The Dare Collection October 2018. Nicola Marsh
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keeping her on edge and unable to predict what he’d do next—
When the first wave hit her, it seemed to come from nowhere. Margot felt herself stiffen and then the ripples spread, getting more and more intense by the second, until she was jerking against his hold.
And Thor didn’t stop.
He rode out her orgasm, as if he wanted to eat it whole, too. And something about that image made it worse—or made it more intense—and so it went on and on and on.
But so did he.
Margot thought she had stopped coming, or maybe it was one long orgasm with no beginning and no end, a rise and a fall and then a lush sweep right back into it all over again.
She went from peak to peak, rolling over and over, until she lost all awareness of herself. She didn’t care if she was too bright, too red. She didn’t care that she’d locked her legs around his neck, that she was arched up off the bed in total abandon or that she was grinding her pussy into his mouth.
All she cared about was this. Sensation after sensation, chasing each other toward something bigger. Brighter.
Too wild to name.
Eventually, the storm blew itself out.
Or he decided it had. Margot couldn’t tell.
Thor pulled her legs from around him and settled her back on his bed, smiling a little as if he knew exactly how limp and wrung out she was.
Margot couldn’t breathe. And the crazy part was, she didn’t much care about that the way she knew she had before.
He straightened and stood there over her, and her heart pounded all over again as she stared up at that hard, wicked mouth of his. It was as if he was still pressed against her, his tongue and his teeth and that jaw of his driving her into madness.
How could it be that he didn’t even have to do it again? That the memory of what he’d just done pushed her toward that edge all over again...
Margot felt dizzy, but she didn’t want to analyze it.
It was easier to look at him instead. So big. So tall. Every inch of him a conquering Viking, packed with hard muscle, that tousled dark blond hair, and those gleaming blue eyes of his that burned wherever they touched her.
And he’d told her to ask for what she wanted, so she did.
“I want your clothes off,” she told him, and her heart was still beating too hard, so she couldn’t pay attention to how strange she sounded. How unlike herself. “Now.”
Thor’s mouth didn’t move. But she could see the hard sort of smile in the blue of his eyes. He inclined his head and then stretched out his arms to the sides as if he was surrendering.
But she didn’t think either one of them believed he was doing anything of the kind.
His eyes were the bluest she’d ever seen. “Do as you like.”
It was couched as an invitation. So there was no reason it should have felt like an order.
But there was that fever in her, making it impossible for Margot to care about feelings. Not when she was still so wet and greedy.
Not when she still wanted him more than she wanted her next breath.
And the fact that she had never felt that way before—about anyone she’d ever been with or any sex she’d ever thought about having—
Margot couldn’t let herself go there.
There were too many precipices littered about and she wanted no part of any of them. Not if considering their danger might make her rethink what she was doing.
She didn’t want to rethink it. She didn’t want to think.
Margot pushed herself up to kneel before him, and a little throbbing thing shook itself awake in a distinct sort of feminine pleasure at the fact he still towered over her.
Something in her shouted that it wasn’t right to like this feeling. This strangely compelling sensation that she was small where he was so large, fragile where he was tough, everywhere—
Margot ignored it.
She pushed up the fine, soft T-shirt he wore and worked it over those massive shoulders of his. And her reward was that when she did, his chest was right there before her. His skin was hot to the touch. And he smelled so good it made her eyes water and her belly tighten.
She didn’t care if it was right or wrong or what she ought to feel when she followed an urge she didn’t recognize and bent forward, pressing her open mouth to the hollow between his pectoral muscles.
But he still wasn’t naked and Margot was running out of patience. And nerve. Her fingers felt too big, too clumsy when she wanted to take her time. She wanted to explore every fascinating ridge of his abdomen and all those smooth, heavy muscles that gleamed in the firelight, but there was that dark need deep inside her, winding itself tighter and tighter.
She felt heavy with it. As if she might scream, or cry, or simply burst apart at the seams if she couldn’t find her way to that...more.
“Why are you frowning?”
Margot hadn’t realized she was until he said so. And the amusement in his voice didn’t help. She didn’t want to tell him that she was desperately trying to keep herself together. That she’d already come too many times and she couldn’t seem to stop trembling, down low in her belly. That some part of her was terrified that there was more and that she wanted it so badly.
Or worse, that there wasn’t. That she’d already had her fun and Thor would be a disappointment the way she finally admitted to herself many other men had been.
It’s unfair to call a mostly satisfying sexual encounter a disappointment, she lectured herself then, the way she always did. There’s no such thing as a sex god. You were there, too.
But if he’d asked, she would have said that there was no way she could come and come and come again from a little bit of oral sex, either. It wasn’t something she’d ever liked all that much, despite how many times her friends—and ex-boyfriends—had told her there must be something wrong with her.
Maybe there wasn’t anything wrong with her. Maybe she just hadn’t met Thor.
“I want you inside me,” she threw at him, and only realized when the words hung between them that she sounded as if she was in the middle of a fight.
Because, of course, he had no idea that she’d just scared herself with her thoughts. His blue eyes gleamed too bright, as if he might laugh at her, and that was suddenly the worst thing that she could imagine.
So Margot tilted her chin up and doubled down. “Not your fingers. Not your mouth. Your cock, Thor. Now.”
His smile was slow. Languid.
And so hot that Margot felt scalded.
“Yes, Professor,” he murmured, as if there was a single part of him that was at all submissive when she could see perfectly well that there was not.
He stepped away and Margot bit her tongue so hard to keep from complaining that it actually hurt. She tasted copper but was happy she’d kept her complaints inside when all he did was move to the side of the bed, rifle through the drawer in his nightstand, then pull out a condom.
Then Thor crawled up onto the great big bed. She hadn’t seen him kick off his shoes, but he was barefoot when he threw himself down in the center on his back.
He was also still wearing his trousers.
“Why do you still have clothes on?” she asked, and she could hear the greed and impatience in her voice.
And those other things she refused to acknowledge.
“You didn’t take them off,” he replied, entirely too much laughter in that voice of his.