Chapter 39 #2
Then he lowers his mouth to mine. I barely have time to melt against him when he rises, rocks back a second time.
Half-upright, he reaches for the top of my tights where they’re now rumpled around my knees and edges them the rest of the way off.
Then he shifts forward slightly, fitting his hands to my hips, holding me gently but surely.
“Can I?” he asks, golden eyes dark.
Heart hammering, I nod. Please.
He nods back. Curls his fingers around my skirt waist and slips it down, easy and fluid, and then comes back to ease down my panties after them. Then, with a steady hand under each knee, he softly tugs me to the edge of the bed, lowering himself to the floor as he goes.
On his knees.
I feel his breath first, gliding over the skin of my thigh. Then hands, easing my legs farther apart. Then, all at once, the press of his mouth, the hot liquid flick of his tongue, and—
I buck.
Jesus, God.
I’m blind. Blank. Bursting with stars behind my eyes as he holds me, takes me, moans against me like he’s as desperate for this as I am.
And yet he’s patient, steady, decorously slow as he rolls stroke after firm, even stroke over me with his tongue.
My hands fist the covers, and I hear myself whimper. Almost whine.
How are you so good at this, Kingston?
Then, mortified, I realize the sound I just made, and I bite the inside of my cheek, adding a hand over my mouth for good measure, even as I roll into him for more.
Suddenly, I feel his hand leave my hip.
“Don’t do that.” Kingston rises and pulls at my wrist, taking my hand away from my mouth. His voice sounds ragged, heated. “Please, don’t.”
I nod. Swallow. And this time I let my hand fall to him, to whatever of him I can reach, my fingertips grazing his hair as he—
“Nnh.”
He sucks. Hard. And I have to I cry out—at the sharp shock of sensation, at the surprise of his force. In response, Kingston groans against me, the low sound of his pleasure vibrating straight into me.
It’s too good.
“Stop,” I gasp, somehow managing to lift my head. “Stop. Just—”
Kingston ricochets back, the alarm on his face not quite reaching his half-lidded eyes. “Are you all right?”
“No. I mean. Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” I nod, swallowing, scooping my hair out of my face as I push to my elbows. “I just want…”
Just want you closer.
Just want you inside me.
Just want you.
The words catch in my throat.
“Come here,” I manage in a whisper.
Kingston nods. He rises to his feet and, swiftly, gracefully, reaches for the hem of his T-shirt and slides it over his head.
He is…
My throat goes dry all over again.
Broad shoulders, smooth muscles, narrow waist. An athlete’s body, all discipline and good genes.
All here for…me.
My eyes must be wide, because Kingston cups my cheek and turns me to him as he settles over me on the bed.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into my ear, stroking his thumb over my skin. “I just want to…feel you.”
“Mhm.” Barely a word. Clear enough. His fingers find the edge of my sweater, and all I can do is nod, speechless, thoughtless, as he pushes it up and off of me, lowering his lips to my collarbone as he does.
He kisses me there. And then on my neck, my jaw, my mouth and then my mouth again, and again, and then back to my neck, the front of my throat, the smooth hollow of my sternum.
A hand asserts itself under me—fumbling for the clasp of my bra—and the faint clumsiness of it has me biting my lip against a smile.
“Here. I’ll—” I pull my shoulders back and reach around to undo it, and Kingston threads the straps around his fingers and pulls the thing away, throwing it somewhere off the bed with uncharacteristic abandon.
He bends his head and takes the peak of my breast into his mouth, so fast I barely register what’s happening.
But the pull, the pressure, the swirl of his tongue and the little scrape of his teeth on my nipple makes me gasp again, arch underneath him.
And when I do, I feel something hard, very hard, against my outer hip.
I close my eyes. Press my lips together. And shift my legs so I’m grinding faintly against him.
I feel Kingston’s lips slacken around me as he lets out a moan.
God, that sound. Like he’s been holding onto it for years.
It’s not fair, it’s not right that someone who can make sounds like that should be kept from sex for any extended period of time, I think, hazy half-amused.
He hums around my now-aching nipple one last time and lifts his head to mine, replacing his mouth with his hand.
“You’re just…” He brushes his fingertips over my flesh, sending a flutter all the way down to my stomach. Lower.
I give my head a little shake—please, no words, no talking, not now—and pull for him to kiss me, which he does, deeply and intently, his length pressing all the more urgently against my leg as his body covers mine.
I find his waistband, push it away, and he bends back to shuck off his pants, kissing me all the while.
His left hand moves to my hip, pulling me that last inch or two closer, and I am all but panting into his mouth when he nudges his way between my hips.
Yes. Please. Now.
And yet as badly as my body is screaming for him to slam into me…
Kingston stills. “Something wrong?”
It is hard to concentrate, hard to think straight or think at all when I can feel the firm heat of his erection pressing against my thigh like that, but I force myself to. I shake my head, put my hands on the nape of his neck, and guide him back from me so I can see into his eyes.
Those warm, golden eyes.
“I just wanted to…make sure you’re sure,” I say. “That you really want to do this. No going back.”
My throat is suddenly thick. God. I am not going to cry when I am naked in Kingston’s bed. I swallow it away.
He smooths a strand of hair out of my face.
“I’m sure,” he murmurs. “I have nowhere to go that isn’t with you.”
I surge up and kiss him, fervent and grateful and so overwhelmed that I might actually cry after all, and I feel his left hand grip my hip tighter while his right brushes against me, a featherlight touch grazing my clit before he holds me open and plunges inside.
I breathe in so sharply it turns into a gasp, instinctively curling tighter under him even as the force of his cock stretches me, opens me, and my exhale turns into a shudder as he slowly draws back and then in again, somehow even deeper the second time.
“King—” I choke out.
“God,” Kingston rasps, lowering his lips to my neck. “If you say my name like that I’m not going to last.”
He kisses the side of my throat as I arch my body into him, his thrusts getting swifter like he can’t make himself slow down either—because I feel the tension coiling inside me already, wound up from his mouth and now aching around the strain, the burning friction of him fitting inside me.
He moves over me, never slowing, and reaches to clasp my right hand in his left as his own right finds my nipple and thumbs it.
“Agh.”
The pleasure’s electric, a lightning bolt down my body. I don’t even know what sound I make, just that it earns me one of those rumbling moans from Kingston and another roll of my almost painfully stiff nipple.
I don’t want it to end, don’t want it to be over, now or anytime soon, and yet I’m losing grip. I’m powerless against what’s building in me, against the slick solid thrusts of his cock and the warmth of his lips on my mouth and the edge of his teeth on my neck.
“I’m…”
Kingston’s eyes fly open at the sound of my voice.
“I’m not going to make it,” I gasp. “I can’t…I have to…”
A tear is trickling out of the corner of my eye after all. I squint both of them shut and feel Kingston brush his thumb over my lips, my cheek. Feel him cradle my head in one broad hand.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “Let go.”
I do.
Keening and clenching and clamping around him in frantic, thrumming waves that don’t seem to relent even as his arms lock around my body and he thrusts harder, faster, faster, and—
Kingston buries his moan in my hair as he comes.
I can feel it, feel the actual hot pulse of his orgasm as he spills into me, and yet all I can do is let my eyes flutter shut. I am spent, swollen, tender, liquid, poured all out, wanting only to lie beneath him and let him take what he needs.
I’m yours.
I try so hard not to fall asleep, my head on his shoulder, his arms around me. I doze, and I wake, over and over. The room stays dark, but time is passing, and suddenly I don't want it to. I'd been so eager to simply get out of here, and now, now I want time to stop.
The next time my eyes flick open, I lean over and check Kingston's watch on the bedside table. 4:30. It'll be dawn soon. I can't stay here.
I roll to the side of the bed and start to get up, but Kingston's arm tightened around me. "Stay," he says.
My heart seizes. "I can't," I whisper. "If they notice I'm gone—"
"I know," he says softly. "Just..." He sits up behind me, runs his hand through my hair. "Stay a little longer. Please."
I nod. I fall back into him, my head on his shoulder, his arm around me, staring at nothing, hearing only his breathing and mine. I want every second to go slower, every single one. And it won't.
Finally, I have to go, and this time he doesn't stop me. I start getting dressed as Kingston watches, and then he gets up, hands me my sweater, and when I pull it on, he takes my face in his hands.
"Listen," he says, "tomorrow, today, don't go anywhere. We'll come for you somehow, in your room. Just stay there."
"I will," I say. "I'll be careful."
One last time, he kisses me. Then I'm back in the hall, navigating the passages, feeling like I've left something of myself behind.
I make it back to the women's hallway, to my door, and slip in silently. I get back into bed, bed still dressed, and pull the blankets up. I stare at the ceiling, at the icons watching, knowing I'm not going to sleep. I'm too wired, too emotional, too everything.
A few more hours, I think. A few more hours and this will all be over.