The Dare Collection January 2020. Lauren Hawkeye

And you’re his meal.

      My heartbeat was louder than the music outside, my world narrowing down to his palms wrapped around my ankles, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just beneath my ankle bone, striking sparks throughout my entire body.

      ‘Now...’ He ran those wicked hands up from my ankles to my calves, his fingertips hot on my skin, and then up farther to push my uniform even higher. ‘Let’s see you.’

      I shuddered as he slid my uniform up to my waist, then shuddered again as his fingers moved to my inner thighs, stroking me as he eased them wide apart. My breath caught and I had to bite down on the low moan that threatened to break free, aware of every sensation: the burn of my muscles, the fire of his touch on my sensitive skin, the cool wood of the desk beneath me.

      The throb of my sex and the wet press of the cotton of my knickers.

      ‘You still with me, Sugar?’ The words were as soft and dark as black velvet, his sharp, silver gaze searching my face as his fingers traced circles over my achingly sensitive skin.

      I had to force the word out because my mouth had gone so dry. ‘Yes.’

      ‘You sure?’

      My breathing had started to get out of control, the sound of it loud in the room. If I’d cared about it I would have been embarrassed. But I didn’t care about it.

      There was a pressure between my legs, getting more intense and harder to ignore, and every move he made, every touch, seemed to increase the weight of it.

      ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ I croaked, my voice sounding old, rusty and a little bit broken.

      He nodded and then, still holding my gaze, he reached up and hooked the damp fabric of my knickers to the side, baring me.

      I gasped, unable to help it as his attention dropped between my thighs, making me flush and tremble. No one had ever seen me there before. The only people who’d seen me naked were the nuns at St Paul’s, the orphanage where I’d spent the first few years of my life. No one else.

      But now he was looking at me. Damian Blackwood, womaniser extraordinaire, the biggest, most sought-after playboy and party animal in the western world, was looking at my bare sex and I was just about to go up in flames.

      ‘Beautiful.’ His gaze flicked up to mine and I could see heat in it, a hunger he didn’t hide. ‘Absolutely fucking sensational.’

      My cheeks flamed. Feeling exposed, I wanted to close my legs and hide myself, but he must have picked up on my discomfort because his palms firmed on my knees, holding them where they were. Keeping me spread for him.

      ‘I just want to look.’ His quicksilver gaze was relentless. ‘But I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to, so you need to be sure.’

      I forced down my nervousness because, as much as this was confronting for me, I wanted it. And I wanted him looking at me. I wanted that spotlight.

      I wanted to know that I existed. And his hands on my skin, his brilliant silver gaze... He was making me real with every touch.

      ‘I am,’ I whispered.

      ‘Good. Because, I’ll be honest, I’m going to do more than look. I fucking love eating pussy and you smell goddamn delicious.’

      The frank words made me blush even hotter and I couldn’t think of a word to say.

      He smiled, charming and wicked, and something in my chest clenched tight. ‘Don’t worry, you don’t have to say a thing. Just lie back and let me do all the work, hmm?’

      I gave a shaky nod, my vocal cords momentarily escaping my conscious control. And that was all he needed.

      He leaned forward, his hands sliding up to my hips, pulling me towards him, right to the edge of the desk. Then he put his palms on my inner thighs, holding me open as he bent his head, and his breath washed over my skin. I trembled at the sensation of warmth, and then again as his mouth brushed my inner thigh, a gasp escaping me. The kiss was like a hot coal pressed to my flesh, only without the pain, delivering delicious heat and intense pleasure instead.

      I’d barely got used to his mouth when his fingers slid caressingly up my thighs to the slickness of my sex, and I shuddered, my breath catching hard as he touched me, gently spreading me open.

      I found myself staring down at him, the sight of his dark head between my spread legs disturbingly erotic. The way he was touching me, opening me up with his fingers, was so careful, as if he was parting the petals of a flower. I’d never been touched like this before. So gently, as if I was something precious, and it made me feel oddly vulnerable, some part of me wanting him to stop, to tell him that I didn’t like it. But I did like it. And I didn’t want him to stop.

      I shut my eyes and bit my lip, tensing as his finger circled around my clit, so close and yet not quite touching, teasing me, the vague friction scattering pleasure across my skin like sparks. Then he did it again and I couldn’t stop the low moan that broke from me or still the jerk of my hips. ‘Please...’ I said, even though I hadn’t meant to.

      He made a rough sound that could have been either approval or denial, but either way I felt the vibration of it like a touch. And I was just shivering through that when he swept his tongue up the length of my sex, licking me as though I was his favourite ice cream.

      I cried out as pleasure rippled the length of my body, and then he licked me again, long and slow, turning the pleasure sharper, more intense.

      I jerked in his grip, unable to keep still, wriggling on the desktop as his tongue swept over me again, trying to direct him, because he kept missing the place I desperately wanted him to touch.

      But all he did was laugh, a low and sexy rumble, his hands shifting to my hips and gripping me, holding me in place. ‘Oh, no, you don’t.’ His breath was warm against my skin. ‘Not yet. You taste too fucking good for me to take this anything but slow.’

      God, really? I didn’t think I could survive slow.

      My hands had reached down of their own accord somehow, finding the soft black spikes of his hair, my fingers twisting into them, trying to direct his teasing mouth. He only gave another rumbling laugh before pushing his tongue deep inside me.

      My head went back, a hoarse cry escaping me as the pleasure burned brighter, hotter. I shuddered, pulling at his hair, trying to move my hips, searching for more pressure, more friction, but he held me still, not letting me move. He was clearly in no hurry, exploring me in a series of lazy licks, nips and soft kisses. The alternating pressures and sensations intensified the pleasure, making me pant, my whole body shaking.

      I was so ready to come, so ready. And yet he didn’t push me over, making the pleasure build higher and higher while he held the climax just out of reach.

      I think I begged him. I know I pleaded with him. But either he didn’t listen or he was enjoying playing with me, because he kept me hovering on the edge for what felt like an eternity. Giving me light licks and then some thrusts of his tongue, a tease on my clit, then strokes of his fingers on my inner thighs, gentle touches and caresses.

      It was too much. It was not enough.

      I felt as though I was coming apart at the seams when he finally tipped me over, sucking on my clit and sliding two fingers inside me, the pressure and friction enough to make me throw back my head and scream as the pleasure detonated like a bomb inside me.

      Every thought in my head turned to ash and blew away.

      I lay there, my brain empty, the aftershocks pulsing through me, utterly boneless and not thinking about anything in particular.

      Blackwood trailed soft kisses up my inner thighs, nuzzling against my skin, the prickle of his jaw sending delicious shivers everywhere.

      ‘Yeah, I called it. You did taste fucking amazing,’ he murmured, his breath warm. ‘I could have kept doing that all night.’

      ‘I’m