Chapter 39 #2
“What?” I lift my head and he taps the back of my restless hand. I rest my cheek on his chest again. “Oh.” I hadn’t realized my fingers had been moving over his chest. Outlining something, filling it in with imaginary color.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Always moving,” he whispers, tugging me tighter to him.
“Meaning?” I say too defensively and clear my throat.
“I’ve seen your knees bouncing and your fingers twisting. You’re like one of those stars, Taxi, but out of her orbit. You’re holding yourself in place, but your body senses the need to move. Or is it your heart?” His voice is low. “Do you feel like it’s time to go?”
To leave a place.
“I need to paint,” I admit, my voice a little too loud.
He pulls back, glancing at me, eyeing me. “You need to create.” He stares at me a long moment, as if he might get it. Or at least he’s trying to understand.
I nod, almost sheepishly, almost embarrassingly, when I’m not ashamed of who I am in the least. I’m an artist, and I need a canvas to let out all the emotions swirling inside me.
The red of passion, and the blue of peace. The yellow of happiness, and the green of my addiction to this man. Basic colors. Basic needs. A kaleidoscope of want.
Eventually, Stone hugs me tighter, setting his lips to my head and lingering there.
When the silence goes on too long, and his lips don’t move, I take action. Turning my head, meeting his eyes, I lean in and kiss him. Needing the red and blue, yellow and green of him, filling in the outline of me.
The kiss stays slow at first, deliberate as we connect in soft sips and teasing tugs. But as we move into something deeper, desperation flares inside me. Broad strokes of passionate purple and vivid orange merge together, driving my tongue to seek his.
Within minutes, we’re making out as he suggested. Kissing with fervor. Our lips remain locked, hands only subtly moving. His fingers in my hair. Mine around his neck. But our bodies roll into one another, seeking, chasing.
Legs skim along legs. Belly meets belly. My breasts crush to his chest. And still, I’m not close enough.
“Stone,” I whimper.
“I’m here,” he says, kissing along my jaw and down my neck, and I tip back my head, giving him full access to me.
He sips along the column of my throat and ticklishly licks along my collarbone. I palm the side of his face, feel the bristly scratch of his stubble. His mustache scrubs playfully at my skin, along his trail of kisses.
“We need to go slow,” he says into my flesh as he moves lower on my body. “The candles.”
I glance at the wall of them along the edge of the truck bed. It would take a force to jostle this sturdy truck, and yet I have no doubt reckless motion back here could topple a few of them.
“Fire hazard,” he mutters, moving toward my breasts.
He’s a fire hazard.
I sigh as he reaches the deep V of my dress, where a few buttons have come unbuttoned. The calico print isn’t something I’d typically wear, but it fit the theme. Barn dance. Small town. Stay still.
A blaze of desire rips up my center as Stone nuzzles my breasts, and I press at him, pushing him to his back and climbing over his lap.
My dress rides up my thighs and Stone’s warm hands cover my bare knees, skimming up my legs, forcing my dress slightly higher. He strokes back in the opposite direction, cupping my knees again.
“Queen of the stars,” he whispers, looking at me, like I’ve placed them all in the heavens.
With my hands on his chest, I paint over him again, the image unclear. Just a rough outline of dancing fingers before I tug at the two halves of his shirt, forcefully opening it so I can run my fingers through that coarse hair, feel the heat of his skin, take comfort in the strength of his chest.
“Be gentle with me, Taxi.” His voice is tight, quiet, serious while sweet. The underlying tone says so much more.
“I will be,” I promise.
I, Tallulah Alexander, do solemnly swear to embrace your spirit, to be tender and kind. To take my time.
I unclasp his belt, undo the buttons, and lower the zipper, giving the hard bulge in his pants some relief.
My mouth waters with the possibilities of what this man could do for me. And it isn’t only the physical pleasure I know he’ll give me. It’s the heart-stopping, breath-stealing reality that I could love him.
His gentlemanly ways and his patience. His low voice, sweet smile, and quiet awkwardness.
I lean forward, caging in his head with my braced arms. My hair flops forward on my head, the ponytail suddenly feeling too tight, too confining.
“I don’t know where to start.” I sound like he did when we first stripped each other. When clothes were removed and I felt bare to him in so many ways.
Stone taps his lips. “Start here.”
I stare at his mouth for a second, realizing his entire body is a map. Uncharted territory for me. Again, not just the physical, but this sensation of being close to him, wanting him.
So, I start with his lips, then move to his throat, dragging my body down his.
“Taxi,” he groans, as I pepper his chest with kisses and suck harder at the space just above his hip, before running my nose along that trail that leads lower and lower, beneath his waistband.
With his pants already loosened, and his shirt opened, I tug the remainder of the material free from his jeans, running my palm over his flesh, mapping out the terrain.
The curve of his hip, the flat of his belly, the scratch of his hair.
In this half-undressed state, he’s almost as sexy as if he were fully unclothed. Somehow, he looks more seductive. More tempting.
Pure kryptonite.
I reach for the edge of his jeans, hooking my fingers into his boxer briefs as well, and he lifts his hips for me to tug everything lower, until his dick is free. Free to be admired and explored.
When I wrap my hand around the thickness, fisting it with a tight grip, Stone groans.
His eyes roll back a second and his head tips as well.
“Taxi.” My name is a plea, a prayer, a need. For me.
Queen of the stars? I don’t need it. I’m queen of this moment. This man is giving me all the power.
I lower for him, teasing the tip with the edge of my tongue before opening wide without more preamble. His stomach flinches, and he hitches upward slightly, hips thrusting.
“Fuck,” he mutters, cupping the side of my head with one hand. “Easy, baby.”
I don’t know how to go easy with him. He’s so hard, and I want him too much.
I draw up his length, then slip back as far as I can take him, until he stops me.
He cups my chin. “Inside of you again.”
Our eyes lock, mine scanning up the span of his body. Slowly, I drag my lips up him and pop off the end.
Our minds are on the same scene. Him behind me, buried inside me, filling me up.
Everything happened so fast, and yet I wouldn’t change a thing. We need to get that moment out of the way in order to prolong this one.
I shrug off my leather jacket.
“Panties off,” he demands, watching me with lust-drunk eyes, brightened by the flickering light around us.
I toss away the jacket and reach to push my panty to the side.
“Take them off,” he demands, watching me with lusty eyes, lit by the numerous candles surrounding us.
Scrambling to my feet, I stand, straddling his body with spread legs. I lift my dress, as if I can discreetly remove them, slipping my hand beneath the material and shoving my underwear to my knees before I need to step aside to fully remove them.
I reach for my dress next.
“Keep it on. Unbutton the rest.” Delicate buttons dip lower than my breast line, and I fold to my knees, straddling him, settling where I’m warm and wet directly over his solid length.
Stone hisses.
I continue to tease him, taking my time to undo each button, opening the bodice of the dress farther, exposing the strapless bra underneath.
With my dress open to my ribs, my soft heat against his hard length, Stone sits upright, digs his hand into the back of my ponytail, and cups my head, pulling me to him, kissing me firm and deep.
Hunger fills the kiss. Desperation to let go of that control he’s mastered. A fight within him to remain slow and patient when the tension between us is so thick, so tight. So hot.
Stone tugs my ponytail holder, snapping it, and releasing my hair to tumble over my shoulders. He slips his hands inside the dress, wrapping around my body to fumble with the clasp of my bra. Removing it in a few snaps, he tugs it forward, releasing me from the confines.
With my dress open, braless and breasts free, he rolls down to the truck bed again, staring up at me as I straddle him.
“Breathless,” he whispers, before placing his hand on my belly and sliding it up between the swells that ache for his touch. He cups one, and I gasp. Squeezing at the weight, I arch into his touch. His fingers firm, his thumb flicking over the hard, sensitive nub.
“Stone,” I whimper, wanting more of him. More of this.
I rock over him, his length still nestled beneath me, where I’m slick and easily glide against him.
Stone watches me. His hand on my breast. Mine on his chest. Slipping along the thickness of him.
He tucks his other hand behind his head again, like he has all night to watch the show. Me gliding over him. Him squeezing me.
“Stone,” I whimper again.
He smiles slowly, teasingly, removing his hand from my breast and walking it down my body. His other hand releases his head and works the skirt of my dress up my thighs. Both hands eventually land on my hips, lifting me the slightest bit over him.
My brows cinch, my eyes questioning him, until his hand slips beneath my dress, fingers disappearing but knowing their way to where I want him.
Two fingers enter me at once, and I suck in a breath.
“Too much?” he questions, stilling them.
“Too good,” I answer.
His lips curl out of that pucker of concern into a full-blown grin.