Chapter 20
20
S imon leaned into her, the kiss desperate and needy.
He hated being desperate and needy, but he embraced it for this woman. And he didn’t even know what it was about her that made him want to dive in with everything he had . . . or at least with most of it.
The soft, wet feel of her mouth searching for his set his body on fire. He pressed into her until she moved backward. Then he moved into her again, taking her space until she bumped against the wall behind her.
This . This was where he wanted her.
His fingers traced the curve of her neck. His tongue lapped at her skin, savoring the wanting sigh that escaped her lush lips as her head tilted to the side to give him more access. He nipped at the delicate skin, tugging the neckline of her shirt aside with his teeth.
Her nails raked at his arms, down past the fabric to the skin below the sleeves. It stung a little and he loved it. The sound he heard was himself—need and desire and his whole soul going up like spontaneous combustion.
The soft weight of her breast pressed into his palm, her back arching into his cupped fingers before he even realized he’d touched her that way. The sound of satisfaction that rolled up from inside her told him it hadn’t been a bad move.
Good, because he had no idea what he was doing. He was usually in control, but here he was swept along on a riptide of his own feelings and desires.
It seemed like her needs were in play, too. Carlisle’s fingers found his hair, raking along his scalp until his mouth fell open with pleasure. Then she was tugging at him, pulling his face to hers, fusing their mouths again in a primitive dance that shut out the rest of the world.
Her hips pushed against his and he felt his hands move along her sides, tracing the curves there, wanting to linger but needing to possess her more. At her arms, he pushed up, dragging her hands up and over her head, holding her there. Hands corralled high against the wall, she didn’t resist, and he couldn’t think of anything sexier.
Though she didn’t resist, Carlisle didn’t surrender either. She moved against him and there was no need to fight the urge to press into her, to let her feel what she did to him. But the rolling motions of her hips were too much.
He’d sought to control her, but if someone was in charge here it clearly wasn’t him. He tried again. His mouth still roved hers, his tongue still seeking a level of connection he hadn’t quite found yet but savoring every reply of her own. Pushing her wrists together, he held her in place with one hand, letting the other roam free.
For a moment, he pulled back. Her eyes were wide and glassy, all in with her desire. Or was it actual need? His was deeper than just want.
He’d lived without plenty of things he wanted. They’d simply passed by until the want faded. But this? It was more than that, deeper, further, stronger. It drove him.
Simon held her gaze as his free hand traced her side, stopping at her breast. He felt the arch of her back, pushing her into his touch. He rubbed his thumb against her peaked nipple, watching as her tongue hit the front edge of her teeth and her breath sucked in. But he didn’t linger. Instead, he found the buttons on the front of her shirt.
She watched his face as he opened them one by one, revealing the treasure of her lacy bra, her breasts swelling above the low edges. He touched her reverently until she squirmed. She didn’t want to be revered. She wanted to be ravaged.
The front clasp gave way easily and his mouth found her skin again. He traced her sensitive curves with his tongue—her neck, her collarbone, the top of her breast, down to the peak.
He rolled it against his tongue, fueled by her tiny cries, by the way her chest heaved with each quick breath.
He’d let her hands go and she was grabbing at the hem of his shirt, tugging upward. But he was faster. Hazy with desire and running on the rocket fuel of her want, he reached down then ran his hands up the sides of her legs. Under her skirt.
Had she worn it just so he could do this? It didn’t matter why. His fingers hooked the sides of her underwear and he tugged downward. The rocking motion of her hips helped move it along—though whether that was Carlisle trying to help, or just reacting to his touch, he didn’t know. He didn’t have any spare energy to care.
Her panties dropped to the floor between them. Her shirt open, breasts bared to him, she writhed as she waited for him to catch up. Her hands were on the front of his jeans, his own fingers fumbling with hers, tangled and rushed, until his zipper was down. The front of the denim splayed open, layers pushed out of the way until he was free, hot and heavy and ready.
Her hand closed around the length of him, and he had his one coherent thought since he’d started kissing her: condom.
His fingers fumbled with the small drawer on the table, and he pulled the lone condom from its spot. Holy hell, he had not expected this.
Carlisle grabbed at his hips, as he pushed into his own hand, rolling the condom as he went, straining not to groan like a madman. But he couldn’t see anything, he was blind with lust and his head roared with the sound of his red hot desire.
She lifted her legs, or had he grabbed the backs of her thighs and lifted her? She was open wide, needy moans pushing him to completion as she moved her hips, searching for him. Then he was there, and an instant later, he was inside her.
She’d slid down his length as if she was made for him. Hot and wet and ready. The cry that tore from her throat told him it was as good for her as it was for him. Or was that a sound that he’d made?
She moved, hips rocking, needing the feel of him sliding in and out. He needed her to come apart while he held her, even though he could burst at any moment. Grabbing for her ass, and holding her in place, he moved. Harder and faster, he was fueled by her cries of need, by the way her back arched, her head tipping up, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she worked to hold her own weight up.
Then at last, she hit a crescendo. She moved against him, her body clenching and squeezing until he was nearly blind with pleasure. There was nothing left of him. He was just a beast driven by the search for completion and he was so close. Then it hit him, the wave from low, up and out, his entire body moving as if to empty into hers.
His hand smacked the wall beside her, his own voice rough and hoarse. He rocked into her over and over as he came, until he was drained and she felt limp in his arms.
Some primitive need had him wrapping his arms around her, trying to keep them both from sliding down the wall, boneless. He hated to unwrap her legs from around his hips, but his own legs were shaking .
Carlisle was having none of it. She wrapped herself tighter around him and at least seemed content when he had to satisfy himself with leaning them into the wall just to stay upright.
He didn’t know how long they stayed that way, breathing heavy, his face burrowed into her neck. Maybe so he didn’t have to see her reaction as she came back to earth and realized what they’d done. He felt her warm breath along his temple, her fingers finally moved in his hair. But was she stroking him in the aftermath or asking him silently to move?
Then her voice formed words, “Oh my God.”