Chapter 17
Seventeen
Tiff
I’m hot.
Scorching hot, sweat is dripping down between my breasts, my spine is on fire hot.
Am I sick? Have a fever or something?
Only as my brain comes slowly online, the sleep fading away, I remember.
Where I am.
Who I’m with.
My eyes fly open and I’m just barely awake enough to remember to move slowly.
Jean-Michel could still be sleeping.
Like I’d been.
Until I woke up with him holding me.
Yup.
Holding me.
His muscular arm is wrapped around my waist and even though he slept on top of the covers with me below them—his only requirement before agreeing to stay the night before—I can feel his hand burning into my flesh through the material.
It’s like he’s touching my naked skin.
Except, of course, he’s not.
I exhale quietly, sitting in the feel of him—his strong chest against my back, the heavy weight of his arm around my middle, his slow, even breathing in my ear, that spicy scent of him in my nose.
The only downside?
I’m the aforementioned scorching hot.
I don’t want to wake him, so I carefully pull back the edge of the blankets, allowing some of the cool air in.
That’s lovely.
That’s amazing.
I inch a little closer to the edge of the mattress and that blessed chill hits my legs.
The sweat cools on my skin, so even though my back is still an inferno, my front is cold. The mix is pleasant, and I breathe a little easier, comfortable with Jean-Michel behind me, drifting again, not tired but content to just lie here and not think about anything, not worry about anything, not have to be anywhere or do anything or?—
The hand around my middle tightens.
I go stiff.
Because Jean-Michel draws me even closer against him before his hand flattens on my stomach, coaxing me to roll, to face him.
And staring into his bright blue eyes, I suddenly feel shy.
Twice now I’ve fallen asleep plastered against this man.
But waking up next to him like this somehow feels even more vulnerable.
I open my mouth to say something—though I’m not sure what—when he lowers his head and suddenly, his lips are on mine.
He’s kissed me hot.
He’s kissed me gently.
He’s kissed me with a greedy tongue and firm lips.
But he hasn’t kissed me like this—as though the temptation of my mouth is something worth savoring so he’s basking in every second of the contact. The whisper of his lips against mine, the soft glances of his tongue, the bristles of his beard on my skin, the gentle vibration of his groan floating through my chest.
Need blooms in my belly, moisture between my legs, but just as I lift my hand, diving it into the strands of hair on his nape, he breaks his mouth away from mine, his eyes blazing hot as he murmurs, “Good morning.”
“Morning,” I say softly, still feeling shy even though I haven’t removed my hand from his hair, the strands like silk over my fingertips. “Did you sleep okay?” I ask. “I know my mattress isn’t the best?—”
“It was the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had, buttercup.”
My inhale is sharp. “Really?”
His mouth curves. “Really.”
“I didn’t snore or anything?”
“No, baby.”
“And you weren’t cold?”
“How could I be cold when I was cuddled up next to you?”
My cheeks heat. “I just know that sometimes I talk in my sleep and?—”
“Christ.” He brushes his lips over mine. “You’re even sweeter half asleep.”
“I’m not half asleep,” I tell him.
“So you’re just this sweet?”
“I—” I pause, trying to figure out a good answer to that, and when I don’t, he leans close.
“How am I going to pay back this much sweet?”
“You could always kiss me again.”
He smiles, humor dancing in bright blue eyes, but when he doesn’t lower his mouth to mine I just content myself with stroking my hand through his hair. He’s likely got a full day ahead of him, so even just lying here like this feels like a precious moment.
“Is it time for lunch yet?” I ask softly, the sun high in the sky, much higher than I would normally see upon waking, reminding me that I slept in far later than normal too.
Not that I mind.
I’m more refreshed than I’ve been in weeks.
And that kiss…I tuck it down deep to keep it safe.
It was beautiful.
It was more than just lips and tongues and teeth?—
He leans over me, one hand on the mattress near my head, the other trailing up along my side. “No,” he murmurs, “it’s not time for lunch.”
“Do you need to work for a while?” I ask. “I can always meet you later if you’re too busy.”
“Buttercup?”
My throat works. “Yeah?”
“It’s not time for lunch.”
He slants his mouth over mine, taking advantage of my parted lips, my mouth preparing to ask him “Then what is it time for?” And if the kiss before was soft and sweet, this one is a spark in a forest of dry tinder.
One flash and I’m alight.
“Mmm,” I moan, my fingers diving deeper into his hair.
He presses into me, pushing me back into the mattress, rolling over me, the blankets a tangle between us. His knee guides my legs apart and he settles against me.
I gasp.
The sensation is intense—he’s on top of me, surrounding me, pressing into me…drawing my legs up and around his waist.
Another gasp, but this time he swallows it, his tongue dancing with mine.
I moan again, my hips jerking?—
“Oh!” I cry, the pleasure burning through me.
That’s—the hard jut of his erection, his big body over mine…
It’s good .
It’s great, far better than my vibrator, and when his hips start moving against mine, slow and steady and inexorable, I feel it.
Pleasure coiling.
Need sharping to an arrow’s point.
My head drops back, breaking the kiss, my breaths coming in rapid gusts. He doesn’t stop, just murmurs softly in French and my pleasure-muddled mind is slow to translate the words.
“That’s it, beautiful. Ride me. Ride me until you come apart in my arms.”
There are other words too, ones I can’t process.
Because I’m flying up the edge, readying to leap, to plunge, to?—
“ Oh!”
I grind up against him, my legs tightening around his waist, my gaze locking onto his, getting lost into the molten blue of his eyes.
And then it’s on me, over me, taking me under.
I don’t see his eyes any longer, nor the satisfied smirk on his mouth.
It’s just…pleasure.
My orgasm ripples through me, exploding out from my middle, snaking through my limbs, which go lax, fall against the mattress.
I’m not aware of anything for long minutes.
Eventually, though, I become conscious again of him on top of me, his hand stroking lightly up and down my side, and manage to peel open my eyelids.
His smile is cocky.
“You—” I break off, my cheeks feeling hot.
Now the curve of his mouth goes soft, his hand on my side stilling. “Me what?”
“You didn’t…” I whisper. “You know…”
He bends down, lips nuzzling along the underside of my jaw. “That wasn’t about me, buttercup.”
Then he rolls off me, grabbing my wrist and hauling me to my feet.
“ Now it’s time for lunch.”