Chapter 11 April #4
He pushes a knee against where mine are joined, forcefully separating them before planting his on the blanket, removing the option of keeping my thighs together.
His free hand trails down the front of my body over the corset.
His touch is so light it makes me shiver as he ghosts over my stomach.
The tips of his fingers graze over my mons, and I draw in a shaky breath, preparing, bracing.
But just before he reaches the spot where I’m already aching, already wet, he pulls away like he was never there to begin with.
His hand closing over the flesh of my inner thigh instead.
He squeezes, just once, before his thumb brushes my skin just an inch away from where I want it.
“Asshole,” I whimper against his lips.
He pulls back enough to meet my gaze, but still close enough to feel his breath against my lips.
“And here I was, thinking you liked it when I was mean to you,” he rasps.
He closes the distance just long enough to nip at my lower lip, dragging his teeth over it before he pulls back again.
“It riled you up enough to send those texts, did it not?”
“That was an accident—”
“It got you to send me that fucking scandalous photo of you in your room,” he interrupts, his eyes darkening as his gaze lingers over the lingerie again. “That wasn’t an accident, April.”
I swallow. “No. It wasn’t.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he says, his thumb stroking again, a little closer, so close it makes me whimper.
I can feel the exact moment he’s no longer just touching skin, but gliding.
I know damn well he’s felt exactly what he does to me.
His breath catches just a little, but it’s enough for me to notice.
“I’m pretty sure the day you sent those first texts; I’d walked in on you staring off into space after I’d explicitly told you to rewrite your draft.
” His hand leaves the back of my neck and hooks on the front of my corset, right beside the metal clasps.
“What were you thinking about when I walked in?” My hand flies to the front of his shirt, grasping at the fabric like it’ll stop him.
“Were you imagining what you so eloquently wrote out in your texts?” he asks, smirking down at me before he lowers his mouth to my ear. The heat of his breath makes me shiver. “Were you playing out exactly what I ended up giving you?”
“No,” I say, the lie coming too quickly, too easily.
“I think you’re lying to me, princess,” he murmurs. He brushes his thumb along the mesh gusset of my thong, directly over the place I’m aching for him to touch. I’m dripping, and the whine it pulls from me is so needy that I hate myself for it. “You’re a very bad liar,” he says.
Abruptly, he pulls hard at the front of my corset. The metal gives too easily, and it breaks open. I wince because I don’t know if pieces will go flying and because my breasts are on full display. Oh my god, oh my god, this is real—
“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck.”
He kisses me again, but it’s different this time, almost frustrated in its ferocity.
His thumb strokes me while his other hand tugs on what's left of the broken corset, pulling the stiff boning and sheer panels out from under me. He cups my left breast, then squeezes gently. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t focus on what would be such minimal stimulation from anyone else.
From him, it feels like too much, like it’s everything at once.
He breaks our kiss, nudging my chin with his nose, and I tilt my head back, my neck arching to give him what he’s asking for.
Teeth scrape against the sensitive spot beneath my ear, and it’s as though a bolt of lightning rushes through me.
Reminding me that I, too, have hands that can do things and can give myself the things I’ve been craving.
Starting with seeing him.
My clumsy fingers work at his shirt buttons. The temptation to just rip it off of him, as he did to me, is right there. I don’t share the same flippancy with money as he does, and I know exactly how much his Voss it's overwhelming.
His fingers withdraw slowly, leaving me shaking, but needing more. I watch him lick his fingers clean like he did before, but it feels less like a statement now and more like a ritual. His gaze raking over my body.
He places his hand on his belt. It unbuckles easily, and the long strap brushes against my thighs as he goes to unbutton his slacks and pull his zipper down. My heart hammers against my ribs, my hands suddenly useless, with no idea whether I should help or just… watch.
In an instant his pants are halfway down his thighs, and then they’re gone. It’s just him, his skin, his muscles, his body. And Jesus fucking Christ, his cock.
It takes me less than a second to understand why he’d warned me.
Every inch of him is intimidating, but every inch of his length is downright terrifying.
Thick, hard, with a slight curve upward that makes my mouth go dry.
Angry little veins run up toward the glistening head.
It doesn’t look like something that should fit.
It looks like something I’d buy at Adam & Eve and then lose my confidence the moment I get it home.
I can’t help but stare, can’t help the way my body reacts, can’t stop the flood of arousal and adrenaline that assaults me. “Fuck.”
His lips quirk in the corners. “Like what you see?”
Heat invades my face so intensely it feels like I’m on fire. “It’s adequate,” I breathe.
There’s a beat of silence where I worry for half a second that my joke didn’t land or that I’ve genuinely insulted him, but then his boom of laughter carries out across the sand and the ocean, nearly making me jump.
“Adequate?” he repeats, his voice dripping with amusement as he crawls back over me, forcing me back down into the blankets.
“We’ll see if you still think that in a minute. ”