Free Divine Solace: 8 by Joey W. Hill Page A

“Your thighs are
spread so I can see your pussy all wet, and I want to taste it. Want to
just…fucking bury myself between your legs…”
    She’d expected him to talk about Lyda. “Where is Lyda?”
    “She’s watching. She’s always watching… And when I put my
face between your legs, she’s there, behind me…fuck…”
    Would she be wearing one of those strap-ons that allowed a
woman to fuck a man? Gen imagined Noah between her legs while Lyda thrust into
him, her silver eyes holding Gen’s gaze, making her feel as if Lyda was
thrusting into her even as she had the dual pleasure of feeling Noah’s tongue
penetrating her own folds.
    “Slow down,” she said unsteadily. He did, easing back the
speed at which they were approaching his climax. As he squeezed and stroked
himself with careful movements, his body was taut, quivering.
    “Why didn’t you want to tell me about how she punished you?”
    “Because I felt like you really wanted to talk about me
doing this for you.”
    “Do you anticipate like that…a lot?”
    “Yeah. Lyda says it’s part of what gets me in trouble half
the time. But only half.” He grunted then. “I wish my hand was your cunt, Gen.
I want to give you pleasure.”
    “You are. Shut up.”
    She slipped out of bed, padded across the hallway. When she
emerged from the shadows, his dark, burning eyes were fixed on her, the
sensuous mouth tight. She circled around the bed, her gaze sliding down his
body. His cock had leaked semen onto his belly. She marked it in her mind as
she reached for the lamp. He reached for her with the hand above his head,
circling her wrist gently.
    “Just one more moment, like that,” he said. “You brushed
your hair, and it’s all curled around your face. And I can see your body
through your nightgown.”
    It was a thin cotton one with a little embroidery at the
V-neck. Not outrageously sexy, but pretty. She hadn’t worn anything beneath it
tonight, more of that same compulsion to be daring. As his gaze coursed down,
the light was showing him the shape of hip and breast, the juncture between her
legs.
    “That’s enough,” she whispered, disengaging her hand. She
turned off the light and caught her hair back, bending down to put her mouth on
those few drops on his stomach. “Don’t touch me,” she added, another quiet
instruction. A thrill of power went through her as he became incredibly still,
his hand motionless on his cock. As she licked the drops off the muscled
terrain, he quivered harder, but he obeyed her. She reveled in the freedom of
it, of touching him how she wished without the worry of him trying to take the
reins from her, moving too fast or in a direction she didn’t want. He tasted
slick and salty. Male.
    The wrist of the hand holding her hair back brushed the head
of his cock, an incidental contact, one she didn’t expand further. She finished
suckling those drops, then backed off, standing by the dresser. The street
lights outside illuminated him enough she could see the pale line of his body.
In contrast, she was mostly in shadow again. The fierce desire in his gaze
speared her.
    “I want to fuck you.”
    She shuddered at the animal demand. “No. Keep going.”
    He began to stroke himself, more functional and down to
business, the way a man did it to bring himself to the desired goal, just as
she’d requested. Though she was mostly in darkness, his gaze stayed on her,
stripping her bare, making her quiver and arousal trickle down her leg. He’d
said it had been a long time since he’d masturbated solely for his own pleasure.
That made two of them. For a lonely woman, sometimes the empty aftermath was
too painful to bear.
    He was working himself harder, faster. Her gaze clung to the
way he held himself, that loose curl, the push-pull of the velvet skin up and
down the steel shaft, the thrust of his hips. His throat arched, the loose mane
of dark hair spread over her guestroom pillow, where his scent would linger.
His muscles