← Back
“Bedroom,” I said. “Now.”
I’d never given Elena an order in my life. It came out as a squeak. She looked at me with great interest, got up off the sofa and walked ahead of me, the timer ticking on her phone, glancing back over her shoulder.
“Nine minutes forty,” she said.
“Stop talking.” Better. Deeper. “Strip. Slowly. And sit on the edge of the bed.”
She pulled the hoody over her head and let it drop. Then the leggings, with a little wriggle. Underneath was nothing at all, just soft skin and a thin trimmed strip of dark hair and the swallow tattoo on her hip. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at me, and I realised with a jolt that she was blushing.
“You’re good at this,” I said, amazed.
“Shut up, Mark. Eight minutes.”
I knelt between her thighs. They were already trembling. I kissed the inside of one knee, then the other, then higher, until she was breathing in little stuttering gasps and her fingers were in my hair. When I put my mouth on her she was hot and slick and tasted like nothing else on earth. I licked her slowly, with the flat of my tongue, then circled her clit with the tip until her hips began to roll.
“Seven minutes,” she said, in a very thin voice. “Oh. Oh, that’s, keep doing that.”
I reached into the open holdall beside the bed, felt something smooth and heavy, and pulled out the purple strap-on.
She saw it. Her eyes went huge.