Chapter 9 Future Tense
Future Tense
Desiree
The door clicks shut, and Enrick’s mouth collides with mine, tasting like the white chocolate from dessert. His hands slide under my sweater—rough palms, warm skin—and I melt into him with a sound I don’t recognize as my own.
We’re moving. Stumbling backward through the darkness of his bedroom and I barely register the decor because his teeth are on my neck now.
“Been thinking about this,” he growls, walking me backward, “all through dinner.”
My hip hits his dresser. He grips my waist, steadying me, then we’re moving again. The backs of my knees hit the mattress and I’m falling, landing on dark sheets that smell like fabric softener and him.
He follows me down, covering my body with his, and the bed is big enough to get lost in, big enough for everything he promised.
“Enrick—” Breathless. Needy.
His weight presses me into the mattress. “I know, sweetness.” He frames my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks even as his hips pin mine. “I’ve got you. And I won’t let you out of this bed until you come on my dick at least twice.”
His mouth moves down my throat, and I arch into him, desperate for more contact. He takes his time despite my impatience, kissing along my collarbone, pushing my sweater up inch by torturous inch.
“Enrick, please—”
“Shhh.” He sits back on his heels, straddling my thighs, and pulls my shirt over my head. The air hits my skin, and I shiver. “I’ve waited six years for this. I’m not rushing.”
The way he looks at me makes me wetter than I already am. The flats of his palms skim up my sides, fingers brushing the undersides of my breasts through my bra.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, “how many times I’ve imagined you in my bed.”
“Tell me.” My voice comes out husky, unfamiliar.
His eyes meet mine, dark with want. “Every night. Every goddamn night since I met you.” His fingers find the clasp of my bra, flicking it open. “I’d lie in bed thinking about your skin, your taste, the sounds you make when you come.”
He slides the straps down my shoulders, baring me to his gaze, and his expression steals my breath.
“So beautiful,” he whispers, lowering his mouth to my breast.
The first touch of his tongue makes me cry out. He’s maddeningly thorough, sucking and licking one breast while his hand kneads the other, until my body writhes beneath him.
“Please,” I beg, fingers tangling in his hair. “I need—”
“I know what you need.” He pulls my pajama pants and underwear down together, tossing them somewhere in the darkness. “And I’ll to give it to you.”
Completely bare while he’s still fully clothed, I should feel exposed. Instead, I feel powerful, because his eyes are devouring me like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted.
“Spread your legs for me, baby.”
I do, and he settles between my thighs.
“Holy hell, sweetness.” His breath is warm against my inner thigh. “You’re already so wet for me.”
“I’ve been wet since I first saw you,” I admit, shameless.
He looks up at me, eyes blazing. “Good. Because I’ve been hard since you got out of your car.”
Then, his mouth is on me, and coherent thought becomes impossible.
He wasn’t lying about taking his time. His tongue explores every fold and sensitive spot. When he finds my clit, circling it with maddening patience, my hips buck off the bed.
“Stay still,” he orders, one arm banding across my hips to hold me down. “Let me taste you properly.”
The combination of his tongue and the restraint of his arm sends me spiraling. I make sounds I’ve never made before, desperate and needy, my hands fisted in his hair.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against me. “Let me hear you. No one can hear us up here.”
The permission undoes something in me. I stop trying to be quiet, stop trying to control my reactions, and just feel. His tongue is relentless, circling and sucking and licking until My whole body shakes, until I’m right on the edge—
He slides two fingers inside me, curling them just right, and I shatter.
The orgasm rolls through me, stealing my breath, and I’m gasping his name between ragged moans. He works me through it, tongue gentling but never stopping, fingers maintaining that perfect pressure until every muscle goes liquid.
“One,” he says, kissing my inner thigh, his beard rough against sensitive skin. “You taste even better than I remembered.”
I’m still quivering when he starts again.
This time he’s less patient, less gentle. His tongue is demanding, almost aggressive, like he can’t get enough. He adds a third finger, stretching me, and the slight burn mixed with pleasure makes me whimper.
“You can take it,” he growls. “You’re going to take everything I give you.”
The filthy promise in his voice, combined with the relentless rhythm of his fingers and tongue, builds me back up faster than should be possible. When he sucks hard on my clit while his fingers hit that spot inside me, I come apart again.
This one is almost painful in its intensity. Sobbing his name, my hands clutch at the sheets, at his shoulders, at anything within reach.
He doesn’t stop. Even as I still pulse around his fingers, he’s moving up my body, shedding his clothes with quick, economical movements.
“You’re sensitive,” he says against my mouth, letting me taste myself on his tongue. “But we’re not done yet.”
I feel his hard thickness against my thigh, and despite two orgasms I want more. Want him. Want everything.
“I need you,” I breathe. “Inside me. Now.”
He reaches into his nightstand, pulling out a condom, and I watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he rolls it on. Watching him stroke down his length makes my core clench with renewed need.
“I’ve dreamed about this,” he says, positioning himself at my entrance. “About being inside you. About making you mine in every way.”
“Then stop dreaming,” I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, “and make it real.”
He slides into me in one slow, devastating thrust.
We both freeze, breathing hard. He’s big—bigger than I remember, or maybe I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be this full, this complete.
“Okay?” His voice is strained, muscles trembling with the effort of staying still.
“More than okay.” I roll my hips experimentally.
He groans, the sound almost pained, and his hips jerk forward involuntarily. “Don’t—” His forehead drops to my shoulder. “Christ, Desiree, don’t move yet. I need a second.”
“Enrick?”
“It’s been years for me,” he grits out. “And you feel so fucking good. I’m trying really hard not to embarrass myself in the next ten seconds.”
The admission makes me clench around him, and he makes a strangled sound.
“You’re not helping.”
I can’t help it—I laugh, the sound breathless and delighted. “It’s okay if you—”
“It’s not okay.” He pulls back, looking down at me with dark, desperate eyes. “I want to make this good for you. I want—”
I cut him off with a kiss. “You already made it good for me. Twice. Four times if we count earlier. This is for you.”
“Desiree—”
I roll my hips again, deliberately this time, and watch his control shred. His eyes flutter closed, jaw clenching, and then he’s moving—three hard, frantic thrusts before he stills with a groan that sounds like my name and surrender combined.
He buries his face in my neck as he comes, his whole body shaking, and I hold him through it, running my hands down his back.
When he finally lifts his head, his cheeks are flushed, and he presses a kiss to my forehead. “Don’t move,” he murmurs. “I’ll be right back.”
He pulls out carefully, and I watch him cross to the bathroom, unselfconscious in his nakedness. The light from the bathroom spills across the bedroom for a moment before he flicks it off, returning to me in the darkness.
I am still half-dazed that this is real. After six years, we found our way back to each other.
The mattress dips as he climbs back in, and then his arms are around me, pulling me against his chest. His skin is warm, and I burrow into him, fitting myself against the solid planes of his body.
“That was—”
“Hot,” I finish for him.
“I was going to say mortifying.”
“It was hot,” I insist. “Knowing I affect you that much? That you couldn’t control it? That’s incredibly hot.”
He kisses me. “Give me thirty minutes,” he murmurs against my lips. “Maybe twenty. And I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
“I’m counting on it.”
We lie there in silence, his arm resting heavy on my hip. Outside, I can hear the distant rumble of snowplows scraping through the streets, but inside we’re warm and safe and together.
“How often do you stay here?” I ask. “At Maverick and Gina’s, I mean.”
“Most of the time, actually.”
I tilt my head back to look at him. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He begins stroking my hip. “My place is... it’s big.
Empty. Feels even more so lately.” His voice goes quieter.
“I used to get Bella for a month at a time. Those visits made it feel like a home, you know? Her toys everywhere, cartoons playing, her little voice chattering about everything and nothing.”
My chest tightens at the pain in his voice.
“But since I can’t do the month-long visits anymore, the house just sits empty.” His arm tightens around me.
“Enrick,” I whisper, my heart breaking for him.
“So I find myself here more often than not. At least Mav’s house has life in it.
Noise. Gina’s always got something going on, the kids are around.
” He pulls me closer, his chin resting on top of my head.
“Better than rattling around in that empty house, counting down the days until I can see my daughter again.”
“You don’t like being alone,” I say softly, understanding clicking into place.
“I don’t mind being alone,” he corrects. “I mind being lonely. There’s a difference.” He cups my face. “And I’ve been fucking lonely.”
“You don’t have to be anymore,” I whisper. “Bella and I could visit you on the weekends. We could stay at your place.”
“I’ll make the trips to Atlanta. Every weekend. I don’t mind the flights.”