36. George
Chapter Thirty-Six
George
I tilt my head and catch her bottom lip between mine, deepening the kiss. But then she makes this tiny sound. Half-sigh, half-whimper, and something inside me snaps.
My hands find her waist, and my fingers tighten as I pull her fully against me.
The contact is… fuck. It’s everything. She fits like I’ve been walking around missing pieces and just found where they were supposed to go.
She sighs into my mouth, hands sliding up my chest, around my neck, clutching at the back of my head like I might vanish if she lets go.
I angle us backward, guiding her until her calves hit the edge of the couch and we fold down together, her on her back, me braced above her. I tilt my head, deepening the kiss.
Her bare legs shift against mine. Heat floods low and sharp through my body. I break the kiss for a second, breathing hard, forehead resting against hers.
“Tell me to stop,” I say roughly. “If you want me to stop, you have to say it right now.”
She looks up at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I flew across the world for you,” she whispers. “I’m not going to tell you to stop.”
Every last ounce of restraint I’ve been clinging to burns out.
I kiss her again, deeper, hands roaming around her body.
I finally get to touch all of her… hips, waist, ribs, the sides of her breasts.
I’m careful, more careful than I want to be, terrified of spooking her, of going too fast, of making this anything but exactly what it is.
Two people who’ve been holding this for so long.
She meets me with equal intensity, body lifting into every touch, fingers slipping under the hem of my shirt and splaying across my back. The first dig of her nails turns my brain to static.
“George,” she breathes. My name sounds like a prayer in her mouth.
“Mia,” I groan back. “Jesus.”
I drag my mouth down her jaw, along the curve of her throat, tasting the pulse fluttering there.
She tilts her head, granting me more access, breath catching when I suck gently.
Her hands slip lower, clutching my waist, then my sweats’ waistband.
My control snaps. I sit up enough to grab the hem of my shirt.
Her eyes track the movement, pupils dilating even more.
“You’re okay?” I ask.
She nods, eyes fixed on my chest like she’s trying to memorize every scar. I pull the shirt off and drop it somewhere behind us. Her gaze skims everywhere. My neck, my shoulders, the mess where some of the tissue didn’t knit flat.
She reaches up, fingertips tracing over one of the rougher patches. I tense, and she notices.
“Does it hurt?” she asks softly.
I shake my head, and her eyes flick to mine, shining.
“You’re beautiful,” she says simply. I almost laugh. But I swallow it and lean down, catching her mouth with mine because if I don’t, I’m going to say something stupid like ‘I think I was made for loving you’.
My hand slides beneath the hem of my shirt on her body this time. She is warm and soft and shaking. I trace the edge of her ribs, the curve of her waist, the underside of her breast. The small, broken sound she makes when my thumb grazes more sensitive skin goes straight to my spine.
Everything in me goes quiet. It’s not just the sight of her—though that’s enough to wreck a lesser man. It’s the trust. The way she lies there, bare to me, eyes open, not flinching, not hiding.
“Hey,” she says softly. “Where did you go? Are you okay?
I nod, throat tight. “Yeah. Just… trying to remember every second of this.”
Her lips curve. “You get more seconds if you come back down here.”
“Right,” I say, voice rough. “Good point.”
I lower myself again, careful of my ribs, weight braced on one arm as the other explores the territory she just gave me. I slide one hand over her breasts, touching her nipples while they harden at my touch.
She arches into my hand, breathy sounds spilling out as I map her body. I kiss her again and start tracing little lines with my tongue until I reach her nipples. I grab one of her breasts and bite her. Hard enough to make her whimper, but not enough for it to hurt.
I keep lowering myself on her body, my mouth traces her stomach, until I reach the hem of her shorts.
My eyes wander to hers as if I were asking for permission.
I hook my fingers into the fabric and pull them down until they hit her ankles, then put them away along with her panties.
She hesitates at first. I can see it. Her thighs tense when I nudge them apart.
But then, she opens them wide for me. I hold her steady as I lower my face to be between her legs.
When I make the first lick into her, I don’t break eye contact.
Not until I see her eyes roll back and her hands grab the edge of the couch. I lick her again, and again and again… She’s trembling under me, and that’s when I suck and bite her clit, sliding one finger into her at the same time.
She tastes so fucking good.
“Oh fuck— George.”
Those words fuck. Hearing my name on her lips when she’s like this under me…
It does something I didn't expect. The way she tastes, the way she moves against my mouth, my hands, my body.
The way she says please without actually saying the word, just by rolling her hips like she's not sure where to put all this wanting.
“Mia,” I murmur against her skin. “Tell me what you need right now.”
Her fingers fist in my hair. “You,” she says. “Just… you.”
I press my forehead against her thigh for a second, trying to hang on to the last sliver of reason. Then I lower my mouth between her thighs again. I know what she likes already from the way she moves, the sounds she makes when my fingers trace her entrance, how wet she is right now.
“You’re still okay?” I ask again.
She nods, then shakes her head, then laughs nervously. “Yes. No. I mean—yes. I just—my brain has left the building.”
“Good, let it,” I say. “You don’t need it right now.”
Her legs clamp around my shoulders as soon as my tongue touches her, then fall open again when I murmur against her to breathe, to let go, that I've got her. Her fingers drag through my hair, tugging, guiding, losing rhythm when sensation takes over.
“Fuck, right there. George—” She comes with a shattered cry, back bowing off the couch, my name on her lips. But I don’t stop. I keep touching her until she pulls weakly at me, gasping. “I can’t— Fuck.”
I move back up slowly, kissing my way across her body as she tries to remember how to exist. When I reach her mouth, she pulls me in, kissing me with a hunger that wipes out any lingering doubt. I know she tastes herself on my mouth, but that doesn’t stop her. She kisses me harder.
Her hand slips between us, sliding under the waistband of my sweats. I hiss, hips jerking.
“Oh wow,” she whispers, wicked and sweet.
“Jesus,” I mutter, grabbing her wrist gently before she learns exactly how far gone I am. “If you keep that up, I'm not going to make it past thirty seconds.”
She grins, flushed and smug. “Maybe I want you wrecked.”
“You already have me wrecked, sweetheart,” I say. “But I am not blowing this. I’m not coming in my pants.” I sit up just enough to shove my sweats down and kick them off. Her eyes drag over me.
I brace myself above her again, breathing hard.
“Last chance,” I say, voice ragged. “You sure?”
She wraps her legs around my hips, grabs my cock with one hand, and pulls me closer to her, pushing it inside of her with a moan. “Oh, fuck. Does that answer your question?” she whispers.
I push forward again, slow, careful, watching her face the whole time. She gasps, eyes fluttering closed, hand flying up to grip my shoulder. I stop, grit my teeth, give her a second.
“Still okay?” I manage.
She opens her eyes, and what’s in them nearly drops me. “More, I want more.” She whispers, so I give her more.
She’s panting, moaning. Her head is falling back towards the couch. She’s rolling her eyes, grabbing my shoulder, the couch, anything she can find. Every push, every drag, every roll of her hips meets me halfway, so I thrust deeper, harder, and all I can hear is, “Fuck George, you— God…Fuck.”
“God can’t help you right now, sweetheart. It’s all me. So use your words, Mia. Tell me. I what?” I say, grabbing her jaw and forcing her to look at me.
“You— You fuck me so good,” she says with a smirk, still moaning.
That breaks me.
I settle back into the couch and guide her onto me, watching the bounce of her tits as she straddles me. Just like I imagined when she sent me her pictures. “Fuck—come on, move for me, sweetheart.”
And she does.
She's bouncing on me like her life depends on it, rolling her hips, working herself on me in ways that have me right fucking there. I'm about to come, but I force myself to hold back. “Just like that, Mia, keep moving. Fuck, don’t stop.”
She clenches around me, and I feel her losing it, that soft moan spilling from her lips as her head tips back.
It’s perfect.
I take advantage, grabbing her tits, putting them in my mouth, biting and sucking her nipples while thrusting harder. “George, fuck— I’m coming, I’m—”
That’s all I hear before she comes around my cock.
She's squirting all over me, soaking my lap, drenching the couch, and I feel the shame wash over her face, that little flicker of embarrassment.
But I'm not having it. Before she can say anything, I do, “Don't you dare apologize for coming like that.”
“How did you—”
“I know you, Mia. You have that ‘I’m sorry’ look on your face.” I pull her face closer to mine, my eyes locked on hers. “So, I’m telling you, don’t. You can come around my cock like that anytime.”
She laughs, breathless, and gets to her feet.
Without hesitation, she spreads my legs open and drops straight to her knees between them, shoving me back against the couch. I let her. I watch as she wraps that beautiful mouth around me, and I literally see stars.
I thread my fingers through her hair, gripping it tight in what looks like a messy ponytail, and I start guiding her face down my length. Up and down. Faster, then slower. Finding that perfect rhythm where she's choking on me just right.
I was long gone for this woman, but having her like this, on her knees with my cock buried in her mouth, and tears starting to gather in her eyes, is way better than the mental picture I’ve had for months.
I push her deeper, just a bit, just until I hit the back of her throat.
She gags, a beautiful, choking sound, but she doesn't stop.
She's loving this. Her hands move lower, stroking what she can't fit in her mouth, and that's all it takes. I can feel myself tightening, “Mia, I’m about to come, so you need to stop or—”
She doesn't pull away. Instead, she doubles down, sucking harder, and her hands start playing lower. Stroking and touching all of me while she sucks. That’s it for me. I feel it when my cum fills her mouth.
When I'm done, and completely drained, she sits back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. With a smirk on her face that is absolutely lethal.
“You have no idea what you just did to me.”
“Oh, I think I do, Sergeant.”
I pull her up, back onto the couch, into my arms.
I kiss her slowly, and one kiss leads to another…