Chapter 22 #2
“Ramona,” he says on a rough groan. “You’re really this wet for me?” Hot breath rushes across her neck as he slips his finger inside. “How does that feel?”
She arches her back, wanting to tell him how perfect it is, but she can’t seem to find the words.
He pauses. “Tell me,” he says, as though he won’t continue unless she answers the question. “I want to know exactly what I do to you.”
She digs her nails into his shoulders. “It’s so good. So fucking good. Please don’t stop.” He grins, moving his finger faster, dragging her slickness along her lips. This slight bossiness in him, this control—she might love it.
“When you’re with me,” he says, low and steady, and she can’t understand how he manages this when she’s already toeing the edge of a cliff, “you’re going to come every single time.
” He skims her clit, a slight brush that has her gasping before he returns to his gentle, teasing strokes.
“Ideally first. Whether I’m fucking you with my hand or my mouth—I don’t care how long it takes. ”
“Nick,” she murmurs. “Please. I can’t—”
A dark looks forms on his face. “I think you can,” he says. “We’re not in a rush, and I want to take my time with you. I couldn’t, the last two times.” He lowers himself down her body, and when he speaks again, his mouth is at her hip. “Can I taste you, honey?”
The question and nickname alone almost get her there. She’s dirty-talked plenty, but never like this. Never this brazen, and never like she truly meant it.
“Yes. You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured it.”
“Probably not as many as I have,” he says, a wicked edge to his words. “That night we were texting—this is what I imagined. My face, right here. You made me so crazy, and you’d barely even done anything.”
He dips his head between her legs, holds his nose against her. Inhales. She forgets to be self-conscious, focuses only on this beautiful man making her feel beautiful things. Then he’s kissing her, licking her, these long strokes of his tongue like he’s fucking savoring her.
Something thin and metallic presses against her thigh—his earring. She hopes it leaves a mark, something red and precise she can look at tomorrow and remember exactly how it all felt.
“This is going to be a problem,” he says when he pauses to take a breath, and for a moment she panics. But he’s grinning, mouth wet and face flushed. “I’m going to get addicted to this.”
“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me.”
Another hot slide of his tongue that makes her forget her own name. “What else can I do? What do you want?”
This. This, on repeat, forever. “Your fingers, too.”
He licks her faster while he works a finger inside her, and then another, urging her closer and closer.
His free hand gripping her leg while she tangles hers in his hair, hips rocking against his face.
Tongue on her clit while a stream of expletives falls from her mouth.
A smile—yes, she’s pretty sure that’s a smile—stamped to her inner thigh.
And then he flutters his tongue and crooks his finger just right and—fuck—fuck—
The orgasm bursts behind her eyelids, light and color and heat as a cry tears from her lungs. She clutches his hair, the duvet, her own throat. Curses under her breath, shutting her eyes until the room stops spinning.
Breathless, she pulls him up to her, kissing him hard and tasting herself on his lips.
“Gorgeous girl,” he says, his voice a rumble, hair wild. Devastatingly lovely. “Gorgeous, sweet girl.”
She doesn’t think anyone’s called her sweet in a very long time.
When he says it, she wants to believe him.
As she reaches for his boxers, even more desperate to undo him, to turn him boneless and begging, his expression changes. “I just realized—I don’t have a condom.”
She hasn’t caught her breath yet, but she’s not sure if she has any in the house, since the last time she brought a guy back here was…she can’t even remember.
“Not that—we obviously don’t have to,” Nick’s saying, turning sheepish. “We can stop right now, if that’s what you—”
She cuts him off with a swift kiss. “What I want…is to know exactly what you sound like when you’re completely fucking losing it.”
She hovers over him, taking her time removing his boxers, kissing up and down his legs.
Holding her mouth to the dimples at his hips, savoring the groan in his throat.
He’s still so hard for her, must be aching for her to touch him, and yet the way he watches her with a dazed, quiet reverence… it makes her head spin.
When she finally wraps her hand around his cock, a brilliant shudder wracks his body. Yes, she silently urges. Let go. He’s hot and smooth, flexing in her palm, and yet she’s suddenly unsure what to do next.
“Tell me how to touch you,” she says. It’s been a long time since this piece of anatomy was a mystery to her, but he was so attentive with her. She wants to do the same for him.
When he laughs, it’s a choked sound that makes pleasure pool low in her belly again. “I swear I’m not just trying to flatter you, but—I don’t think there’s a single thing you could do that I wouldn’t like.”
At that she grins, gives him a few strokes before she reaches between her thighs, slicking her hand with her own wetness.
Then she tightens her fist around his cock again.
Slides him faster. He looks perfect like this, lashes at half-mast, wholly surrendered to her. The rapid rise and fall of his chest.
She’s caught between warring desires, determined to make this last as long as possible and dying to push him over the edge.
“Good?” she asks as she slows down, and there’s that low, bitten-off laugh again.
“Evil,” he says, right before she puts her mouth on him.
His head drops to the pillow, abdominal muscles flexing.
And maybe she could get addicted to this too: the salt-earth taste of him, the way he twists his fingers in her hair, holding it back but never pushing her head down.
His desperate, pleading sounds are a thing of beauty—soft at first, almost like a prayer, and then louder and less self-conscious as she sucks him deeper. Swirls her tongue over his tip.
“Oh, honey, that’s incredible.” His ragged exhale settles deep in her core. “Jesus. You’re fucking amazing—just like that.”
Sweat beads on his chest as she grips him harder, and she’s never liked when a man finishes in her mouth, or worse, on her face—her words from back in Nick’s office briefly come back to haunt her—but she wonders if it might feel different with him.
“Wherever you want me,” he rasps out, as though he’s thinking back to that encounter too.
At the last second, she releases him from her mouth, and with a few final pumps he falls apart in her hand. It’s even sexier than she imagined, his wrecked breathing and the quiver of his hips, her name in his mouth like a filthy, sacred thing.
She’s overwhelmed with the desire to keep him close. To do this again.
And it really fucking scares her.
After they clean up, she tentatively approaches the bed, where he’s tangled in her giant white duvet like he belongs there.
“Come here,” he says with a curl of his finger, as though sensing her sudden shyness.
The light from outside filters in through the blinds, finding both the natural copper highlights and the gray strands of his hair. She forgot it was still daytime; all she wants to do is stay in this bed until the sun goes down.
“That was—you’re—” A hard swallow as she slides back in bed next to him, unsure how to put what just happened into words. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”
He drapes her across his chest, holds her tight. His skin is warm, breaths even. “I had a feeling it would. With you. I think you’ve permanently rewired my brain.”
“Is that the official psychological term?”
“Yep. It’s in all the textbooks.” His fingers play with the ends of her hair as his tone turns lighter. “I hope you know…this doesn’t mean I’m giving you an A.”
She grins, relieved that they can joke about it. “Of course you are.” She kisses the hollow of his throat. “But I’m going to earn it.”