Chapter 9 Pumpkin Patch Disaster #3
Arms hooked beneath my thighs, Derek lifted me as if I weighed nothing. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, a startled laugh escaping as my back pressed into his chest, the world spinning dizzy for a second.
“Where are we—” I barely got the words out before he pressed me down, settling me onto the edge of the kitchen counter. The cool marble shocked through my jeans, but I barely noticed. His hands never left my body, palms bracing my hips, thumb brushing the thin band of skin between denim and shirt.
“Want you right here,” Derek breathed, voice low, wrecked with want. “Need to see you. Need to touch.”
His body wedged between my knees, closing every gap. My hands found the collar of his shirt, tugging him in, mouths colliding again, hungrier now. Tongues clashed, teeth nipped, every second heavier, more urgent. My pulse thundered, every inch of me straining toward him.
Hot lips dragged down my neck, teeth scraping, tongue soothing. A shudder tore through me, hips rolling up to meet his. My cock pressed hard against the seam of my jeans, aching, almost painful. The friction sent sparks up my spine, need spiking higher.
“Can’t believe how fucking hard you get for me,” Derek murmured against my throat. His palm slid down, bold and greedy, cupping my cock through the denim, thumb tracing the thick ridge.
“Keep touching me like that and I’m going to embarrass myself,” I panted, breathless with laughter and want.
His grip tightened, squeezing just enough to make my hips jerk. “Yeah? Gonna make a mess in your jeans, sweetheart?”
Words failed me. My whole body arched toward his touch, desperate for more. My shirt bunched at my chest as his hands slid under, rough palms roaming up my stomach, tracing every line and hollow.
“Take this off,” Derek commanded, tugging at the hem. I let him pull the fabric up, arms lifting, leaving me bare-chested in the cool air. Goosebumps swept across my skin, but the heat between us chased away any chill.
Eyes dark and wild, Derek drank me in, hands roaming over my chest, thumbs brushing my nipples, making me gasp, making me squirm. Every touch was slow, savoring, deliberate.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he whispered, kissing the corner of my jaw, then lower, down my throat, over my collarbone, teeth nipping at every inch he found.
Lips lingered at the hollow of my neck, sucking a mark that would bloom purple by morning.
The thought made my cock jump, pressure unbearable in my jeans.
Fingers mapped my ribs, tracing the edge of every bone, then lower, palms splaying across my stomach. My abs clenched, every nerve ending burning. He mouthed a line down my chest, tongue circling one nipple, sucking until I gasped, then moving to the other, leaving a trail of heat and spit.
“You like that?” His voice vibrated against my skin, lips trailing lower, his stubble rough, maddening.
“Yeah, fuck—don’t stop.” My voice was a whimper, raw, almost desperate.
A slow, wicked grin curved his lips as his mouth dipped to my stomach, tongue dragging along the trail of hair disappearing into my waistband. Both hands traced my sides, then hooked into my belt loops, tugging me closer to the edge.
“Gonna drive you out of your mind,” Derek promised. One palm cupped me again, squeezing, thumb pressing the thick ridge. My cock throbbed, leaking precome, a damp spot blooming in the denim.
“God, Derek—” My hands dug into his shoulders, pulling him up for another kiss. My chest pressed flush to his, his body hot and solid, his heartbeat a frantic echo of mine.
He kept his clothes on—shirt still buttoned, jeans tight over thick thighs, everything about him controlled, collected, except for the way his hands roamed, greedy and reverent.
“Can’t get enough of you,” he murmured, nipping at my jaw, sucking another mark into my neck. “Could spend all night just tasting, touching, making you shake.”
My back arched, hips rolling up to grind against his hand. The pleasure was relentless, dizzying, every nerve ending strung tight. His fingers worked at the button of my jeans, but didn’t open it—just teased, just rubbed, just made me burn.
One palm pressed flat to my chest, holding me still as his mouth worshipped every inch—kissing down my sternum, biting at my nipples, licking a trail back up to my throat. I was gasping, sweating, fingers locked in his hair, riding every wave of sensation.
“Tell me what you want,” Derek said, voice rough and sweet at the same time.
“Want you to touch me,” I breathed, every word a plea. “Want to feel your hands everywhere. Want—want to come from just this, just your mouth, your hands—please—”
His eyes shone with triumph and tenderness. “That’s all you ever have to say. I’ll give you everything, Miles.”
Strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer, until my ass slid off the counter and my legs wrapped tight around his hips again. My cock throbbed, pressed to the hard plane of his abs, trapped and desperate.
Derek sucked my bottom lip between his teeth, biting, soothing, licking, then kissing me slow, like he had all the time in the world. His hand palmed my cock through my jeans again, squeezing, thumb teasing the leaking tip, every motion practiced, knowing.
Another gasp burst out of me. My head dropped back, exposing my throat, baring everything.
His lips found the hollow again, tongue flicking, breath hot, words whispered into my skin. “You’re so fucking responsive. Never want you to hide from me. I want every sound, every shiver. Give it all to me.”
Fingers teased at the button of my jeans again, then stopped. He left me on the edge, trembling, begging for more.
“Gonna remember you like this forever,” Derek whispered, kissing his way back up, mouths crashing, messy and wet and desperate.
I pulled him closer, hands fisting in his shirt, nails scraping his chest through the fabric, hips rocking helplessly against him.
Every touch, every word, every look built the tension higher, the need sharper, until I thought I might shatter from it.
Warm hands found my waist again, steadying, then lifting me clean off the counter.
My arms instinctively hooked around Derek’s neck as laughter spilled out—breathless, helpless, lit with nerves and excitement.
His grip was sure and possessive, his body solid beneath me, and for a second, I let myself go completely limp in his arms, trusting him to carry me wherever he wanted.
Instead of crushing my mouth again, Derek pulled back, lips barely an inch from mine. “Want to show you something,” he murmured, voice a low, intimate rumble that sent heat spiraling through me.
Curiosity burned in my chest, matching the lust still simmering. “Is this where you tell me you’re secretly a magician?”
He grinned, that cocky smile I hated and loved in equal measure, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Only for you, Miles. Only ever for you.”
I let my head fall onto his shoulder as he strode through the loft, not caring about the direction, only the anticipation. The space was all dark wood, honeyed light, the kind of place that felt both sharp and soft at the same time—like Derek himself.
In the bedroom, he set me gently down at the edge of the mattress, hands skimming my ribs, my hips, reluctant to let go.
The bed was huge, sheets midnight dark, everything neat and perfectly made.
My pulse leapt with every tiny gesture: his thumb tracing my cheekbone, his palm settling on my thigh.
I couldn’t stop staring at him, couldn’t keep my hands from fidgeting in my lap.
Without breaking eye contact, Derek reached for a small remote on the nightstand. “Ready for a little magic?”
I bit my lip, breath catching. “Only if you’re not planning to saw me in half.”
“That would be a waste,” he murmured, winking, and pressed a button.
A soft whirring filled the room as hidden panels in the ceiling and both walls slid back, revealing wide mirrors, flawless and crystal-clear.
The room seemed to double, triple, reflecting us from every angle—me, still mostly dressed, knees pressed together on his bed, and Derek, looming tall in front of me, hunger written all over his face.
The sight of us—my flushed cheeks, his rumpled shirt, the electric space between us—sent a rush of heat to my core. My cock throbbed, straining harder against denim, need spiking impossibly higher.
A slow, reverent smile curved his lips. “Want to see what I see, Miles? Want to watch me worship you?”
My words tangled in my throat, so I just nodded, desperate and raw.
Derek knelt at the foot of the bed, hands landing on my knees. “Spread your legs for me.” His voice was velvet and command, a promise and a prayer.
I obeyed, cheeks blazing, but hungry for the way his eyes darkened as I opened for him, still fully clothed except for my shirt.
My knees bracketed his hips, feet pressed to the floor.
Derek stayed kneeling, hands sliding up my thighs, mouth hovering just above the hard line of my cock, heat radiating between us.
“Want you to remember this,” he said softly, gaze flicking from my eyes to my reflection in the mirrors, making sure I was watching too. “Want you to see what I see every time I look at you—what you do to me, how fucking perfect you are.”
Large palms skimmed up, squeezing my thighs, making me squirm and shudder. He leaned in, brushing his cheek along the inside of my thigh, stubble rough through denim, nose nuzzling right up against the aching bulge in my jeans.
A desperate sound clawed its way out of my throat—half whimper, half plea.
“That’s it,” Derek whispered, nipping at the fabric, licking a hot stripe up the inseam. “So fucking responsive. Could spend hours on my knees for you.”
His fingers traced the edge of my jeans, digging in, thumbs pressing into the tender flesh of my inner thighs. He nosed up to my belt, mouthing at the metal buckle, teeth scraping just enough to make me buck toward him.