Chapter 21 #2
I don’t exactly answer him before he lifts me, sets me on the edge of the bed, and works his way down the remainder of the jersey to open it. Then he leans forward and kisses my belly. With a hand on my upper chest, he presses me back until I’m flat on the bed and he kisses me again.
I’m dizzy and delirious and Ross Davis is so delicious.
Abruptly, he pulls back and stands upright, then reaches for the button on my jean shorts when another reality hits.
“Wait.” With my heart racing, my head is galloping to catch up. “I’m not . . . I mean, I never thought . . . So I . . .” I blow out an exasperated breath and just spit out what I’m trying to say. “I’m not waxed or tidy or scaped down there.”
I mean, who would have thought Ross Davis would be going down on me? Certainly not me.
“If you think a little hair is going to keep me away from you, think again, sweetheart.” He arches a brow while his eyes give a final ask for permission to proceed.
I nod once, sighing in relief when the button on my shorts pop open. Ross makes quick work of the zipper, and with a sharp tug, my shorts are removed.
He eagerly spreads my knees and leans forward, running his nose over my covered center.
“You smell incredible, beautiful.”
Or did he say you smell incredibly beautiful? I don’t know. I can’t think straight. My brain is scrambled with anticipation and a twinge of nerves.
With his fingers in the waistband of my underwear, he removes them slower than he lowered my shorts, taking his time like he’s unveiling a masterpiece. Once he drops them to the floor, he leans forward again and slides his finger through my slit.
“Fucking soaked,” he hums, like he didn’t expect it, didn’t know what he does to me, didn’t know how he’s been working me up for days. Or maybe he’s being smug because I’m nearly dripping.
His thumb toys with me, spreading me open and circling the slick folds before he hits that sacred spot. I suck in air.
He hums again, a satisfied sound, before he applies teasing pressure, tiny circles of torture that cause my hips to buck upward. He claps a hand on my inner thigh, holding me still before his face is between my legs. The sudden flick of his tongue has my hips jolting again.
“Stay still, sweetheart.” Only his palms are suddenly restraining my spread thighs, pinning me in place as he works his magic with that tongue. Long laps. Short swirls. He drinks me in before diving deeper.
All kinds of sounds are escaping me. Purrs. Hums. Moans. And I can’t move my legs which is only amplifying the pleasure.
Ross removes one hand from my thighs to join his tongue, and my leg snaps upward, bracketing his head. One long finger glides inward as he works my clit with his mouth.
“Ross,” I groan, the sensation too much. Earth, wind, and fire at the same time.
His finger slides in and out before he adds a second one. He blows over my clit, flirting with what has already been teased, then his mouth is on me again, warm and slippery.
“I’m—” My breath catches. “Ross, I’m . .
.” I can’t get the words out, all coherent thought leaves me and in its place is a release so sweet, so refreshing, so languid, I float through the rush of flutters and coast along the dips.
My legs cage Ross’s head as I ride out the gentle storm raining from within me.
Eventually, I reach for his head, needing him to stop while never wanting him to let me go.
With a final lap and then a soft kiss directly to sensitive folds, he pulls back and glances up at me. Those desert-bright eyes are full of pride and something deeper, something darker.
“Fucking delicious,” he murmurs, climbing up over me and taking my mouth again, kissing me hard and fast, tongue thrusting inward, forcing me to taste what he’s done to me. The moment is heady, thrilling, and dirty, while I’m lost to how carnal and raw it feels.
With my legs spread, Ross is cradled against me, the bulge covered by his towel not a mystery. I hitch my hips, seeking friction against him, wanting him to feel the way I do.
He pulls back and glances down at me. “I want to be inside you, Vee. Feel you collapse again around me.”
“This will take our sleeping arrangement to a new level,” I warn him. A level he explicitly said he didn’t want to enter.
“Leveling up then.”
He shifts so his knees are outside the cradle of my thighs, then he’s climbing upward, over me, stretching for the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. Only with his reach, his towel comes loose, exposing the long, hard length of him. As he’s close to my face, I turn to lick up his length.
Ross freezes. “Vee.” He hisses.
I repeat the motion, wiggling my arm free until I can fist him. I tug and stroke his thick, solid length before opening wide and sucking the tip.
“Don’t play with me, sweetheart.”
He barely finishes his command and I draw him into my mouth, unable to take the full length of him.
“Fuck.” His curse is a soft plea, a strained prayer, and I honor him by hollowing my cheeks and dragging up and down his length, twirling my tongue and further teasing him.
Not much time passes, before his fingers curl into my hair, gently forcing me to release him.
“Enough, Vee, or I’ll spend down your throat when I want to go off inside you.”
We should probably discuss what that means, but then I understand why he was stretching over me.
His wallet is on the nightstand, and he’s prepared for this moment.
Once a gold packet is retrieved, he clambers back over me, settling on his knees between my spread thighs. His towel is long forgotten.
I watch as he rolls on the protection, not certain I’ve ever witnessed a man do such a thing. As he handles himself, my channel clenches, greedy for him, anticipating him inside me. When he finishes covering himself, he glances at me.
“Gotta say, fuckin’ you while you’re wearing that jersey is a dream.”
I gaze down at myself. Jersey spread open, bra on display. He reaches around me and unfastens the clasp at my back.
“Do that trick where you take it off without removing the jersey.”
With a wiggle of my arms, and a tug and a pull, I’m braless while the jersey remains.
Ross falls to his arm, braced above me, while he lowers his mouth to a breast and his other hand holds himself lined up at my entrance.
His tongue twirls around my nipple while I cup his head, combing my fingers through his hair.
Then he bites my nipple and thrusts inward.
I lurch upward, taking him to the hilt and clutching at him. “Ross,” I gasp, startled by the sting, the shove, and the sudden rush of my libido.
Filling me, Ross pauses and glances down at where he’s entered me. “I’ve been fantasizing about this moment for weeks.”
“For weeks?”
“Every day. Every night. Sleeping beside you has been heaven and hell.” He pulls back then rushes forward again.
“But this. This right here is next level.” He exhales and stills, using his arms to support him above me.
Then he rolls his hips in a way that his pubic bone rubs against my clit, winding me up and up and up again.
My legs are spread as wide as they can, my clit presses against him, loving the friction, the spiral, the build.
“Ross.” My breath catches once more. I don’t typically let go in this position, but the weight of him over me, the warmth, the pressure, and I’m suddenly on the verge of that floating sensation once again.
With my hands on his shoulder blades, pressing at him as if I want him to collapse on top of me, I clutch and claw until the flutters release, the relief sharp and quick, but no less intense than the first time.
I cry out his name.
“Sweetheart,” he groans, going wild now that I’ve been reckless. He moves back and forth, rushing in, while teasing to pull out. Then he stills and every jolt, every flinch, I feel buried within me.
A vein on his neck strains. His heart hammers. My name is a sweet cry. “Verona.”
Then he collapses over me, blanketing me.
Memories flash through my head. A warm jacket on a rainy day. An apology kiss against my neck. A camera flash and a captured moment.
Ross Davis will always be all these things to me and now this.
If only I could keep him.