Chapter 25 #2
I kiss her because I physically need to.
Because my body has decided it is no longer interested in patience or restraint or slowing down.
The kiss is softer than the first one we shared in the treatment room, slower, but not tentative.
When my tongue brushes her lower lip, she gasps, and the sound goes straight to my cock.
I pull her closer, close enough that there is absolutely no doubt how badly I want her.
We lace our fingers together as I lead her toward my bedroom, both of us suddenly quiet.
It feels ridiculous and intimate all at once, like teenagers sneaking around instead of two adults with a locked door and no witnesses.
The room is dark when we step inside and I reach for the lamp, keeping the light low.
Romantic, yes. Also, I want to see her. All of her.
The shyness creeps back in, uninvited but inescapable. This is real now. This is happening.
Elliot steps closer and lifts her hands to my chest, hesitating before she nudges my jacket off my shoulders. My tie goes next. Her fingers tremble just slightly as they find the first button of my shirt. She looks up at me, checking in.
I nod.
She exhales and starts unbuttoning it slowly, one button at a time.
I stay perfectly still, watching her concentrate like this is the most important task she has ever been given.
I try, unsuccessfully, not to think about how long it has been since anyone undressed me like this.
I shove the thought away. Elliot is the only woman I will allow space in my mind.
When my shirt hits the floor, she seems to forget her nerves entirely. Her hands go straight to my belt, moving with sudden confidence. She starts on my pants like a kid attacking wrapping paper on Christmas morning.
She fumbles with the zipper and lets out a small, frustrated grunt.
I laugh before I can stop myself. “Eager?”
Her cheeks flush pink, but she looks up at me anyway, nodding once, unapologetic as she pushes my pants down.
That does me in.
I reach for her dress, my hands skimming the smooth black fabric as I hunt for the zipper. I don’t find it anywhere on the back. “Where is it?”
“Side,” she says.
I find it and tug gently. Nothing happens. I try again, more carefully, my oversized fingers suddenly incapable of fine motor skills.
Come on.
“Here,” she says, reaching for it. “Let me.”
“I’ve got it,” I insist, stubborn and entirely wrong.
I lean in at the exact moment she looks up and our heads knock together.
“Shit,” I mutter.
“I’m sorry,” she blurts out at the same time.
We both stumble back, rubbing our foreheads.
“The zipper sticks,” she says, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Maybe you should do it,” I tell her. “Unless you want me to tear it off you like an absolute animal.”
Her eyes widen, her mouth forming a perfect O, and then she very deliberately turns back to the zipper. She makes quick work of it. The dress slips from her shoulders and she steps out of it, leaving it pooled on the floor between us.
And I forget how to breathe.
Fuck.
I stare at her without even trying to hide it.
She stands there in a black bra, shockingly pink panties and nylon stockings and my brain short circuits trying to decide where to look first. The way her bra hugs her perky breasts.
The small mole just above her left hip that I already know I am going to be obsessed with.
Her strong thighs that make my hands itch to touch her.
And those panties. That ridiculous, vivid shade of pink is going to live rent-free in my head forever.
She crosses one arm over her stomach, suddenly shy.
Maybe she is trying to hide the faint stretch marks there.
I want to tell her not to. I want to tell her exactly what her body does to me, what every part of her does to me.
But the words feel too big, too honest, and I am afraid they might scare her off.
“You’re stunning,” I tell her instead.
The smile that she gives me is one of disbelief. She has no idea how beautiful she is.
“Come here.” I hold my hand out to her and she closes the distance.
The moment she is in my arms, everything else fades.
Her hands slide up around my neck and it feels like every nerve ending I have lights up at once.
We kiss slowly, then again, then again, unhurried and curious, learning the shape of each other’s mouths while our bodies press close, skin against skin.
I want to pick her up and toss her on the bed.
To kneel at her altar, strip off those panties and bury my face between her thighs.
But even with the strides I’ve made with physio, kneeling is still out of the question.
Instead I back us toward the bed and sit, guiding her down onto my lap. She fits perfectly.
The kisses become more frenzied, more urgent. Elliot rocks her hips against me, her quiet moans filling the room. My hands grip her waist, stilling her.
“Tell me what you want, Elliot.”
“I want you to touch me. Please.”
“So polite,” I murmur against her neck, my lips brushing the sensitive skin just below her ear.
She shivers.
I unhook her bra and slide the straps from her shoulders, my hands mapping the warm curve of her back as if I’m memorizing it. My fingertips drift slowly upward, then forward, tracing the soft line of her stomach. She inhales sharply when my palms finally cup her breasts.
There’s a small sound in her throat when I squeeze, gently pinching one nipple and then the other.
I let my thumbs circle them lazily, living for the way her body leans into mine, the way she arches against me. Like she can’t get close enough.
I take my time.
My hands glide lower, skimming over the curve of her hips until I find the delicate edge of her stockings.
I push them down slowly, one at a time, my palms following the smooth length of her calves as the fabric slips away.
My touch trails upward again, unhurried, along the backs of her thighs, appreciating every tremor beneath my fingers.
When I reach her centre, I pause, brushing lightly over the flimsy pink barrier. I slip a finger into her panties and groan. “And so fucking wet.”
Elliot whimpers. She actually whimpers in my arms. “It’s…it’s been a long time.”
“I know, Boss. I know. I’m gonna take good care of you. Okay?”
She nods and kisses me. I adjust her on my lap so I can push her panties down over her hips and toss them on the floor. I stroke her clit with my thumb and her whole body trembles. Slowly, I slide a finger inside her.
“Ohhh God,” she mumbles against my lips. I want to go slow, but she’s so wet and warm and ready for me. I add another finger, moving them slowly in and out, my thumb never leaving that sweet bundle of nerves.
She rocks her hips, riding my hand in a desperate rhythm. My other arm loops around her, holding her to my chest, trying to slow her down. But she’s stronger than she looks and I’m doing well just to hang on to her.
She hitches herself up higher and I take the opportunity to bury my face in her breasts, caressing them with my tongue. Her movements become more erratic, her moans louder, as I feel her tightening around me.
“I’m almost…I have to…” she gasps as her hands pull my hair.
“Let go, Elliot. I’ve got you.”
She comes with a long shudder and loud cry, her arms locked around me as I hold her back just as tight. I kiss her shoulder, her neck, her jawline. Her skin is flushed and damp, soft and sensitive to my touch.
After several long moments she lifts her head and looks at me. God, she is more stunning than ever at this moment. Her blonde hair is mussed, half fallen out of whatever style she had it. Her beautiful eyes are darker, glazed. Her lips, swollen.
Stunning.
“I really like you,” I blurt, my voice hoarse.
Her lips quirk into the sexiest little smile as her hand brushes over my rock hard cock, straining against my boxer briefs. “What else do you like?”
I bite back a curse as my hips lift, pressing myself into her touch. “Anything. Anything you want to do to me. I’m at your mercy, Elliot. Completely.”
“Condom?” she whispers. I direct her to the bedside table drawer where the fresh box I bought this morning waits. She finds them and opens the box, tearing open the square foil with more patience than I’d have.
I lift my hips, sliding off the last of my clothing and she settles back onto my lap. I help her guide the condom over and down my shaft, even the briefest contact of her fingers enough to make me tense.
If I’m not careful, this will be over before it starts.
“I might not last long,” I admit as she lifts up to line herself up to me.
She plants a soft kiss on my lips before echoing my words from earlier back to me. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna take good care of you.”
Before I can respond, she’s sliding down on me, surrounding me, and I think I might actually die from the pleasure. I feel her everywhere. In every nerve, every cell of my body.
When she’s taken all of me, we take a moment, both of us adjusting. Her forehead rests against my lips, her chest rising and falling against mine.
“You’re a big man,” she says with laboured breaths.
Despite every ligament in my body feeling tight enough to snap, I laugh remembering her speaking the same words that first day in my office. “So I’ve been told,” I murmur against her cool skin.
She starts to move on me, slowly, but even with her restrained pace, I’m already struggling not to come. I try to think of hockey stats. Song lyrics. Random facts.
What’s the capital of Nunavut?
Elliot picks up the pace, moving faster, breathing harder and louder than before. My fingers squeeze her hips as she swivels, riding me like I’m a prize bull at the goddamn stampede.
I reach between us, finding that magical little cluster of nerves and she grows tighter around me, threatening to crush me to dust.
And what a fucking way to go.
“I’m…I’m…” Her voice gets higher on every syllable.
“You’re fucking made for me, Elliot. That’s what you are.”
She comes harder than the first time, taking me with her. I feel her around me, in me, everywhere. Pleasure so raw, so intense, I might momentarily black out.
I trace slow, absent lines up her back as we drift back to earth together, limbs still tangled, heat lingering between us. Elliot tips her forehead to mine, and we stay there, breathing each other in, sharing that soft, suspended moment right after everything else goes quiet.
“Well…” Her voice is wrecked in the best way, breathless like she’s just crossed a finish line. “Not bad for two very out-of-practice players, right?”
A laugh rolls out of my chest as I pull her closer, my thumb brushing her skin. “Not bad at all.”