The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) by Nikki Sloane (top e book reader .TXT) 📗

inescapable. I was adrift and fell further under his spell as he used his free hand to undo the button of his jeans and drop his zipper.

It was clear that, just as I did—he ached.

A look of desire twisted on his face as he dug his hand inside his undone pants. I gasped at how hot it was, both the visual and the idea that he was getting off on what we were doing.

A yelp ripped from my mouth as I took another hit, and I lifted a foot, all the way until the back of my stiletto heel touched my burning skin. It offered me some protection and a reprieve, and Clay stroked himself. He twisted his grip and pumped his fist, and the edges of his jeans and underwear worked down over his hips until his dick was exposed.

While he wasn’t exactly naked, he was where it counted, and it was satisfying he was nearly as vulnerable as I was. He fucked his fist with vicious need, like a man who had no other choice. I watched the head of his thick cock turn white as he thrust through his tight fingers, stoking the fire raging inside me. The throb pulsating in my flesh shifted, sliding down to the center of my legs.

And with it, the atmosphere in the room changed, like the sun outside had suddenly been blotted out by the clouds. Everything closed in around us. I sensed the reckless hunger building inside Clay, and I quivered in anticipation, my heart thundering along at breakneck speed.

The whoosh of the ruler cutting through the air announced how fast it was traveling, and I heard the smack of it before the pain registered. Agony stormed through my body, white-hot and cruel, and there was no time to consider how to react. I groaned and recoiled from his merciless ruler, using one hand to brace myself and grip the chair’s armrest, and my other hand to shield me from another blow.

There was no need to tell him to stop or utter the word no. When I’d uncrossed my wrists, it had announced that for me. Clay’s tool of punishment clattered to the floor, and as I struggled to heave air into my body, he dropped to his knees behind me.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasped.

Because he flattened his palms to my hot, irritated skin, peeled me apart, and pressed his mouth right between my legs, where I was soaking wet.

And desperate with desire.

The tip of his tongue coursed through my pussy, found my clit, and focused in, fluttered over it. I jolted from the shocking, acute pleasure. I loved it when a guy went down on me, but this? It was insanity, and it’d never felt like this before. Each lush stroke of his tongue caused static in my body. It was so good, it short-circuited my brain, and my body didn’t know how to handle the overload.

I clenched my hand on the armrest, my fingers straining. It felt like I needed to hold on to something while I endured this new type of lashing, where instead of a cold, metal ruler, the instrument of torment he used was the velvety-soft flat of his tongue.

My legs quivered, and when he increased the pressure of his strokes, moans seeped from my mouth. His lips closed around my clit and sucked gently, feeding my building pleasure until the only thought pounding in my mind was my approaching orgasm.

I was primed to explode, and I detonated when Clay’s fingers curled inward. He raked the sharp edge of his fingernails over the swollen lines his ruler had caused on my skin, and the pain mixed with my pleasure, setting me off.

My orgasm was an electric shock as it traveled up my spine and burst out through my limbs. It was icy cold and scorching hot, and my cry of ecstasy filled the room. I reached my hand back to him—either to touch him or push him away from my overly-sensitive body—I wasn’t sure. The climax swept through me violently, draining and weakening and taking until it felt like I had nothing left.

But I wasn’t allowed to touch him, or perhaps he wanted me to stay exactly as I was, because his hand closed around my wrist and pinned it to my back in the same spot it’d been when he’d used the ruler. And he climbed quickly to his feet, moving with efficiency.

His one hand on me wasn’t much of a restraint, especially since my other was free. The thing keeping me in place was the powerful sensation he’d given me, which was still making me shudder with bliss. As it began to diminish and my breathing slowed, his ramped up. He had his fingers wrapped around my wrist, but his other hand worked himself over at a frantic tempo.

Holy fuck, it was hot.

Intense concentration etched his handsome face as he stared down at his furious hand, watching himself jerk off right over my bare ass—the one he’d marked with both his ruler and his fingernails. His chest rose and fell dramatically as he pumped his fist, the tip of his cock brushing against my knuckles of the hand he held down.

When he came, Clay exhaled an enormous breath, groaned loudly, and his fist slowed to a measured tempo. Hot, thick liquid splattered onto my back in spurts, and dripped onto my fingers. His grip on me had tightened nearly to the point of pain, but tension went out of him as he recovered from his orgasm, and I wondered if his hold on me was more about connection than anything else now.

The cadence of his breathing gradually returned to its unhurried pace, and as that happened, awareness rolled through me. I’d come to his house and gotten naked in hopes of seducing him. And yeah, he’d gone down on me, but . . . we hadn’t had sex. I hadn’t touched him. In fact, he’d barely touched me in a way I was used to.

And we hadn’t