Free The Wanting (D'Shar Men) by Shyla Colt Page B

each achy globe lifted and weighed as if they were for sale. She mewled when his dark head bent down to suckle the breast he supported. His powerful jaw worked overtime as he went from one mound to the other. Each long draw felt connected to her cunt. Her walls fluttered and wept as he nursed at her breast through the cloth like he was in need of milk. His mouth released her and he spoke to her with cherry red swollen lips.
    “Take the shirt off.”
    It was a command not a request. The man who’d bent over backwards to accommodate her was gone. Her hands trembled as she peeled the shirt upward.
    “Not so fast,” he said.
    His hands lightning fast as he blocked the shirt’s accent up her body. She felt exposed, with her arms trapped close to the body that was bare from the waist down. Her hips bucked as a blue-tipped finger trailed from her waist down to her hipbone. The path he’d drawn was shimmery blue against her tawny skin and increased her desire. Phelan had warned her it would be like this. But she was still unprepared for the intense need that arched her back as she moved closer to the hands that hovered over her flesh.
    Sweat had broken out on her skin. “Phelan,” she whispered. The tiny beads of moisture slid down her back and her face as her thighs rubbed together.
    “Now you get a taste of what it is to be, Shar.”
    He placed his fingers to her flesh again. The light show he created a masterpiece of torment as he drove into a mindless frenzy. The beautiful swirls of color on her skin mixed with the raw emotions they evoked took her to the edge of her orgasm and shoved her over. The walls of her pussy clamped down and nectar shot from her cunt, literally. Her creamy liquid spilled onto the sheets she clutched in her fingers, and her eyes locked onto his. In the middle of this turbulent storm, he was her anchor.
    “Please,” she whispered. Her voice had grown hoarse and desperate as his persistent digits danced across the unexplored flesh of her inner thighs.
    “Please, what?”
    Her bound arms strained against the T-shirt. “Touch me, such me, fuck me, anything.” The wicked smirk that splayed across his lips was so loaded with devilment, she moaned.
    “Anything?” he asked.
    The gravel of his tone became a rough abrasion on her frayed nerves. Her silent nod of agreement was bathed in submission as she delivered herself into his capable hands. She broke eye contact to roll on her belly to assume the traditional mating position they’d discussed over the weeks. Anticipation, unlike any she had ever known, swept through her body. Her breath came in pants as she breathed into the sheets, and her ass tingled as his magical hands caressed it.
    “As much as I like you bound, let’s free those arms so you can support yourself.”
    The rush of cool air on her body made her suck in a deep breath. He had never used his power on her before. She liked it. Prone on all fours with her ass lifted up in the air, she tried to prepare herself for the invasion, both mental and physical. Tonight, they would see into each other’s soul.
    When he spoke next, each syllable was forged from steel. “There will be no more secrets between us, Zasha.”
    “I-I didn’t know.” She stuttered as he thrust a finger inside and stirred leisurely. Her hungry walls welcomed him with their suction and held him tight.
    “I know. You’re many things, but a liar isn’t one of them,” he said. The finger he refused to move threatened her sanity, but she knew the rules. He was the musician tonight, and she the instrument he played.
    “You’re being such a good girl.”
    He rewarded her with a few more stirs before he began to move inside her. Slow even strokes that made her clutch the sheets and drive her hips back on to him.
    “That’s it, Zash. Ride my fingers, baby.”
    The sentence urged her on as her back arched, and her hips pumped faster. The pressure built up inside her until she exploded. Her creamy liquid doused