49. TESSA
TESSA
Blake’s lips explored mine with an intensity that spoke of years of imagining this moment. Years of staring at my mouth, imagining it on his, all while I noticed the soft planes of his body and the strength of his hands, wondering what they’d feel like on my skin.
“Maria.” Blake’s eyes never left mine.
“Yes?” In my peripheral vision, I saw Maria appear tentatively, her voice and body language screaming, Please let me get the hell out of here; I so do not want to hear my boss having sex.
“Leave,” Blake commanded. “Now.”
“Done.” She said in a thank God tone, scurrying to what I could only presume was a back door to the penthouse.
Meanwhile, Blake’s mouth reclaimed mine, and unlike our passionate encounter on the terrace, this was fundamentally different.
It was different in the way he devoured my mouth, like he’d hungered for it all the days of his life.
It was different in how his hands roamed over my body with a fiery mix of tension and soft gentleness that spoke of something deeper and more meaningful than just sex.
And it was different because of his profession.
On the terrace, he’d admitted to wanting me physically all these years, but this time, he professed his love for me.
This was his soul recognizing mine.
I could feel it everywhere, like electricity charging through my body.
Our connection sparked and pulled, transcending mere attraction, and each touch carried the weight of countless moments.
Stolen glances across rooms, breath catching when we’d brush against each other, hearts racing in shared elevator rides.
Blake tugged my shirt over my head, his movements precise around the monitoring electrodes stuck to my skin.
He disconnected the thin, flexible wires from the lightweight device with practiced ease, setting it aside as his mouth blazed a trail along my jaw.
His bruised knuckles—evidence of his earlier protective fury—were surprisingly gentle as they worked at the buttons of my jeans.
I was tugging too. Tugging at his shirt, pulling it as high as I could before he reached behind himself—holy hell, was that sexy, when a guy could reach behind his shoulder blades and strip his entire shirt over his head—and pulled it off in one fluid motion, tossing it to the ground.
We fumbled with remaining clothes, hands desperate and greedy, mouths clashing and breaking apart only long enough to shed the last barriers between us.
Standing nude in his foyer—surrounded by priceless art and that coveted statue that represented everything he’d achieved—Blake pulled back to look at me, his gaze raking over my body with such hunger that I felt cherished.
“You’re beautiful, Cupcake.”
So was he. Muscles, woven into a fabric of art on his body, ink that I knew concealed his scars, physical remnants of a past he’d shared only with me.
My finger traced along the roughest line, feeling the raised tissue beneath. “Does it hurt?”
Blake captured my hand, pressing my palm against his heart. “Not anymore.” The simple words carried layers of meaning about his past, about us, about everything that had led to this moment.
Something crashed through his features then. A softness, a light that looked like it had been trying to turn itself on for years in an unending storm and finally miraculously broke free.
My lips crashed to his, pressing my bare chest to his torso. When Blake, never breaking our kiss, reached down and picked me up, placing me on the foyer’s glass table, I let out a delighted giggle.
The table was a delicate thing, only two feet deep and four feet long. I had no idea if the glass could withstand my weight, but the danger didn’t bother me. Not one bit, not when Blake’s hands were on my breasts.
Squeezing until I gasped.
His mouth blazed a trail down my jaw, pausing to press a tender kiss against the scar on my collarbone, the one that had driven him into a fury, before his tongue found my nipple.
My head fell back against the wall as I ran my fingers through his hair, a bolt of heat charging between my legs until it throbbed with such intensity that I wasn’t sure I could wait for foreplay.
I needed him. All of him, buried deep inside of me.
“Birth control?” The question was a growl against my skin as his mouth continued its sweet torture.
“IUD,” I managed breathlessly.
“Thank hell.” Blake’s voice was rough with need. “Because I want to feel every inch of you with my bare skin when I take you, Cupcake.”
Take me. Two words alone that had the power to make me come undone. I wanted to submit to Blake, to let him worship my body until neither of us had anything left.
On the floor, Blake’s pager beeped. My heart clenched. Surely, he would have to leave now, just when he’d finally professed his feelings, just when my body was so alive with want that I felt like I could lose my breaths if he stopped.
But he didn’t stop. He kept going.
“Don’t you have to get that?” I asked breathlessly.
Blake kissed me deeply, as if to silence the very question. “Hospital is full of doctors. They can manage.”
His lips worked down my throat, making me smile despite my curiosity.
“Have you ever ignored a page before?”
“Not once,” he admitted, licking up my throat, trailing his tongue along my lips.
“Don’t you want to see what it’s about?”
Blake’s response was to drop to his knees, staring at my sex like he’d dreamed of licking it for years, like the taste he’d gotten on the terrace was nothing more than one drop of water to a dehydrated man.
“I’m too busy getting everything I ever wanted, Tessa.”
He flattened his tongue and licked a long, slow stride up my folds, making me jerk.
My sudden movement as he pleasured me caused his prized statue to wobble—the caduceus that symbolized his dedication to medicine, the career that meant everything to him.
In that suspended moment, as his most valued possession began to tip, it would have only taken an instant to save it, yet he didn’t hesitate.
His hands never left me. Instead, he let it crash to the ground, shattering its pieces along the floor like confetti while Blake buried his face between my legs, moaning as he licked in circles around the most sensitive flesh.
“Blake …”
“I’ve dreamed about this for so long,” he murmured against my skin.
No one had ever worked my body like this, like Blake knew it better than I did. He swirled his tongue around and around, making my hips jerk, and as the heat intensified in my lower belly, he added two fingers. Plunging them slowly into me.
Up to his knuckles, then pushing past the resistance until they were all the way inside of me.
Again, I let out a breath. Again, I held the back of his head as he brought his tongue back to my core while he curled his fingers and pumped them to the heat of our passion.
I could feel myself clenching around his fingers.
Damn, if his fingers felt this good, imagine his massive girth filling me completely.
Blake was still in his boxer briefs, but his erection pushed against the fabric, showing me how big Blake was. Bigger than I’d dreamed of, that was for damn sure.
Pumping his hand, Blake sucked and swirled my bud to the rhythm of my breaths, and when I’d clench his hair tighter, he seemed to know that meant he was hitting me just right. He worked my sex with his mouth while an orgasm began to build in my lower belly.
Good Lord. Blake Morrison was on his knees, devouring me. Licking me, working his thick fingers as my thighs began to quiver, his shoulder muscles tensing with each pump.
“Just like that …” I moaned.
“Mmmmm …” He curled his fingers, locking his eyes with me, making it clear that Blake knew exactly what he was doing.
When his tongue licked another long, torturous circle around that bundle of nerves and he sucked it into his mouth, I came undone. I crashed around his fingers. I crashed on his mouth, holding it between my legs as I jerked and twitched, my toes curling as my legs pressed against his ears.
My orgasm was so strong that the table rocked harshly, banging against the wall, threatening to shatter like I was shattering on Blake’s face. But Blake never stopped; instead, he let out moans of his own while he pumped his fingers and sucked every last quiver out of me.
Then he stood, tugged his boxer briefs off, and my breath caught at the sight of him.
Long, and thick, and deliciously pulsing with need.
My tongue darted out to wet my lips, but before I could drop to my knees and take him to the back of my throat, Blake’s hand encircled my wrist and pressed it against the wall above my head.
The moment his grip tightened, something flickered in his eyes like regret or fear, and he instantly released me.
“I’m sorry?—”
“Don’t be,” I whispered, cradling his face between my palms. “I feel safe with you.”
The truth of those words resonated deep in my bones. This was trust incarnate. I felt so secure in his hands that I could surrender completely, knowing he’d catch me if I fell.
Because this was Blake. My Blake. My body recognized him on a cellular level, reaching for him like a flower turning toward the sun.
I didn’t want him holding back. And I certainly didn’t want that past taking anything else from me. Especially not this.
Uncertainty creased his brow. “I don’t want to trigger?—”
“You won’t.”
“But—”
“If anything feels wrong, I promise I’ll tell you immediately.” I held his gaze, willing him to understand. “Blake?”
He stilled.
“I’ve dreamed of this for years. Please. I want you to devour me. Ravage me.”
The change in his expression was electric. Uncertainty melting into relief, then blazing into raw hunger.
His lips found my jaw as his fingers teased my nipple. When he positioned himself at my entrance, his voice was rough velvet against my skin. “You’re mine, Cupcake.” He pushed forward, claiming me inch by exquisite inch.