Chapter 4 #3
I shut him up with another kiss, teeth clashing, spit-slick and messy, tasting coffee and heat and something uniquely him.
He let me take control for a second, let me devour him, but then he flipped us so I was flat on my back across the couch cushions, legs tangled with his, his weight pinning me down in a way that made me ache everywhere.
His hands slid up my shirt, spreading heat over my ribs, thumbs tracing the ridges of muscle and bone. Every touch felt greedy but careful, drawing shudders from me until I was panting, rutting up against him, desperate for more friction, more of him everywhere.
His mouth dragged down my neck, teeth scraping, tongue soothing the sting.
He bit a line down to my collarbone, then sucked a bruise there, like he wanted to brand me.
“Edward,” I gasped, hand fisting in his hair.
He groaned, grinding down, and for a second everything blurred—just breath and heat and the frantic pulse of wanting.
“I could get used to this,” he whispered, voice gone hoarse. His thumb swept my lower lip, tugging it down so he could lick inside again, slow and possessive.
“Yeah? You a sucker for disasters?”
A dark, messy laugh curled from his chest as he kissed the line of my jaw. “Only the ones who kiss like they’re dying.”
His hands were everywhere, claiming and soothing in equal measure, big palms sweeping under my shirt, fingers splayed wide as if he wanted to memorize every inch of me by touch alone.
My hips rutted up, desperate, almost shameless.
Our jeans ground together, heat blooming sharp where our cocks strained against rough denim. The friction made my brain go fuzzy.
“Easy,” he murmured, a smile in his voice as he stroked my sides, fingertips finding the sensitive skin just above my waistband. “You’re going to come before I get you anywhere decent.”
“Not my fault you keep—” My words caught as he sucked a bruise into my neck, teeth scraping the spot until I moaned, louder than I meant to. “Fuck, Edward, you—”
He cut me off with another kiss, wet and possessive, hands sliding beneath my thighs and lifting me in one practiced motion.
I clung to him instinctively, legs locking tight around his waist, fingers fisting in his sleek silver hair.
He stood, all easy strength, my body pressed flush to his chest. The room spun. My heart kicked so hard it hurt.
He squeezed my thighs, teeth grazing my bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth, slow and filthy.
I whined for him, feeling the obscene heat of his cock grinding against mine, as he carried me down the hallway.
The walls blurred past. All I could focus on was the grip of his hands, the strength in his arms, the raw want thrumming between us.
We crashed into the bedroom, breathless and tangled, and he pinned me to the wall, mouth devouring mine. His hands slid under my ass, grinding me harder into the line of his cock until my head dropped back with a broken gasp.
“God, look at you,” he said, voice wrecked and sweet.
His lips found my throat, tracing the pulse beating wild there, biting and sucking marks that would bloom purple in the morning.
He pressed me tight against the wall, my back arching, the thick ridge of his cock grinding up into my ass.
My hole throbbed, empty and aching, and I rocked against him, desperate for more friction, more of his weight.
“Fuck, you feel so good—so fucking soft,” he whispered, almost reverent, as if he couldn’t believe I was real.
His hands mapped every inch of me, sliding up my shirt, warm palms exploring ribs and belly, but never hurrying, never rushing.
“Let me take care of you, sweetheart. Want to make you feel good. Want you to remember this.”
Every word went straight to my cock. My hands were everywhere, dragging his shirt up, pushing beneath his cardigan just to feel more skin, nails raking over his sides.
I kissed him hard, biting at his lip, hungry and a little mean.
He loved it, moaning into my mouth, grinding his hips until our cocks throbbed, heat blooming sharp and desperate where we pressed together.
Fingers tangled in the fabric at my waist, and the next thing I knew, Edward hauled me higher, crushing another kiss against my mouth before lowering me to the floor.
My knees barely found the ground before his hands stilled at my hips, steady and firm, holding me there like he was giving me a choice.
The charge between us was thick enough to choke on.
I didn’t hesitate. My hands went straight to the buttons of his cardigan, working them open with shaking fingers, pushing it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor without a second thought.
I wanted more skin, wanted to feel everything he’d been hiding under those polished layers.
My knuckles brushed the hard lines of his chest through his shirt and the heat of him made my cock throb.
“Let me see you,” I muttered, not sure if it was a plea or a demand.
My hands slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, dragging it up inch by inch, exposing a landscape of warm, taut flesh, silver hair dusting his chest and trailing down his stomach.
His abs clenched beneath my touch. My palms were greedy, mapping every inch, nails scraping lightly over his ribs, tracing the dip at his hips, watching the shiver work through him.
A shaky sound left his lips—half-laugh, half-moan—and his head tipped back, baring the column of his throat. “Jesus, you’re thorough.”
My teeth grazed his nipple, tongue circling, sucking hard enough to make him gasp, the sound gone loose and needy.
His hands tightened in my hair but didn’t guide, just held on as if he needed the anchor.
I bit, licked, sucked marks into his chest, then did it again to the other side, chasing every twitch and curse.
My hands slid lower, gripping the hard muscle of his waist, feeling the shudder go through him.
I pressed my palm over his cock, the heat of him straining the fabric of his slacks, thick and impossible to miss.
“Fuck, you’re big,” I muttered, lips pressed to his sternum.
I squeezed, slow and deliberate, feeling him pulse against my hand.
A low, filthy groan slipped out of him, hips rocking forward. “Keep doing that and I’ll ruin my underwear.”
My grin was sharp and mean as I dragged the zipper down, just enough to palm him through thin cotton, loving the way his cock kicked for me, hard and leaking, leaving a wet patch that I circled with my thumb. “You want me to go slower?” I teased, mouthing at his chest. “Or you want it rough?”
His answer was a broken noise, desperate and filthy. “Anything you want. I’ll take it. Just—touch me, sweetheart.”
I dropped to my knees in front of him, dragging my palms down his thighs, kneading muscle, squeezing until he cursed again.
My mouth worked a trail up his belly, teeth nipping, tongue laving the faint scars and soft skin.
My hands never stopped moving, exploring every cranny, every dip and ridge, memorizing the map of him with fingers and lips and teeth.
His shirt was bunched at his armpits. I pulled it up and off, discarding it, then returned to his skin, worshiping every inch, licking up the line of his stomach, biting his side just hard enough to leave a mark.
I was lost in the taste and the smell of him, the salt and heat, the masculine spice that made my head swim.
He trembled above me, hands fisting at his sides, breath coming in ragged pants. “Miles. Christ. Don’t stop.”
I pressed a kiss to the trail of hair leading down to his waistband, mouthing at the head of his cock through damp cotton, feeling the thickness, the heat.
I looked up at him, loving the wild flush on his cheeks, the shine of sweat on his skin, the way he watched me with hunger and something close to awe.
My hands roamed back up, fingers brushing his nipples again, pinching lightly, making him jolt. His hips jerked forward, cock pressing hard against my jaw. I licked at the spot where his thigh met his briefs, teasing, drawing another groan from deep in his chest.
He pulled me up with surprising gentleness. His mouth devoured mine, hot and wet, his hands greedy as they mapped me from shoulder to hip. I shuddered under his touch, desperate for more, more, more.
Edward pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses down my throat, nipping at the hollow there, licking at my collarbone.
His fingers found the hem of my shirt, dragging it up slowly, knuckles brushing bare skin.
He peeled it off, dropping it somewhere behind us, and buried his face in my chest, mouthing at my nipples, biting one then the other until I was panting, nails scoring his shoulders.
His hands stroked my waist, my hips, dipping under the waistband of my jeans just far enough to make me gasp. He teased the band of my boxers, fingers brushing the hair at my groin, but never dipping lower, just keeping me on the edge.
“God, you taste so fucking good,” he breathed, lips ghosting over my nipple, tongue flicking out. He sucked, hard, and I bucked against him, cock straining in my underwear, leaking for him.
My hands went to his head, fingers twisting in silver hair as I dragged his mouth back to mine, kissing him with everything I had—hungry, needy, almost vicious. His hands found my ass, squeezing hard, grinding our cocks together through the thin fabric, the friction almost too much.
He dropped to his knees in front of me, eyes never leaving mine, mouth open, lips red and swollen from my kisses.
His palms roamed up my thighs, rough and reverent, then up my sides, worshipful, tracing every line, every scar, every spot that made me whimper.
His hands slid under the band of my boxers, kneading my ass, spreading me open just enough to let cool air tease at my hole.