Seven Nights of Sin - Lacey Alexander [39]
Was she? Or was this partly an act? “When I want to be,” she said. But the real answer, she decided, was: When I’m with you.
“Is your pussy wet?”
She nodded.
“Did it get your finger wet?”
She nodded again—then took a few steps forward, her heels clicking across the tile, and leaned down to slip her fingertip into his mouth.
They both moaned as his lips closed around it, and she felt his tongue, then the slight, suckling pull—felt him really tasting her. The sensation spiraled straight to the spot that was getting more drenched with each passing second.
When finally he released her finger, he said, “Now take off your panties. Show me that pretty little cunt.”
No longer shy about the raw unveiling of her body in the bright glow of the bathroom’s lights, Brenna faced away from him, eased her thumbs into the elastic at her hips, and smoothly peeled the thong down until it dropped to her ankles. Stepping free of it, she turned back around, naked.
Just as from the start of this little striptease, Damon wasn’t shy about planting his gaze right where his interest lay—and at the moment, he studied her crotch. His eyes seemed to physically burn into her flesh, and just like every time she’d seen him since arriving in Las Vegas, he had a way of making her pussy feel like the greatest part of her, the part that dominated every action, every thought. And as much as she liked letting him look at her, she also wanted him inside her.
“Shoes now?” she asked. She wanted to get in the tub with him. She wanted to ride him, hard.
He gave a slight nod—yet when she bent to remove one, he said, “But not like that.”
She looked up, confused.
“Sit on the edge of the tub.” He pointed toward the opposite end, by the faucet.
When she followed the instruction, unsure of his plan, he said, “Give me your right foot.”
Mmm. He was going to take off her shoes. Why was that sexy as hell?
Careful not to lose her balance, Brenna held her foot out to him. Damon set his wineglass aside and, for the first time, she noticed a second one on the tile enclosure for her. With one masculine hand, he cupped the back of her ankle; with the other, he grazed his knuckles lightly down her inner calf. She shuddered at the pleasure darting upward but kept watching him, not wanting to miss a thing.
Studying her foot, he ran cool fingertips over the thin red leather strap at her ankle, then overtop more criss-crossing leather before skimming his touch onto her toes, where the nails were painted to match her heels.
Then, oh-so-slowly, he undid the ankle strap and smoothly removed the shoe. She pulled her foot back as he set the sandal next to the wineglasses and prepared to offer him the other foot—but the angle would make the position more difficult to achieve without falling.
Damon tuned in to her quandary. “Bend your right knee and rest your right foot on the back edge of the tub.”
She did so. And realized the move spread her legs and put her pussy fully on display. Their eyes met, acknowledging it, just before Damon’s gaze dropped. “Do you know what my favorite color is?” he asked.
Huh? They were going to do the favorite-color, favorite-ice-cream-flavor thing now? “Uh, no. What?”
He studied the flesh between her thighs, unabashedly. “Pink.”
Her own gaze dropped to see that, in this position, indeed her slit had parted and the pink creases of her cunt were clearly visible. Raw heat consumed her. “Oh.”
“Other shoe,” he said, and when she looked back to him, he wore a wicked little grin, having caught her looking at herself.
Carefully, she offered her left foot and absorbed the pleasure as Damon repeated the same motions as before, caressing her skin, gliding his fingertips over both shoe and skin, before finally removing the strappy, high-heeled sandal. This time, when the shoe was gone, he didn’t release her foot until he’d kissed the top of it, creating a tingling sensation that scurried all through her.
“Can I come into the tub now?” she asked.
He arched one arrogant brow. “Why do you want in the tub so bad?”
The playful