Chapter 15 #3
He pulled the caramel knit up my body slowly, dragging it over my hips, my waist, my breasts, taking his time like the removal was part of the touching.
By the time the dress cleared my head and landed somewhere near his feet, I was standing in front of him in lace and gold, my back still against his dresser, his body right there in front of mine.
The way he looked at me made my breath catch.
His eyes moved over my skin with the kind of focus that made me feel touched everywhere he had not put his hands yet.
My breasts. My stomach. My hips. The lace between my thighs.
The gold at my wrists and ears. He took me in like he wanted to remember the first time he saw me like this and hated that looking was not enough.
Then he went to his knees.
Just like that.
Like he had been thinking about it too long to bother pretending he was still cool now.
My stomach dipped hard.
His hands slid up the backs of my thighs, warm and steady, and eased me a little higher against the dresser so I was half-sitting on the edge, one foot still on the floor, the other leg opening when he guided it wider.
One of my hands flew back to brace on the wood behind me while the other found his shoulder.
He kissed the inside of my thigh first.
Slow enough to make me feel every inch of where his mouth was headed.
Then the other.
His hands spread me open with a steadiness that made my whole body go liquid before he had even really started. When he looked up at me, his eyes were dark enough to make my knees weaken all over again.
He dragged his thumb once through the soft curls and slick heat already waiting for him and watched my face when he did it.
My breath caught.
His mouth brushed the inside of my thigh. “Still got me fucked up.”
He kissed me there again, then lower, then lower still until his tongue finally touched me and every coherent thought left my head.
He ate me like he had been carrying the taste of me around too long to do anything halfway. Slow when he needed to learn what made me twitch. Meaner when he got it. His tongue dragged through me, broad and deliberate, then narrowed at my clit until my hips lifted on instinct.
One hand stayed firm at my thigh. The other flattened over my stomach, holding me where he wanted me, keeping me open when my body tried to fold in on itself.
“Micah,” I breathed, fingers already gripping his head and holding him to me.
He only made a sound against me and kept going.
The scrape of his beard against the soft inside of my thighs, the wet heat of his mouth, the little guttural noises he made every time I gave him another clue about what I liked, all of it started tearing me apart in the best possible way.
He licked me deeper. Sucked my clit just hard enough to make me gasp.
Pulled back only to say, “There it is,” when my legs started shaking, then went right back in like he had every intention of finishing what he had started.
When I came, it hit hard and low and shameless.
My whole body clenched around nothing. One heel dug into the floor. My head tipped back against the dresser, and his name tore out of me with no composure left on it at all.
He stayed there through all of it.
Lapping. Sucking. Working me through the aftershocks until I was trembling and oversensitive and still trying to open wider for him because my body had plainly decided it belonged to his mouth tonight.
By the time he rose, kissing his way up my stomach, I was still shaking, still half braced against the dresser, still trying to catch my breath.
Then he kissed me with my own taste still on his mouth.
That alone could have ruined me.
I reached for him harder this time, both hands going to his belt. My fingers fumbled. He helped me without saying much, just gave me one low laugh against my mouth when I nearly got the button wrong.
Then his jeans were open and my hand was on him.
My breath left me all over again.
Thick.
So fucking thick.
Hot. Heavy. Hard enough that the weight of him in my palm made my pussy clench in answer. I stroked once, and his forehead dropped to mine.
“Damn,” he breathed.
I did it again, slower this time, and felt the way his whole body answered. His hand tightened at my waist. His eyes shut for a second like he was talking himself through keeping some kind of order in the room.
Then he caught my wrist gently.
“You keep doing that, I’m not making it to the bed.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
That got a rough little laugh out of him.
“Your mouth slick as hell,” he said, eyes dark on mine. “And I’m gonna remember that.”
The words hit me so hard my whole body answered before he laid another hand on me. My breath caught. A hot, dangerous rush moved low through me, sharp enough to feel like the very edge of an orgasm without him even touching me.
That surprised me.
The force of it.
The way his dirty mouth could get under my skin and send heat flashing through me like that.
“I hate you,” I whispered, and it came out thin.
“No, you don’t.”
He grinned once, fast and dark, then guided me away from the dresser.
I went with him, still shaky, still wet, still reaching for him as he walked me backward toward the bed. His jeans hung open at his hips, his hands were firm on me, and every step made the air between us feel hotter.
When the backs of my knees hit the mattress, he eased me down with that same controlled strength. The sheets were cool against my back for all of two seconds before his body came over mine and changed the temperature of everything.
He leaned toward the nightstand, and I heard the drawer slide open. Heard the soft tear of foil.
Watching him roll the condom down over all that thick, hard length with those veined hands and that unhurried confidence widened something in me that had nothing to do with lust alone.
It was the care in it.
The certainty.
The fact that he was still thinking even now, still making sure, still bringing all that control into the room instead of letting desire make him careless with me.
Then he came back over me, and my body answered before he even touched me.
He slid my leg higher over his hip and ran the head of his dick through my wetness once, slow enough to make me arch and grab for him.
“Micah.”
“Yeah.”
“Please.”
He shut his eyes for one beat at that. When he opened them again, whatever he had been holding together all evening looked like it was hanging on by a thread.
“I’m gonna handle it now,” he said, voice dark and wrecked. “I’m gonna show you what we held off on doing. Right here. Right now.”
Then he pushed in.
Slow enough for me to feel all of it.
The stretch first. Then the thickness. Then that deep, crowding fullness inch by inch until my mouth fell open and every muscle in me drew tight around the sheer fact of him.
He was too much for a second.
Then nowhere near enough.
I grabbed his shoulders and held on while he pressed his forehead to mine and stayed there, letting me have every bit of the feeling.
“You okay?”