Page 73 of Offensive Plays
I take him faster and faster until he yanks me off his cock and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me up to him.
“Let me taste,” he growls out. I open my mouth for him and his tongue invades every part of my mouth.
“Mmm,” he groans. “My turn.”
He spins me so that I’m facing the city. And he walks in front of me, pushing me toward the wall until we hit it, before he drops to one knee.
“Put your leg over my shoulder, Libby.”
I do and he kisses the inside of my knee, dragging his teeth over my thigh until he reaches my core. He takes in a deep breath and inhales.
“I will never get over how sweet you smell,” he says, his breath heating me up there.
He looks up at me and holds my gaze as his tongue slips between my thighs and works in perfect circles.
My eyes shut as I get pulled into the feeling of his tongue claiming me again. And I’ll never get over how eager this man is to eat me up.
He hums when I roll my head back. “Look at me when I’m fucking you, Libby,” he growls.
My eyes shoot open and I see his feral blue eyes burning with desire. I can’t watch.
“Watch me when I worship you and taste you, Libby.”
I physically can’t handle it. He’s about to make the pleasure rip through me. I’ve never held eye contact with a man like this.
But I do as he says, gasping when he slips two fingers inside me and starts pumping at the same time his tongue assaults my clit.
“I can’t… I can’t take it,” I breathe out.
“You need to, Libby,” he whispers against my flesh. “Because I won’t fuck you with my cock until I feel you writhing against my face.”
Those words are the kiss of death for any composure I have left.
I grab the back of his head and hold him against me as his fingers and tongue work together to draw out my moans.
When I can finally breathe, I look down at him. And he’s shaking his head.
“You closed your eyes, butterfly.”
“What?” I breathe out.
“Now, I’ll have to punish you,” he growls out as he stands up in front of me.
Punish? God, yes. I want whatever punishment he can dole out.
He goes to the closet that contains his luggage and takes out red rope.
“What’s that for?” I ask, a little too breathy.
He smirks as he unties it and shows me the two separate ropes. “Sit on the bed, butterfly.”
My heart is beating in my throat. Because as kinky as I am, I had no idea that Michael Ferguson could keep up.
He steps up to me and I look up at him playing with one of the ropes in his hand. The other he lays out next to me.
“Show me your wrists, pretty girl.”
I hold my wrists out to him, like I’m being arrested. “I know you don’t know the rules yet. And that’s okay. I’m just going to tell you. In my bedroom—you do as I say.”