Page 47

She couldn’t control herself. Her head fell back, her back and neck were arched, her pelvis rubbing against his hand and fingers as if begging for more.

He moved up, tracing her swollen nub, stroking just below it, and that’s when Helen lost all control. Her body was moving, and cries were leaving her mouth, but she didn’t control any of it. The gaping emptiness in her center was all too palpable, as her muscles contracted on nothingness. Everything around her stopped making any sense. It was as if she lost consciousness for a moment until it all stopped abruptly.

Helen cried in protest and looked at Ian in frustration, her panting breaths mixed with her defiant whimpers.

He tsked again and chuckled, although his eyes were just as wild, and his muscles were about to rip his shirt from tension.

He took a cherry and brought it to the swollen helm above her center. He swirled it around once, twice, three times, then pressed his hand against Helen’s stomach, pushing her down onto the rug. Then he glided the cherry down, tracing the slippery path and sending tingles down her body. And then he did something she didn’t expect. He slipped the cherry inside her core.

The cherry, paired with his fingers, traced the outline of her center from the inside, sending shooting hot sensations in all directions. He rolled it inside her, inducing heightened feelings that she’d never felt before.

Ian pulled his fingers in and out of her, rolling the cherry within her and driving her absolutely mad. Her hips moved of their own accord, her hands clutching at the rug, her fingers clawing at the material beneath her. She cried out, panted, and grunted, her head lolling on the soft rug, her entire body covered in sweat.

His thumb pressed against her most sensitive nub, and Helen lost all control. For a few moments, it was as if fireworks exploded in her head. And then wave after wave of pleasure flooded her and retreated, leaving her completely spent.

Her breaths were loud in her ears, and her mind was quietly returning to its functioning self. She opened her eyes and saw Ian still sitting by her side, his eyes fixed on hers. He was watching her, his gaze heavy, his face tortured and hungry, his expression so primitive and primal that a shiver ran down Helen’s spine.

He moved his fingers from inside her, gathering her juices, and without dropping his gaze, with deliberate slowness he brought the cherry—yes, that cherry! —to his mouth, and popped it inside. He swirled his tongue and sighed with pleasure, as if he’d just tasted the sweetest of delicacies. And then he licked his lips for any remaining taste of her.

Helen’s insides tightened from the display. The recent flood of pleasure was replaced by a tingle at the center. Her hunger for him grew and just like that, she wanted him again.

Ian licked his fingers with much gusto, then with his wet fingers, he traced the dark areola around her nipple.

“Ian,” she whimpered and tugged on his sleeves in frustration, wishing to feel his naked body against hers.

“Shh,” he whispered, stroking her nipples. “Not yet.”

“Why not?” she cried, her eyes begging him for more.

He tsked and shook his head. “So impatient, my dear. Come here.”

He tugged on her arms, and she sat up. Then he gathered her by the waist and settled her onto his lap, her legs bracketing his thighs as if she were positioned astride a stallion.

“Ride me,” he said hoarsely.

Helen blinked at him, her eyes widening in surprise.

“You wanted lessons in passion. First was all the ways I can give you pleasure. The second lesson is you taking pleasure from me yourself. Now take it. Ride me.”

Helen looked down at his clothed body, her wet center rubbing against the fabric of his breeches. “Just like that?”

“Yes,” he croaked. “Just like that.”

Helen moved her hips, her pelvis rubbing against Ian’s muscled thighs, and moaned from the sensation.

“Yes,” Ian repeated. “Go on. Just like that.”

Helen wrapped her arms around Ian’s shoulders and started moving, her center, enveloping Ian’s thighs, stroking and massaging her body against his. Ian slipped his hand between their body, and his finger split her feminine lips.

Helen moaned and tilted her pelvis just right so she could feel his fingers where she wanted him.

“Yes,” Ian growled approvingly. “Ride me, love. Ride my fingers, take your pleasure from me.”

And Helen did just that, her hips moving in a parody of the salacious act, rubbing against his fingers exactly where she wanted them, exactly the way she wanted them.

Moans were leaving the back of her throat, and her body arched and tensed as her fingers bit into Ian’s shoulders.

Her hot body was pressing down on him, and she could feel his hard manhood grinding against her thigh.