The Tasting Table - Erotic Romance

Welcome to this little 18+ glimpse of Now You’re Mine.

This is Kalan and Jenna’s first sex scene – but definitely not their last!

 

 He was standing in the middle of the room, his back to me. The headgear was gone. He’d stripped off his kandura and was wearing a white T-shirt and what looked like a white sarong around his narrow hips.

 

As I watched, he stripped off the T-shirt and tossed it aside, revealing his wide, strong back. My fingers flexed, wanting to touch, and flexed again when his hands went to his hips. I braced myself for impact as he started unwinding the sarong, and when he threw that after his T-shirt, my mouth went dry. He was divine. His legs, long and muscled; his butt, hard, high, round.

 

I must have made a sound, because he turned suddenly . . . and I saw the rest of him. Enough to make any woman swoon. Skin like cinnamon and honey. Broad, lightly haired chest. The sharp V where his perfect lower abs met his perfect hip flexors. And you know, the word ‘cock’ had always made me giggle, until I saw Kalan’s rising from its nest of thick, black hair – and no other word would do.

 

Huge, hard, jutting, ready.

 

He made no attempt to cover himself. Only his eyes moved, slowly travelling over me, head to toe and back. By the end of his examination, he’d grown even more erect. I imagined the heat of his cock and longed to touch it, taste it, own it.

 

‘I’ve been thinking of you in that,’ he said, gesturing to the negligee.

 

‘Do you like it?’ I asked, low and breathy.

 

‘You can see that I do,’ he said, and reached down to stroke his cock, once. ‘Now, come, Jenna.’

 

I stepped inside, walked towards him, then stood before him like a sacrificial offering. ‘I’ve been picturing this,’ he said, cupping my breast through the silk. He ran his thumb over my engorged

nipple. ‘Do you like that?’

 

I gasped, nodded. Oh God, I liked it. I loved it.

 

‘Tell me. Say it.’

 

‘Yes, yes I like it.’ A moan shuddered out of me as he rolled my nipple between his finger and thumb. It seemed so much more erotic, through the silk. ‘Touch me again,’ I all but begged. ‘Please. Do it again.’

 

He smiled as he obliged, while moving his other hand to my crotch. ‘And I wanted to see your pale hair here.’ He ran his fingers over my pubic hair, rubbing, stroking it through the silk. ‘Spread your legs,’ he said, and I didn’t need to be told twice. ‘Wider. Just a little.’

 

I adjusted myself to his probing fingers.

 

‘You’re wet here; I can feel it seeping through the silk,’ he said. ‘It makes me want you very badly.’

 

‘Then take me; I want you to,’ I said. ‘Take me now.’

 

He stepped back, hands easing from my body. ‘Raise it,’ he said, pointing to the hem of the negligee. ‘Show me.’

 

With trembling fingers, I started lifting the hem. ‘Slowly,’ he said. ‘Slowly.’ He watched, eyes hard and glittering, as I inched the garment up, over my knees, my thighs, until the hem reached just above my pubic hair.

 

‘Stop,’ he said, and took a harsh breath in as he stepped close to me. ‘Keep it there. Stay like that.’

 

He reached out, fingers seeking between my legs. ‘You are so pretty here,’ he said. He found my clitoris and concentrated there, rubbing it wetly between his thumb and forefinger. He was breathing hard now, and so was I.

 

‘Oh my God,’ I groaned as he slid two fingers inside me, doing my best to stay upright on my shaking legs. ‘Let me touch you too.’

 

He shook his head. ‘Later, you can do whatever you want. But now, this is mine.’ Fingers out, then slowly back in. ‘You are mine. Say it.’

 

‘I’m yours,’ I whimpered. ‘So don’t stop touching me. Do it harder. Faster. Please, Kalan.’

 

But he stayed with the same maddening pace, sliding his fingers in and out. ‘Tell me you want me inside you, Jenna.’

 

‘I want you inside me. Yes. Now.’

 

‘When I am inside you, how do you want me to be?

 

Hard? Soft? Slow? Fast? Tell me, and it’s yours.’

 

‘I want you to ‒ Oh God, that feels good!’

 

His eyes bored into mine, fingers dipping slowly in and out, in, out. And the fact that he was controlling the pace so deliberately made it more exciting than anything I’d ever experienced.

 

‘What do you want, Jenna? How? Your choice.’

 

‘I want you to fuck me,’ I said, my voice stripped of any softness. My heart was banging, my breathing in tatters, my hands twining in the violet silk I was holding up for him as though the fabric was a lifeline to sanity. God, God, I was so turned on. ‘I want you to fuck me as hard as you can.’ I was shocked to hear the words come out of my mouth – I never made demands like that – and yet I loved saying it. I felt free, saying it. It was exactly, precisely what I wanted. Him, hard and rough in me, fucking me. And I knew he would do it, without being scandalised, because his eyes were telling me it was what he wanted too. To go wild for me, and make me just as wild for him. ‘Kalan, for God’s sake, fuck me now!’

 

In a flashing moment, I was on my back, on his bed. He was on top of me, any trace of languor gone, his control snapped. His hands were holding my face as he kissed me almost violently, bruising and dominating. I’d never been wanted like this, with such beautiful savagery. I rose to it, kissing him back just as savagely, challenging him to claim me.

 

He reached one hand down to wrench at the purple silk, getting it out of his way, and then he thrust into me. Pulled all the way out, drove into me again.

 

‘Yes, yes,’ I breathed against his mouth. ‘Do it, fuck me, harder.’

 

I locked my legs around him and urged him on with my heels against his buttocks. He thrust himself so hard inside me, I was shoved up the bed, almost into the bedhead, but he didn’t so much as pause and he didn’t pull back, and I didn’t want him to. He followed me up on the bed, in me again. Again. Hard and unrelenting.

 

‘Jenna, Jenna, come, come now,’ he demanded. ‘Come for me.’

 

I never knew a girl could come on request until that moment, when the climax ripped through me like lightning.

 

I would have screamed except that his mouth was over mine, swallowing the sound, his tongue plunging wildly.

 

And then he was muttering something in Arabic against my mouth, biting at my lips between words, followed by my name, ‘Jenna, Jenna,’ urgent and fierce. I felt everything in him tensing, ready to spring. He tore his mouth from mine, sank his lips against my neck and exploded inside me.

 

We lay there, tangled, wet, spent, drained. The minutes ticked by. Three, four, five . . . At last, he rolled off my body, onto his back beside me. He picked up my hand, kissed the tips of my fingers.

 

‘So, when is it my turn to be in control?’ I asked on a shaky laugh.

He turned his head to me. ‘I’m sorry. I meant to be slow, kind. But I wanted you so much, I lost myself.’

 

‘You sure did.’

 

He turned fully then, his free hand coming to my mouth.

 

With gentle fingers, he pressed there – touching, testing, soothing. ‘Did I hurt you, Jenna?’ he asked softly.

 

‘Are you kidding? You killed me! I just can’t wait to do it to you.’

 

‘You are so . . .’ He stopped, laughed softly, kissed my fingers again, and then, so sweetly, my mouth. ‘Sleep, Jenna. When you wake – at whatever time – I’ll be ready for you, and for whatever you choose to do.’

 

I wanted to protest – no sleep – but he tucked me close against his side, and it was so restful to be exactly there after that enervating storm of passion, I couldn’t seem to keep my eyelids from closing . . .