Nauti Nights (Nauti #2)

Nauti Nights (Nauti #2) Page 12

Crista took him into her mouth again, holding his gaze, sucking him deep and hard as she remembered, licking the underside and feeling her own edge of ecstasy twisting inside her at the pleasure she was bringing him.

She knew better than this, better than to allow herself to be affected by his pleasure. But she couldn’t help it now any more than she could have done anything to stop it eight years before.

She loved giving Dawg pleasure. She loved watching his expression tense as he fought for control, how his body tensed and a sheen of sweat slicked his muscles.

Her mouth moved on his cock, taking as much as possible, holding it deep and then retreating to suckle at the head with loving greed. She moaned at the taste of pre-cum that whispered over her taste buds and teased more to her hungry mouth as his hands tightened in her hair.

Fingers tugged at the long strands, pulled it forward, drew it over his taut abdomen, and a whispered male groan filled her ears.

“Ah, Crista. So sweet and good.” His voice was low and tight with lust. “Perfect, sweet mouth.”

She tongued the underside of his cock, licked and probed and gloried at the shudder that traveled through his heavily muscled body.

She wasn’t as hesitant as she had been eight years ago. She knew what he liked then, what he still liked now, and she applied the lessons he had given her through the long, dark hours on an unforgettable summer night. Lessons she had dreamed of, fantasized about using on him once again.

“Crista, sweetheart.” Dawg could feel the sweat building on his flesh, the heat rushing through his body.

His head fell to the back of the couch, his eyes closed, and memory slammed into him.

Innocent brown eyes staring at him from the same spot where she knelt now. She had helped him into the houseboat and then to the couch, and there he had pulled her to his lap, kissed her, caressed her, and teasingly convinced her to go down on him.

“Suck my dick, baby,” he whispered now as he had whispered then. “God, your mouth is killing me.”

She had been more shy then. Hesitant. A bit of fear in her wide eyes, but mixed with that fear had been immeasurable excitement.

He forced his head up, his eyes to open, and he stared at her now. Not that much had changed.

She was still shy, a little afraid, but the hesitancy was gone. And the pleasure was starker, clearer.

The sight of that pleasure nearly destroyed his control. That coupled with the heat of her sucking mouth, the tempting touch of her fingers on his shaft and his balls, and her moan, and Dawg knew his control wouldn’t last much longer.

“Sweet mercy,” he groaned, arching, driving his cock deeper in her mouth as she began to lengthen and quicken her suckling strokes. “You’re destroying me, Crista.”

He hadn’t expected this. He had expected a fight. Hell, he halfway wanted a fight. Anything to give him an excuse to escape the hunger that dug into his guts like a dull knife.

There was no escaping it with Crista’s hot mouth wrapped around his dick, though. No escaping the pleasure or the pain. Each time he stared down at her, past and present merged. What he had believed were dreams swirled alongside reality.

His chest clenched at the sight of her, emotions held so closely in check for most of his life swirling inside him, confusing him, multiplying the pleasure until he was pulling at her hair, his hips lifting to her, his cock flexing, tensing.

“Crista. Sweetheart.” He could barely breathe. Sensation tore through, wrenching at his muscles and stealing his control. “Ah God. I’m gonna come, baby.”

He couldn’t stand it. His balls were so tight they were torturous, the seed boiling in them, building, breaking down the walls of his restraint as easily as a hammer against sandstone.

Crista’s lips, mouth, and tongue were destroying him. Giving more pleasure than he had ever known. How could it be so good? How could one woman, one sweet, shy little mouth rip his control to shreds?

“Ah, God. Crista.” His voice was rasping, guttural. “I can’t hold back. Ease up.”

She didn’t ease up. Her mouth was hungrier, her moans hotter, her fingers…hot, wicked fingers playing with his balls while the fingers of her other hand stroked his shaft. Her mouth sucked, her tongue licked, her teeth scraped with delicate greed, and an edge of fire ripped through his balls and tore the choice from him.

The first explosive spurt of semen had a strangled cry tearing from his throat. His body tightened to breaking point, his hands gripping her hair, holding her in place. Praying…“Oh hell. Tongue it. Suck it.

Fuck. Yes.”

His head slammed back to the cushions, and light exploded in front of his eyes as pleasure became a fiery, torturous ecstasy unlike anything he had experienced in his life.

He filled her mouth. Forced her to take his release. Held her head in place and nearly writhed with the sensations burning and twisting through his body. His hips lifted from the couch, and her hungry moans rippled over his cock until finally, blessedly, the hot fingers of electricity eased from his spine, and he slumped back to his seat, fighting just to breathe.

Dawg forced himself to release his fingers from Crista’s hair, and despite the shame that raged through him, he made himself stare down at her.

Shock wound through his consciousness at the sight of her. A temptress’s smile curved her plump, swollen lips as she licked down the shaft of his cock in soothing motions, easing the sharp, heavy contractions in the still-hard flesh. Her eyes were nearly black with her own arousal, her cheeks stained with a flush of lust and shyness.

“Come here.” He caught her arms as she moved to distance herself, ignored the flash of hesitancy in her expression, and lifted her to him before bearing her back on the cushions.

Moving over her, Dawg didn’t give her time to argue or to protest. His lips covered hers, and for once, his distaste at kissing a woman who had just consumed his seed was absent.

He needed her kiss. The sweetness of her response. Her arms twining around his shoulders and her body softening beneath his.

Her lips parted for him with a gasp, and he nipped at the swollen lower curve before sinking into another, different whirlpool of arousal.

The past few years, sex had been rare. Even the desire for it had been rare. But now, as though fighting to make up for lost time, his body went into overdrive. His cock thickened back to full strength, and the need began to whip through his system once more.

Because of Crista. Because there was something about her that made him hungry. Hell, made him ravenous for the taste of her. For her touch, her breathy little moans and the kisses that burned through his soul.

He tore his lips from hers a second later, turned to her jaw, nipped and licked, kissing his way down the graceful arch.

“Dawg. Wait,” she gasped, her voice thick with arousal.

He could hear the hunger in her tone, feel it in the heated silk of her flesh. His hand flattened on her upper stomach, slid down, his fingers gripping the metal button of her jeans.

“Wait for what?” Damn, he was nearly shaking. Every cell in his body was in a frenzy of need to mate. To fuck. If he didn’t bury inside her, he was going to go crazy.

“Dawg, please.” Was it a protest or need?

His hand flattened on her abdomen, beneath the loose material of her jeans, and felt the muscles there flexing, spasming.

He needed her. Sweet heaven, her womb was clenching for release; her pussy would ripple and contract around him. It would hug him like a hot little fist and welcome him more eagerly than her mouth.

His lips moved to the swollen, flushed mounds of her breasts above the lace of her bra then. Her nipples were hard and pointed beneath. With his free hand, he drew the material over the flushed mound and stared in rapt attention a second before the overriding need to taste her had his head lowering.

Dawg groaned at the feel of her nipple against his tongue, the taste. The acceptance she allowed when his lips closed over one hungrily.

She jerked as though jolted with a hard surge of electricity. Her nipple tightened further, fit perfectly against his tongue, and drew him into a heated intimacy he had never known before.

He had never known, never understood how intimate this act could be. How it could feed his arousal, feed that deep, uncharted core of emotion he kept trapped in his soul.

It wasn’t trapped any longer. It spilled from inside him, filling him with blistering pleasure and acceptance. She was accepting him. Giving to him. Letting him inside her soul as he drew the tender bud farther into his mouth.

He drew on the hard, silky flesh, lashed it with his tongue, and felt his own body tighten in pleasure as her thin, sensual wail filled his ears.

Her fingers pulled at his hair, her nails kneaded his scalp, sending tiny pinpoints of fiery pleasure to erupt through his head before it exploded straight to his dick.

Dawg lifted his head, tore his T-shirt from his shoulders, and stared down at her for a long, intense moment.

As her lashes lifted, he watched the pleasure rising inside her, the hunger and needs, and keeping a rein on his own was almost impossible.

“Now,” he growled. “I need you now.”

Crista stared up at Dawg as his fingers hooked in the loosened waist of her jeans and began to draw them, along with the thong she wore beneath, slowly over her hips.

Naked, aroused, his eyes glowing with unsuppressed hunger and raging need, he looked like a vanquishing conqueror. All the warriors and warlords that the best romances wrote about.

But this wasn’t a story. It wasn’t a book, and it wasn’t fiction. It was the man blackmailing her into his bed and stealing her soul with his touch.

“Dawg.” Trembling fingers slid over his shoulders as she tried to force strength into her arms to push him away, to push herself away from the temptation.

“I dreamed of you, Crista.” The material slid over her thighs as he drew back. “I dreamed of your kiss, your taste. I dreamed of every wicked fantasy a man could have about his woman for eight years.”

His voice strengthened as he tossed the jeans and panties to the floor, and his eyes sharpened with angry desire. “Eight years, damn you. One fucking night, and you didn’t give me a chance to make up for it.

You didn’t give me a chance to prove you’re fucking mine!”

The snarl that drew his lips back held her mesmerized. Possessive, dominant. His eyes slid over her naked body, heating her insides and sending her juices spilling between her thighs.

Crista felt her head shaking, felt the denial born of a sudden knowledge that Dawg wasn’t what she expected. This wasn’t going to be an affair she could walk away from. Dawg wasn’t a man she could watch walk out of her life a second time and survive it.

“Yes, damn you,” he cursed, calloused hands pressing her legs apart as he slid deftly between them.

His lips lowered, stealing her protest and replacing it with passion and fire, with a whipping hunger she had no defenses against. As his tongue entered her lips, she felt the blunt pressure, the heated head of his cock pressing against the swollen folds of her pussy.

Tingling fingers of sensations began to play across her flesh. She froze beneath him. She remembered this part. Clearly, so clearly.

Her eyes struggled to open as she felt Dawg lever up, looking into his absorbed expression before she followed the point where his gaze had locked.

There, between her thighs. Her legs were draped over his thighs, spread wide, her hips angled to the thick spear of flesh pressing into her.

Crista watched as the wet folds parted, separating for his cock, hugging the wide crest as he pressed closer, penetrated the tender opening, and he groaned with hoarse male pleasure.

“So sweet. So hot.”

Crista whimpered as her body began to stretch to accommodate the impalement. She shook her head against the cushion she lay on, dazed by the pleasure beginning to build inside her.

No, this went beyond pleasure. It went beyond words that Crista could compare it to. It was like being the center of a flame. It was burning in rapture.