Chapter 27. He Thinks About Her All the Time #2
I flashed him a teasing grin. “And you think you are?”
His smile was slow, confident. “I know I am. But that’s for you to decide.”
Well, lucky for both of us, I had already decided.
I looped my hands around his neck and pulled him closer.
His lips came crashing down on mine again, and then he was kissing me like his life depended on it.
He let out a low groan as I nipped on his bottom lip, his tongue thoroughly exploring, and then he spun me around and walked us backward, pressing me against the closed door.
“Are you really, truly sure”—he broke the kiss—“that you—”
I shut him up by kissing him again, pulling his body against mine, my hips flush with his, and I groaned as he rocked his hardness against me, sending heat pooling between my legs.
His lips kept devouring, tasting, while his hands slid under my T-shirt, stroking the sides of my body before cupping my breasts, and I let out a low moan at the feel of his strong hands against my skin.
Our mouths were hungry, like we couldn’t get enough of each other, and then one of his hands snaked lower, past my hips, into the waistband of my shorts, then my panties, my breath hitching when his fingers found their way inside.
He stroked, patiently, maddeningly, his fingers working faster as my breathing got shallower, while his lips traced a path along my collarbone.
I came apart in seconds, moaning and clinging to him like I would crumble to the floor if I didn’t hang on to him for dear life.
“That’s it.” His eyes were molten lava, fixed on mine. “Come for me, Kim. I’ve got you.”
When I finally got my breath back, he was already occupied with his next move—easing my top over my head, along with his own T-shirt, and tossing them both on the floor.
Then he lifted me up, hooking my legs around his, before his lips went back on mine, then on my neck, tracing a path down to my chest.
“Just in case you haven’t noticed,” I breathed out, “there’s a perfectly fine bed just behind us. Large enough for two. It might be, you know, more comfortable.”
“On it.” He was a man on a mission, carrying me a few feet toward the bed, and we were both laughing as we stumbled onto it.
I straddled him as my lips explored his jaw, his neck, my hands hungrily mapping a path across his shoulders, his chest, and his arms. The feel of his body beneath mine was addictive, his hardness against my softness, and I was intoxicated by the way we fit so perfectly and how everything felt so right and so incredibly good, like this was what we were meant to do all along.
Like we were meant for each other.
“Kim.” His whispered words were reverent. “I can’t believe I get to be here with you.”
“Me too.” I dragged myself against his hard outline, teasing a groan out of him. “I can’t get enough of you.”
He pulled me closer and busied himself by taking a nipple into his mouth and gently sucking it.
My hiss was incomprehensible, and a satisfied smile passed over his face as he switched his attention to the other breast. His hands tugged on my panties and shorts, and the next thing I knew, he flipped us over and pulled them all off.
I watched, my mouth going dry as he lowered his own shorts, before climbing his way back up on the bed, his body towering over mine.
“Hi,” I said, suddenly feeling shy.
“Hey.” His smile was gentle. “How’s it going?”
“Good.” Really, really good. Super fantastic. One of the best days of my life.
“Only ‘good’?” The smile turned into a smirk. “Looks like I need to work harder.”
Then his lips were back on mine, then everywhere, mapping every inch of my body, while the hard outline of his dick pressed into my stomach, and the only thing I could do was groan and mumble unintelligible moans because I had next to zero brain cells left.
I reached down and curled my fingers around him, eliciting a soft growl from him.
“Kim,” he rasped. “Slow down. I don’t want our first time to be over in seconds.”
“Rob.” I never begged, but I was practically begging him right now. “I just want you. Now. Please.”
There were still a few brain cells left over that managed to register the sounds of his bedside drawer closing and foil ripping, and the way his breath hitched when my other hand reached for the protection and slowly rolled it on him.
“For the final time,” he breathed out, “are you absolutely su—”
“For fuck’s sake. Does this look like I’m having second thoughts?
” The hand that was curled around him started to move, stroking him, teasing him, guiding him toward me.
He gave a low groan, before brushing himself against my entrance, hot and hard, then he gently slid inside, easing himself deeper, giving me everything he had, until there was nothing left to give.
His hands grasped mine, and it felt as if our heartbeats thudded into one as he moved against me, slowly and then faster, his breath hot against my mouth.
My name was a prayer on his lips, whispered over and over again as we both started to lose control.
And when we did, as I stared into the greenish brown of his eyes, the name of the yarn equivalent for those eyes finally came to me.
Vintage Jade.
His eyes are called Vintage Jade.