Restless Spirit by Sommer Marsden Page A

split of my sex.
    ‘A nice person.’
    ‘You’re nice too. What you did earlier was nice. And I want to be nice with you again.’
    His eyes were so fucking dark. Impossibly dark. And full of lust so staggering I felt it run along my skin like an electrical current.
    ‘Take your clothes off.’
    I stood up straight and did my best to meet him eye to eye. ‘You take them off,’ I said.
    He bully-walked me back, trapping my hands between his much bigger ones at my chest. He nudged me along until the backs of my thighs met the lip of his table. In front of one of those big blind-eye windows. I wondered if people could see our silhouettes outside. I wondered if they could see what we were doing.
    The possibility that they could sent a thrill through me and my pussy clenched up tight, wanting him, wanting this so damn bad I could taste it.
    Shepherd pushed me back – rough enough to make me break out in goosebumps. He tugged my red tee over my head and dropped it in my dinner chair. He worked my button and zipper with ease, shocking for such big fingers, and tugged my pants down.
    ‘Black,’ he said.
    ‘What?’ My head was buzzing. From him, not wine. I stared up at him, relishing the feel of his palm sliding along my belly just above my panties.
    ‘Your panties are black.’ He stroked them. From waistband to gusset making sure to scrape along my clit. I arched up mindlessly, holding my breath and feeling my heart in my temples. ‘And silk.’
    ‘Satin,’ I laughed.
    ‘Same thing basically.’
    He tugged them free and I was aware of every inch that scrap of soft fabric slid. Shepherd dropped those on top of my jeans and slid his hands under my ass. I felt shy and bold and so fucking light headed I feared I’d lose consciousness.
    ‘Open your legs for me, Tuesday.’ His eyes were already penetrating me. A wave of pleasure flooded through me at just his eyes on me. It felt like he was touching me when he stared that way.
    I let my thighs fall open and his eyes were there. Between my legs. On a place I rarely ever looked – but he was studying me the way I’d seen people study rare flowers or beautiful butterflies. I wriggled under his gaze.
    ‘Stay still,’ he said. His hands pinned my thighs wide and stilled my restless movement. ‘I want to look at you. Before I suck you.’
    I moaned then. Just as if he’d touched me. I made that noise and waited to feel ashamed, instead I felt honest.
    A man had never said that to me before. It was always lick or kiss or God help me one time suckle. But suckle made me think of distinctly non-sexy things. And all of that ran through my head as I tried so hard to stay so still but continued to undulate and sway like sea grass in a stormy lake.
    His hands were huge, spanning my hipbones, anchoring me to the rough wood table. He dropped to his knees, so tall he still almost looked like he was standing from my angle. His head dipped, beard scratching my inner thighs and he took my clit in his mouth and sucked.
    My fingers tangled in the placemats. My hair swished under my hand as I moved it back and forth to try and find some kind of equilibrium. ‘Jesus,’ was the only brilliant thing I could think to say.
    ‘Hush, Tuesday.’
    He sucked softly and then harder when his fingers, unimpeded by panties this time, slipped into me and began fucking me. Deep thrusts that he curled up perfectly on the upward motion. My hips tried to rise up and he used his forearm to shut me down.
    I whimpered, frustrated but so, so turned on.
    His tongue speared my wet hole and then his fingers slid back home, filling me and nudging me into a slow sweet orgasm that took all the noise from my throat and all the air from my lungs.
    Shepherd stood, eyes glazed and darker than I’d ever seen them. The low ethereal light from his sconces backlit the bits of silver in his beard and his hair. He licked his lips and I reached for him.
    He took a step back. ‘Don’t move.’
    He unbuttoned his jeans