CHAPTER 26 Tatum Barker #2
I grip onto his bicep with my other hand, afraid my knees will buckle, and I’ll fall to the floor as his tongue teases mine.
I hear a soft groan escape him as I taste the hint of mint the schnapps left behind on his tongue, and when his hand moves under my shirt to splay on my back, I shiver at the feel of his skin on mine.
It’s a kiss filled with intensity, of this passion and need that seems to be growing between us as we wait for some self-imposed deadline.
He pulls back first, breathless, and I’m panting as I wait for him to take it to the next level.
It has to. We can’t keep fighting this, and there’s no way in hell I can wait seventeen more days for the thirty-first to get here so we can finally be together.
“Ready to go get that hot chocolate?” he asks.
I have no clue what the hell kind of brutal self-control this man has, but it appears to be something I don’t possess.
I shake my head. “I want to keep kissing you, only I want us to be naked beneath the tree while our bodies find the same sort of rhythm together that our mouths seem to have. I don’t want to wait seventeen more days, Ford.”
I don’t know where those words came from. If I wasn’t halfway to tipsy-town, I’m not sure I would’ve had the nerve to say them.
His eyes are hot on mine as he takes a step toward me. He lowers his mouth to mine, and he kisses me slowly.
It was his idea to date to see if there’s something between us. It’s working. I’m falling for him as we bond over Christmas trees and food trucks and stolen pantry kisses with the promise for more.
Instead of taking me over to the tree, he slides a hand under my shirt.
This time, though, his hand doesn’t stay on my back.
He moves it around, and his fingertips glide along my torso, up my ribcage, and toward my breast. He cups it over my bra, and then he yanks the fabric to the side so my breast is free.
His thumb moves over my nipple, which immediately responds to his touch, forming a tight peak.
He moves us so I’m pinned against the only wall in this walk-in pantry that isn’t covered in shelves, and he shoves his hips against mine. I immediately feel him. He’s hard. He’s always hard. He’s always ready, and it seems like he’s been waiting for me to give the green light.
I just did.
He moves his hand from my breast down to my hip, and he slides his hand down into my jeans. He bypasses my panties and cups my mound, teasing me, petting me, feeling me.
He groans as he breaks from our kiss to trail his lips down my neck. He’s panting as he buries his face in my neck, and he hisses loudly as he slips one of his fingers into my folds to feel how dripping wet I am for him.
He sinks a finger into me, and he grunts as I wrap one arm around him, riding his finger as we stand right here in the pantry. I reach down with one hand to stroke him over the outside of his jeans, too. I run my hand along his long, hard erection, and he grunts.
“You’re fucking soaked,” he murmurs, and I’m at a complete loss for words.
My mind is blank, fully focused on the pleasure he’s giving me as he adds a second finger.
I tip my head back, clunking it against the wall with a thud as he works his fingers in and out of me, pleasure curling all around me and warming me from the inside out.
“Oh, God,” I yell, and he sucks on my neck as he increases the speed, my pants and panties no barrier for his movements as he gives me exactly what I need.
I yank on the button of his jeans, and I pull down the zipper. I reach into the opening and pull out his cock as his mouth slams to mine, and I start to stroke him as he fingers me.
He groans, and he’s breathless as his mouth moves toward my ear.
“Make no mistake, Barker.” His fingers seem to move in and out of me in rhythm with his breathless, raspy voice, and I stroke him at the same pace.
“I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to give you exactly what you need.
What I need. What I’ve needed for an entire decade.
But I’m not going to do it because we’re both horny and half drunk off McGillicuddy’s.
I’m going to do it when I can worship your body.
When we’re ready for it. I’m going to do it when you’re my wife. ”
His words, that word, wife, send my body crashing headfirst into a catastrophic orgasm.
I whimper his name with a moan.
It’s brutal as he works my pussy with his fingers, the pleasure tearing through me in a way I’ve never felt before. I’m going to be his wife. He’s going to be my husband.
And apparently my body really, really likes the sound of that. I keep pumping my fist along his shaft, my moves jerky and out of rhythm as my body hits the climax I’ve needed for far too long at the hands of someone other than myself.
I cry out, moaning, gasping, my body shattered as I ride out this pleasure, and once the wave starts to slow and warmth fills its place, I continue to stroke his cock in a more measured manner.
I open my eyes to see his eyes right on mine as he watches me, and as our eyes connect, his are fiery and hot.
They cloud over for a beat, and then he growls out my name as he starts to come.
Pulse after pulse of his hot cum spills out of the head of his cock and all over my hand.
He hasn’t pulled his hand out of my jeans yet.
His finger is still inside me. And watching me come made him come.
If that isn’t some beautiful forecast for the sort of glorious sex life that lies ahead of us, I’m not sure what is.
And I, for one, can’t wait for it to get started.
In seventeen long, achingly painful days filled with yearning, pining, and need.