Page 36 of The Killer Card

Reaching down, I try to find some kind of relief, but a sharp command stills my movements, “No.”

I don’t dare look at her, but when her hand comes into view, I take it. She places my palm roughly on the cushion next to her hip. Then she sets her wine glass aside and takes hold of my other hand placing it on her other side.

“You’ll keep your hands here,” she orders. “Nod that you understand.” I nod. “Good boy. Now get to work.”

I do as I’m told. After all, that’s what I’m best at.

Running my tongue up the length of her inner thigh, I chance a glance up to find her once against watching the stage. Her muscles ripple beneath my mouth, but she gives no other indication that the action brings her pleasure. I resist the urge to bite her knowing that won’t do me any favors right now- save it for later, Graham- and find my way beneath the lavender tulle of her skirt.

The first pass of my tongue nearly finishes me off. She tastes better than I ever imagined and for a second I almost black out before I remember I’ve been challenged to something requiring my particular expertise. I will make this woman come or die trying.

What a perfect way to die though.

I begin eating her in earnest, thrusting my tongue into her heat deeply, taking her in long, languid strokes that make her legs tremble. I can no longer see her face, but when I suck her clit for the first time I hear her breath hitch. It’s slight, not enough to make me think I’ve got her in my clutches, but enough to tell me she enjoyed it. And that it surprised her.

Instead of continuing the suction I pull back, just a little, tracing dirty Spanish words into her bud with purposeful strokes. Her hips begin to squirm, and I resist the desire to disobey her and bury my fingers in her flesh.

My own hips rock in time with hers, seeking friction and finding nothing but air. Not that it matters. I can already tell that with her, touch will not be something I need. I might beg for it, but it will never be a necessity.

I finish tracing my name into her clit and suck her between my lips again. A gasp escapes her at the same moment her hand finds the back of my head. Her fingers dig deep, pulling at the strands until I’m groaning into her cunt. The rumble makes her moan.

Firming my strokes, I circle her clit slowly, then quickly, testing what makes her muscles quiver against my cheeks more. Slow does it for her every time and I listen to her body’s response like a siren song. Her grip tightens in my hair as I draw her toward an edge she never anticipated, holding me so firmly against her cunt my face might end up impressed against the skin of her thighs. Pressure is boiling down my spine, a pleasure I need to resist until the very last second.

When her hips stop thrusting and her legs won’t stop quaking, I return the suction to her clit and take just the tiniest, most tentative bite.

Her moans, like so many others, echo in chorus to the woman on stage, a cry of the most intense pleasure as she explodes on my tongue. I follow her instantly over the edge, the sound and taste of her arousal all too much. Like a fucking teenager I come in my pants so hard I see stars, but I don’t stop licking her until she forces my face from between her legs with a sharp tug at my hair.

Her breathing is ragged, eyes blown wide, as she takes in my haggard appearance. My face is drenched, her scent and taste trapped in my trim beard.

“Te lo dije, vale,” I lick my lips slowly, grinning like the fucking devil that I am. “If you want it, I’ll make it happen, mi reina. Por ti, lo que sea.”

Her breasts rise and fall with every shallow intake she can manage. “Take me back to your place,” she breathes. “Right. Now.”

Chapter Eleven

Naomi

My back hits the door the second it closes, the click of it devoured by the moan that erupts out of the chasm of my soul.

Graham’s lips are everywhere and nowhere all at once. I feel the absence of them in every place our clothes meet, the trails he leaves behind going cold in his wake. The ghost of his attention still lives between my thighs and I need more. I need everything.

Shoving his jacket from his shoulders, I start unbuttoning his shirt as fast as my fingers will allow. He loses a few buttons but fuck it. I’ll buy him a new one. Once it’s off- nothing but my legs around his hips holding me to the wall as he throws it to the floor- I groan at the feel of a t-shirt still separating my hands from the warmth of his skin.

“How many- Fuck yes—” I moan as his teeth attach and his lips suck at my neck, his tongue alleviating any hint of pain. “How many fucking layers are you wearing?”

He releases my throat to murmur, “Just this last one,” and then he rips his t-shirt open down the front, giving me access to his sun-kissed, absurdly thick chest.

Jesus fucking Christ, when you built this man you were at the top of your fucking game.

How I managed to resist him for as long as I did is beyond me. Months of just talking and flirting and hardly any touching except when our fingers brushed accidentally. Obviously I was possessed by a Puritan spirit because I see no other reason I had the faculties not to command this man to break my fucking back. I want him so bad it physically hurts. I want his hands. I want his mouth. I want his cock—

“Tell me what you want, mi reina,” he begs in that simpering, submissive tone he’s seemingly perfected. I won’t imagine how many have fallen for that voice, male or female. All I care about is that he’s using it with me now. He wants me to tell him how to touch me, kiss me, please me, fuck me.

“Get on your knees,” I order and he immediately sets my feet back on the floor. He does as I ask and I grab hold of his tie, yanking his head up to look me in the eye. “Do that thing with your tongue again.”

Graham grins, “Yes, mi reina.”

Dropping his tie, I shuck up my skirt so fast a low chuckle escapes his throat. He lifts his hands, pausing before he reaches for me, a question in his eyes. Nodding, I tell him, “Yes, Graham, you can touch me.”