Chapter 22
The next morning, Krissa vaguely heard Derek leave for work, and buried her face into her pillow to get her extra hour of sleep.
But she didn’t go back to sleep. As she gradually became more and more awake, she grew acutely aware of Nate’s big body next to her, radiating heat, all sleek tanned skin and muscle.
She wanted to touch him.
She touched herself instead.
She slid her hands over her breasts, over soft nipples, brushed her palms over them and felt them harden.
An ache between her legs grew stronger and she parted her thighs, trailed her hand down over her tummy.
Her fingers played in the curls there briefly, then she slipped her fingers into her throbbing folds.
She closed her eyes, bit her lip, pushed a finger into the wetness. Oh, God. She held in a moan.
The thing about sex was, the more you had it, the more you wanted it.
She and Derek had planned their sex for so long, timed it carefully around cycles and testing, wanting to preserve sperm, wanting to ensure conception.
She’d had more sex in the last week than she and Derek had had alone in the last six months.
Well, that might be exaggerating—but not much.
Now she wanted it all the time. Thoughts of sex intruded on her work. Made her warm and wet while she was walking through the grocery store. Made her want to masturbate when Nate was lying right beside her and could wake up at any moment.
She rubbed her finger over her clit, found the spot, moved her hips in the rhythm that always worked for her—and came, in an explosive, tight orgasm that she had to hold inside her. When the spasms subsided she slowly drew her hand away and stretched her legs out, trying not to gasp for breath.
The she turned her head to glance at Nate and found him lying there—watching her.
Heat crawled up her face. “Uh…”
“Krissa.” His voice was thick and strained.
“What?”
“I…”
She saw the erection lifting the duvet. Oh, God.
She’d wanted to touch him before, now she couldn’t stop herself.
She reached for him under the bed clothes and he rolled toward her, eyes closed, mouth a grim line of near-pain.
She stroked his hard cock, measured the length of it, tested the weight of his testicles, drawn up tight against the base of his shaft.
She loved his balls, the firmness and fullness of them.
She gave a gentle squeeze and he let out a long groan.
She ran her hand over the head of his penis, down again, wishing for lube.
“We can’t…”
“It’s okay.” She moved closer, adjusted her position, pushed back the duvet so she could see him.
His smooth bronze chest gleamed in the faint early morning light.
Dark stubble shadowed his lean cheeks. He pressed his lips together.
She bent over him, kissed between his nipples, tasted him, inhaled the warm male scent of him, the body wash he used, his natural scent filling her nostrils. She wanted to eat him up.
“Krissa…”
She kissed his stomach, felt the muscles quiver. Her tongue lapped at him, dipped into his navel and he sucked in a sharp breath.
“It’s okay. Derek knows.”
“Fuck. Knows what?”
“He knows…” her voice drifted off as her mouth feathered over the wiry curls between his thighs.
She lifted her head. “He asked if we had sex when he’s not here.
I told him no.” She stroked his cock again, ran her thumb over the wet tip.
“He said we could do anything except actually fuck when he’s not here.
So this…” She dipped her head and laid a kiss on the head of his cock.
“Is okay. And this…” She opened her mouth and took him in.
His hands went to her hair, tangled and tugged, just how she loved, and she melted and sank down onto him, swallowed him deep, sucked and licked.
He tasted good, salty and tangy. He felt good—thick and hard, veins pulsing.
He was huge and powerful and…potent. Intensely masculine and virile.
She moaned as she sucked on him.
“Christ, Krissa. That feels so damn good.”
She hummed her agreement and he groaned, dug his fingers deeper against her scalp. Pleasure edged on pain. She curled her fingers around his balls, traced a finger back behind them, making him jerk beneath her.
“Your mouth is hot.” His turned on the bed.
She drew her tongue up, swirled around the crown, lifted her head to study him.
Beautiful. His cock was beautiful. Throbbing crimson and gleaming wet.
But not wet enough. She opened her mouth and let saliva drop out, falling in a slow, lush trail to trickle down over him.
“Fuck.” He yanked so hard on her hair she whimpered. “Sorry, sorry.”
“I like it.” She lifted her head to meet his eyes. A connection zinged between them. He tugged again and her eyelids drifted shut. She lowered her head, again dribbled saliva onto his cock, then spread it around with her hands in firm, long pulls.
“God, that’s good.”
She took him in her mouth again, hot and delicious and silky against her tongue.
When her teeth grazed the rim, he twitched and moaned.
“Oh, yeah.” She realized then that he liked that.
Some guys were afraid of teeth…others liked that harder touch.
Experimentally, she let her teeth scrape his flesh again.
“Yesss.” His hands held her head, pulled her toward him and she slid up and down, then stopped, closed her teeth around his shaft and gently… ever so gently…bit.
His body tightened, almost lifted off the bed.
“Jesus, Krissa…I’m coming. Lift up…” He yanked on her hair, almost savagely, trying to pull her off his cock, but she wasn’t going to let go of him.
She loved the feel of a man coming in her mouth, the intimacy of it, the connection.
He spurted down her throat, so far down she couldn’t taste him, and she pulled back, opened her mouth and held his cock so he came onto her tongue.
She sucked on him, then licked him tenderly when he’d finished jerking into her mouth, holding his balls.
She crawled up his body then, lay down on top of him, tucked her head into the curve where his neck met his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, stroked her back and her butt while his heavy breathing slowed.
The door bell woke them.
Vaguely, Nate was aware it had already rung a couple of times but he’d tried to block it out. As he gradually rose toward consciousness, he realized where and when and who…Krissa and him, in bed, at ten o’clock in the morning. Jesus Christ.
Who was at the door?
“Krissa.” He gave her a little shake, her body wrapped around him, and mumbled. “Someone’s at the door.”
“Mmmm?” She stirred against him and the soft fullness of her breasts against his chest made him harden again. Then her eyes flew open. “The door? Who…”
“I don’t know.”
She rolled off him and out of bed, grabbing a robe as she staggered across the bedroom to the door.
She shoved her arms into it and wrapped it around her.
The thin silk of the robe did little to hide her body, and Nate followed behind, not wanting her to open the door to a stranger while clad so scantily.
He scooped up his boxers as he went, hopping into them one leg at a time as he tried to keep up.
But Krissa was already at the door, had peeked through the sidelight. “Mom.” She flipped the deadbolt, and yanked open the door.
“Krissa. You’re not even dressed.”
“Oh, God, Mom, I forgot we were supposed to go out this morning.”
Krissa’s mother stepped into the foyer, the bright morning sunlight illuminating the entrance so that all Nate could see was a slim silhouette, short dark hair. He stopped abruptly.
Krissa’s mother looked up and saw him.
Her mouth dropped open. Snapped shut. Her gaze swiveled back to Krissa. She blinked.
Krissa turned and saw Nate, standing there in his boxers. He froze under the scrutiny of the two women. Shit.
“Uh…” Krissa tightened the belt of her robe. The excruciating silence dragged out. “Mom, do you remember Nate? Derek’s friend?”
Lizbeth Elston seemed to pale, and the impeccable blusher she’d applied to her cheeks stood out starkly pink. Her lips pressed together and her gaze went back and forth between Krissa and Nate while she apparently leaped to some conclusions. Then her cheeks flushed.
And goddammit, her conclusions were right.
Jesus. Nate thrust a hand into his hair.
The light from the open door was searing his eyeballs and he dragged his hand over them, shielding them.
“Uh, sorry,” he muttered. “The light…” And he turned and went back upstairs, cringing, feeling the watchful eyes of Krissa and her mother.
His glasses were in Krissa and Derek’s room. He wanted to stay there. Maybe he could shower in their bathroom, hide there forever. Or at least until Mrs. Elston had left.
He stood there, glasses in his hand, blinking at the moisture the sun had brought to the corners of his eyes, hearing their murmured voices. What were they saying?
Well. This was awkward.
Krissa’d been very open to this whole weird situation, but having to explain it to her mother was a whole other issue.
His lips twitched and dammit if laughter didn’t bubble up inside him.
It was like high school, getting caught making out with your girlfriend when your parents came home early.
For God’s sake, they were adults. Their sex lives and um…
partners were their own business. Right?
But there was always that feeling of being a child, the parental oversight that could make you cringe with guilt and anxiety, no matter how old you were.