The Risk / Friends With Benefits. Margot Radcliffe

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СКАЧАТЬ was the hottest thing I’d ever had my hands on. And she tasted like sugar.

      Sugar and cream, and I growled my lust and approval as I took her clit between my teeth. I tugged at her, then bit down gently.

      She came again, flooding me with her scent and taste and impossible heat.

      I bent to the task. I ate her like a starving man, growling every time I heard that hitch in her breath or felt her pussy quake against my tongue.

      There were ways to fake almost anything, but not this. Not the way she flooded me. Not the way her clit pulsed in my mouth, and not even the way she shook and then ground her pussy against me, as if she wanted to fuck herself straight into oblivion.

      Her body was a marvel. She stood with only one foot on the ground, her other leg hooked around my shoulder, and her hands on me from time to time. But she wasn’t gripping me in any way. She swayed with me, as if this was another dance. A beast devouring a beauty like every fairy tale I could recall, and all she did was arch herself back and raise her hips.

      I was so hard again it was as if I hadn’t had sex in years.

      And she wasn’t simply coming now in those sweet, hot bursts. She was crying out as she did it, her voice getting hoarser with each cry.

      If she was faking this, she was the best I’d ever seen. And if she was faking this, she was far better at fucking than she was at dancing, and God knows watching her dance had nearly killed me where I’d sat.

      She came again, her whole body flushing with the heat of it. She went red and pink everywhere as she rocked herself against my mouth and let out one of those raw little cries.

      I pulled away from her, shifting to set her other foot on the ground. As I rose, she swayed there before me but stayed on her feet. She looked dazed. Drunk, almost.

      Something roared in me, triumphant and hot.

      “Do you come like this with all your customers?” I asked her.

      I didn’t know where the question came from. I had never been a possessive man. I never compared myself to others, and not because I worried comparison might steal my joy or whatever the fuck motivational nonsense people liked to splay all over their mugs of tea. Quite the opposite. I felt confident I had no peer.

      If I’d had one at all, he’d stopped speaking to me years ago when I’d lost all his money.

      And I wasn’t precisely jealous now, either. It was something else. I wanted to mark her, perhaps. I wanted to leave an indelible mark on her supple, remarkable flesh. I wanted her to remember this—and me—forever.

      I did not want to analyze why I had this urge. I just wanted it.

      She blinked, then smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

      And I don’t know which one of us was more surprised by that, her or me. But I was shocked when I...laughed.

      I wanted to throw her down and bury myself inside her—right now—but I didn’t. My own laughter felt like a tension breaker. Like another kind of coming and, oddly enough, it made me feel something like... Exposed.

      I studied her body instead. I had been too consumed with the need to bury my cock in her before to take a good, hard look.

      I remedied that now. And took my time.

      “What kind of dancing do you do?” I asked. Because she was a lithe, taut column of muscle, but she was bruised here and there. And sported the kinds of scrapes that spoke of a body well used.

      And her feet.

      Her feet were a disaster.

      “Don’t look at my feet,” she said, and when I looked up I thought I saw something on her face for second, but it was gone too soon to name it. “I have a horrifying addiction to high-heeled shoes.”

      “High-heeled shoes do...that?”

      Her feet were so battered that they called to mind something inside me, some memory I couldn’t quite place, of an image—

      “You have to be brave to be beautiful,” she told me, with another one of those wicked, mischievous smiles that I wanted to taste. “That’s what my mother always told me.”

      “Is your mother dead?”

      My little dancer let out a laugh. “I certainly hope not. As far as I know, she’s alive and well and competing for the title of best hostess in the whole of—” She stopped herself, and her smile was rueful. “I apologize. The last thing you want, I’m sure, is a whole lot of unsolicited personal detail.”

      This would ordinarily be true, no matter how I’d met the woman in question. But she was...different, somehow, from all my previous dates and conquests.

      “It’s not unsolicited. I literally solicited it. Just now.”

      Another tilt of her head. “Do you talk about mothers every time you buy a woman?”

      I laughed again, but surely none of this was funny. And stranger still, it only made me harder. “What if that’s my kink?”

      “Then you can call me Mommy while you come.” Her eyes were alight with a wicked sort of promise I wanted to lose myself in. “If you must. But somehow, I don’t think that’s your thing.”

      “Indeed, it is not.” Still, I studied her. “Does your mother know what you do?”

      “Of course.” Her smile widened. “She supports my dancing wholeheartedly.”

      That made me laugh again, and it was like a light switched on inside me. From pitch-dark to blazing, laughter and secrets and need, and I was done. I needed to fuck her, hard and long and now.

      Right now.

      I rose then, and she must have seen my intentions on my face, because she sobered as she tipped her head back to look at me.

      “Time to fuck, little dancer,” I told her. Softly.

      And I watched, in pure delight and no little wonder, as goose bumps broke out all over her skin.

      There were things I could do if I was willing to take my time...but I couldn’t wait. Not now, with her taste in my mouth and the evidence that she wanted me as desperately as I wanted her written all over her flesh.

      I felt edgy and wild. So close already, as if I might explode or topple over some cliff and lose any semblance of control.

      That set off an alarm, deep inside me, but I didn’t care. Not now.

      I couldn’t wait another second. I reached down and slid my arm around her waist, then lifted her into the air.

      She was a little thing, though she was all muscle. Still, she felt like air, particularly as she flowed with me, wrapping her legs around my waist as if I’d ordered her to do it. And then she held herself there, with thigh muscles that made my head spin around and around with lust, and her arms around my shoulders.

      My СКАЧАТЬ