Chapter 21 #3
Sterling kneels in front of me again, the warmth of his body close, so close that my pulse stutters some more. I feel his breath at my ear before his fingers even touch me. Then the silken fabric drapes over my eyes, feeling cool and soft on my face, and then everything disappears.
His hands are careful. One brushes my temple as he ties the scarf at the back of my head. The other lingers near my neck, his knuckles ghosting over my skin. Every brush of his fingers leaves sparks behind, my senses sharper without sight.
Darkness settles, but I’m not afraid. If anything, I feel steadier, tethered by the slow, warm breath he lets out near my ear, and grounded by his scent and his body so close to mine.
“Is this okay?” he asks, voice deep and penetrating.
I nod. “Yes.”
His fingers skim my shoulder, then glide down my arm until they find my wrist. He threads our fingers together, and the warmth of his palm in mine makes my heart thump.
The other sounds fill in the dark. The rustle of his clothes as he moves, the quiet drag of breath between us. The fire crackles nearby, casting heat across my legs, but it’s nothing compared to what’s coiling low between them.
The couch dips again as he leans in, and then I feel him. His lips press against my chin. His hot breath against my throat. My own breath comes out shaky. My body shivers from pleasure. The blindfold might’ve taken my sight, but I feel everything now.
His lips move, lower, slower, brushing my throat, lingering there with such maddening restraint that I want to beg him to keep going, but I don’t. I let him take his time. Let him give in the way he wants to. Even if it pains me, rendering me to this whimpering desperation.
My fingers tighten in his, my breath shallow. He moves like he’s learning me, like every inch of my skin holds an answer he’s aching to know. And now he’s making me pay in-kind.
His free hand trails up the curve of my hips, brushing aside my shirt until warm air greets my bare chest.
“Elle,” he murmurs, so rough like desire scraped it raw.
“Yes, Sterling,” I whisper.
His fingers thread through mine, even as his other hand ghosts higher up my ribs in a line so slow it truly is torture.
I arch into him. I can’t help it. He’s being too careful.
And yet every inch of restraint he shows only makes the ache inside me worsen.
But I want to be ruined this deliberately, by the only man who’s ever made me feel like I’m worth taking his time with.
When his mouth finds my throat again, his lips part, groaning quietly against my pulse.
I let out a long, breathy gasp. He stays there, like he’s listening to the way I breathe, to the way my heartbeat races.
His touch slides to cup the curve of my breast fully, dragging heat with it.
My breath catches again. My body coils. My voice comes out thin and needy. “Sterling…”
He groans again, low and guttural, and I feel it more than I hear it. His hand kneads my left breast, too gently. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, his deep voice hoarse.
“It’s not nearly enough.”
A strained noise leaves him—part laugh, part curse—and then he kisses me again. This time, with less restraint, but still slow, still steady. I see it now, that Sterling’s the type of person who devours, that he prefers taking his time to savor every moment we have.
The couch dips beneath us as he hovers over me, pressing into me with careful weight. His heat seeps through the thin barrier of our clothes, making me gasp against his moaning lips. His hands move, down my ribs, tracing each dip and curve like he’s not done memorizing me.
He kisses me like it’s the only language he knows. Deep, aching kisses that leave me dizzy and drunk on him. His hands never wander too far. They guide, they ask. And I eagerly give and give. When I gasp his name again, soft and breathless, he stills.
“I love it when you say my name,” he murmurs into our kiss.
My body clenches, my breath gone. I whisper again, “Sterling…”
He cradles my jaw, then breathes against my mouth. “Good girl.”
That ruins me. My body arches instinctively, my hands tightening in his shirt. He holds me together even when I’m coming undone under every burning touch. His mouth trails along my throat again, and I hear myself desperately whisper, “Please, Sterling… More…”
He groans, lips brushing my collarbone, then lower, until every inch of me is trembling. And when he kisses my right breast, while his hand kneads the other, I know there’s no going back. I want it all. And I want everything from him.
His touches don’t rush, don’t devour the way his kisses do. Instead, they give me a taste of his desire, branding it across my skin.
He says my name again, but how he breathes it scorches me. I moan louder this time, my fingers curling into his hair, my other hand reaching to grip his broad shoulder. I want to touch more of him. All of him.
“Elle,” he murmurs again, and it’s a confession now. Or a plea, or a prayer. My mind’s far too gone to be able to tell, to even have cohesive thoughts.
“Sterling,” I breathe, just as softly.
I press my lips to his one more time. It’s a kiss that says I see you. That I trust him. That I’ve fallen.
But then there’s a sound. A dull thud. And then another. They sound like footsteps.
My brows knit together behind the blindfold. Sterling goes rigid, but his arms don’t pull away. His breath changes. He sounds more alert. My heart skips, and something unexpected blooms in my chest. I realize that it’s exhilaration. Because the footsteps belong to Stan.
I can’t see him, but I don’t have to. The air changes, charged with his presence the moment he’s inside the cabin. The warmth of the fire pales compared to the heat that rushes to my cheeks.
My fingers are curled into Sterling’s shirt, but every part of me is suddenly strung taut.
Sterling breathes out slowly, his hand sliding to the back of my neck.
I hear Stan’s heavy footsteps on the cabin floor.
He must be seeing this—us—Sterling and me, in this compromised position on the couch Stan has been sleeping on in the past few nights.
I don’t say a word. I can’t, when Sterling’s jaw flexes against my cheek. His grip changes, much more firmly now. After a heartbeat, I pick up on Stan’s rough voice. “Don’t you two fucking stop now.”
Sterling stills again. I shiver at the way the three of us breathe in this same thick, heated air. It feels as if we’ve all crossed a line that we can’t retreat from.
The blindfold makes everything else louder. I can hear Sterling’s heartbeat, my own breathing, and the subtle creak of the floor as Stan prowls closer. Sterling doesn’t move. His touch remains on me, protective and possessive. Then Stan speaks again, so deep. “Goddamn, Elle…”
My skin prickles with heat. My name on his lips, said like that, shouldn’t feel like this. I shouldn’t want to know what he sees, what he’s thinking, but I do.
The hem of Sterling’s flannel on me is bunched on top of my heaving breasts. My legs spread to reveal the cotton fabric between my thighs. My hair must be a mess. My face flushed. Eyes covered by silk, surrendering my vision to the dark.
But now Stan’s here, seeing it all, feeling it all. The air shifts with his presence, and I shift with it. My hips move, my thighs respond, and a soft, helpless sound escapes me.
Sterling’s whole body pulses against mine. His hand slides up the back of my neck. “You want this?” he whispers to me, sounding like it’s been torn from somewhere deeper than desire.
“Yes.” I breathe out shakily, hardly able to contain myself. “I want you.”
A growl rumbles from his chest. He brushes his thumb against my bottom lip, guiding my face toward his, and I follow without hesitation. I’d follow him anywhere.
“Then let him watch.” Sterling’s words fall like a match onto dry kindling, feeding a hungry fire.
My breath stutters. Heat pools in the junction of my thighs. The ache Sterling’s been building in me ignites into a full, greedy burn. He shifts us with that same quiet control, guiding me beneath him. The couch warms my back. His body settles over mine. His mouth finds my jaw, my neck.
But I feel Stan’s eyes on me. I don’t need to see him with the way I feel him, watching, waiting.
So I arch. I offer. Sterling growls again, sounding more aggressive.
“Good girl,” he whispers roughly, and it ruins me all over again.
I can feel myself drip with wetness, my thighs rubbing for friction. For more. For him.
Sterling’s fingers card through my hair, tilting my head, and his mouth crashes into mine in a kiss that’s no longer gentle. It’s a promise to devour. His body grinds against mine. I gasp. His hardness presses into my middle. I cling to him, caught in the heat of his body, the command in his hands.
“Watch,” Sterling says, his sharp voice carrying away from me, aimed toward Stan. “Since you’re so eager.”
There’s a silent pause for a heavy second, then a low, bitten-off curse from Stan. It shoots straight through me. I want Sterling’s control. His calm dominance. His total claim. I want Stan to watch. To hear his breathy reactions. I like the tension of it all. Their dangerous desire.
Sterling’s hand drifts lower, caressing the curve of my hip, the inside of my thigh, almost touching where I need him most. I suck in a stuttered breath. My hips lift, pleading. But he holds me still.
The blindfold stays on, yet I feel seen. I feel desired. By Sterling. I belong to him.
“Sterling…” My voice is broken, begging. “Please…”
His mouth brushes mine in answer. I don’t hear Stan move. But I feel him. The fire crackles. My breath’s caught on a heartbeat when I feel the heat of Stan hovering nearby. His voice is low but playful. “You’re not doing it right, Silver.”
Sterling stills, his breath hot at my neck. He doesn’t say anything. Neither do I.