off at any second. Instead of getting up, like he should have, he set the phone back on the bedside table and whisked his pajama bottoms down below his balls, freeing his swollen cock from the material. He pulled Francesca closer, flexing his hips and burrowing his cock deeper in the sweet, warm cleft between her ass cheeks. God, it felt good, he thought as he pushed the thick column of his erection even deeper, sandwiching himself between her buttocks. The sexual excitement that had built in him as he held her naked body all night—that had been building ever since he’d exploded in climax at the St. Germain—swelled high and strong. He held her hip steady and flexed his hips, snarling at the pleasure that tore through him as his cock burrowed once more between the satiny-smooth, firm globes.
He became aware that she rustled next to him. He heard her gasp and softly say his name, but he was so caught up in the unexpected deliciousness of the early morning sexual spell she’d cast upon him, all he could do was thrust and grunt and take his pleasure. His cock felt huge and tight, exquisitely sensitive as he drug it back forth between the warm, snug crack of her ass. She tried to reach around to touch him, but he caught her hand and placed it next to her belly, holding it there as he continued his mad humping of her sweet bottom.
Since when could he become so sexually frantic just from the feeling of a woman’s ass?
“Give me a moment,” he said harshly, continuing to stroke her rapidly. “It’s not going to take much more.”
Sure enough, he broke in climax just a few thrusts later. He ground his teeth together and watched himself come onto her lower back and the upper curve of her right ass cheek.
Jesus, what she does to me,
he thought as he tensed and ejaculated, tensed and ejaculated, wondering wildly if the shuddering pleasure would ever end. He slumped over her, breathing heavily. She whimpered when he leaned back to grab some tissues, and he dried his abundant emissions from her skin.
He glanced up and did a double take. She’d turned her head on the pillow. Her cheeks were a brilliant pink, her lips flushed red. He tossed aside the wet tissues and leaned over her.
“Did that arouse you?” he asked, kissing her lips softly. “Letting me use your body for my pleasure?”
“Yes,” she said next to his lips.
“Just for that, you get to come, too, lovely,” he said.
He slid his fingers between her clenched thighs and found her delightfully creamy. She gasped, turning her head away from him, pressing her cheek to the pillow. He smiled as he slid his finger between her labia and diddled her clit.
“I want to be able to come inside you, Francesca. All over you,” he murmured, leaning over, breathing next to her ear. “Wouldn’t you like that, too?”
“Oh, yes.”
“You’re going to have to go on birth control, then.”
“Yes,” she soughed as he rubbed her gently . . . firmly.
Persuasively.
He watched her profile closely as he stimulated her, fascinated by the flutter in her delicate eyelids and the deepening of color in her cheeks. Her parted lips beckoned him.
“I’m going to restrain you later,” he murmured. “And teach you how to please me even more than you already do. Will you like that?”
“Yes,” she said, her trembling lips killing him. He plucked at them as he rubbed her clit harder. She bobbed her hips against him, and he gave her what she needed, moving his entire arm as he stroked her forcefully. “I
want
to please you, Ian.”
“You do,” he growled, kissing her roughly, abusing her lush mouth a little. A lot. “And you will.”
She cried out and quaked against him. He nursed her through her climax, excitement and anticipation mounting in his body as he thought about coming to the suite later and finding her there, ready to submit to his desire . . . to her own.
He kissed her neck while she quieted, occasionally
Gene Wentz, B. Abell Jurus