Quade's Babies - Brenda Jackson [11]
Quade was the first man she had been intimate with in four years. It hadn’t been a conscious effort on her part to abstain. Things had just worked out that way.
But this was different. She had been intensely attracted to him from the first, so intensely attracted that she could see herself making love with him right there on the beach if he had wanted it that way.
Suddenly he pulled back, removed his hand from inside her and she felt an immediate sense of loss. She met his gaze, stared as deeply into his eyes as he was staring into hers and watched as he inserted the finger that had been inside of her into his mouth, licking it like it was a lollipop of his favorite flavor, and letting her know how much he was savoring her taste. Seeing what he was doing made the muscles between her legs clench, stroked her desires into a feverish heat.
He stood and she felt herself being lifted into his arms and placed on the bed. He leaned over and caught his hand in the waistband of her thong and then slowly eased it down her legs. Instead of tossing them aside he brought the thong to his nose and inhaled deeply, as if needed to know her intimate scent. She was at a loss to do anything, but stare at him.
And while she lay there naked, her entire body exposed before his eyes, for his pleasure, he moved his hand upward from the bottom of her feet, then pausing at her center, zeroing in on her feminine mound as if the sight of it fascinated him. Her breath caught when he began stroking between her legs before sliding another finger inside her again, testing her wetness, making her moan out loud.
“Quade.” She said his name, a deep moan from her mouth. “I need you.” And at that point she did. Every cell in her body was vibrating with that need.
“I’m going to take care of you, I promise,” he said while he continued to stroke her, building tension inside her. “But if I don’t taste you now I’m going to go mad.”
She caught her breath, almost held it when he slid down on the bed and placed a warm kiss on her stomach before arranging her legs over his shoulder, bringing him face-to-face with her feminine mound. He was so close she could feel his heated breath on the swollen lips of her femininity. She closed her eyes and let out a deep groan the moment she felt his heated tongue on her flesh, and then he pushed that tongue deeper inside her and began moving it around in firm, hard strokes, then pushing in deeper, withdrawing then inserting it back in deeper and deeper again, over and over.
She soon discovered he was methodical and intense with his kisses no matter where he placed them. Holding tight to her hips with his mouth locked on her, he was using his tongue in ways she didn’t know it could be used, taking it places she hadn’t known it could go and giving her the most intimate French kiss possible while greedily feasting on her.
She screamed when a climax hit with the intensity of a train derailment. She felt her body break into tiny pieces filling her with a degree of pleasure she had never felt in her life.
She felt him leave her momentarily, watched through a heated gaze as he reached into the pocket of his jeans to pull out a condom. She watched him sheath himself before rejoining her on the bed and settling between her trembling thighs where the aftershock of a gigantic orgasm still lingered.
He leaned down and kissed her and she could taste the essence of herself on his lips, and then she felt him, the head of his hard and thick manhood pressing at her wet center. She craved the contact, was almost desperate for the connection, and was consumed with an abundance of heat that was generated by his desire of her and hers for him. He was building a need within her, one that made her feminine core throb. And as if he felt her need, he pulled back from the kiss, met her gaze to see her expression and reaction when he slowly began entering her.
Their gazes continued to hold, stayed connected