Faking It / Forbidden Sins. Stefanie London
not very good at following instructions.” I pick up the fork and press the spiked end into his thigh—not enough to hurt, but certainly enough to elicit a response. His erection twitches and his hands ball by his sides. “How is your sense of touch?”
“Heightened.” His voice is wire-tight.
I trail the fork over his chest, letting the metal scrape lightly against his skin. I imagine the contrast feels good—a little pain, followed by something softer. I press my lips to his neck, breathing in the faded scent of cologne on his skin. Sucking so the blood rises to the surface.
The soft imprint of lipstick fills me with a sense of warm possessiveness—like I’ve claimed him. Marked him.
“If you want this to last more than five fucking seconds, you’re going about it all wrong, Hannah.” He speaks softly, the growling sound like a fine blade along my nerve endings, making my body sing. “I’m breaking character to tell you that.”
“We’re almost there,” I purr, emboldened by the effect I’m having on him.
I’m not quite done toying with him. I step back and watch him for a moment, let my eyes have their fill. Then I bring my hands to the zipper that runs down the side of my body, keeping my dress in place. I drag it down slowly, letting the sound slice through the air. Then I shed the garment, making a show of dropping it to the ground.
“What can you hear?” I ask him.
“Are you…?” His hand twitches, as if he’s going to touch himself again but I make an uh-uh sound. “Are you undressed?”
“Almost.”
I’m in lacy underwear, heels and no bra. But I hook my fingers under my waistband and drag the black silk and lace down over my hips. I step out of the underwear and dangle it from one finger. Then I move closer to him, draping the silk over his swollen cock. I drag it up his length, wrap it around him and rub the silk over his skin.
“Hannah,” he growls.
“Annabel,” I correct him as I pull the underwear back and whip it across his stomach. His body jerks and his nostrils flare, but not from pain. Oh no, it’s all pleasure now.
“Annabel. Is that…?”
“Yes.”
He stifles a groan. “I want to touch you.”
“Not yet.”
I toss my underwear onto the floor and slowly sink to my knees. The water glass beckons and I take a big mouthful, relishing the slide of the cold liquid down my throat. But the water isn’t intended solely for hydration.
I take another big gulp and set the glass down. I saw the tip once in Cosmo, to drink cold water or suck on ice cubes before giving head. The sensation is supposed to be amazing for the guy. It was one of those cheesy articles: Ten Ways to Pleasure Your Man that I used to laugh at with my girlfriends back when I thought blow jobs were all about the guy.
But right now, I want nothing more than to take Owen into my mouth and suck him until he forgets why he ever said no to me. Until he understands the giddy, lust-fuelled attraction that turns my brain to jelly.
I don’t want to be the only one feeling this way.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his hands reaching forward to see if I’m there.
I brace one palm flat against his stomach and lower my mouth to the tip of his cock. It’s beaded with pearly liquid, and I wrap my lips around him.
“Fucking hell.” His fingers drive through my hair, flexing against my scalp in a way that mixes the sharp snap of pain with a whole lot of pleasure.
He’s hot and pulsing on my tongue—tastes and smells earthy in a way that’s one-hundred-percent masculine. Yeah, this isn’t just for him.
“That…” He grunts. I release him for a second and look up, catching the way his head lolls back as I continue to work him with my hand. “Christ, that feels good.”
I lower my head down again and relish in the power cursing through my veins. I’ve never felt like this during sex. Never felt like I could bring a man to his knees. But the sounds coming from his mouth tell me all I need to know—for now, for this moment, I’m in charge.
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