Chapter Twenty-Two #2
A rush of affection for him swells inside me, the improbability of this moment, this second chance neither of us knew we’d get, hitting me like a freight train, making me cling harder to him, arching into his touch.
He pours everything into his kiss like he’s realizing it, too.
I deepen the kiss, guiding his hands up under my shirt.
He slides his hands underneath my bra, not bothering to unhook it.
The brush of his calluses over my breasts steals my breath and all conscious thought, a needy whimper eking out of me as he flicks my peaked nipples with the pads of his thumbs.
Reaching behind me, I unhook my bra, slipping it and my shirt off in one go as he sinks to his knees.
His breath coasts across my skin, eliciting goose bumps.
He nips at the underside of my breast before soothing it with a swipe of his tongue that comes close, so close, to where I want his mouth, but he doesn’t give it to me.
His hand comes up to tease my other breast, circling, circling, closer each pass, before pulling back and starting over.
My head falls back against the door in frustration.
His cocky laugh dances across my ribs, and he gives me the barest of flicks but not enough to take the edge off. “I’ve waited three years to do this again. Did you think I was going to be quick?”
“No,” I huff. “But it’s not like you to leave me wanting either.”
Heat flares behind his eyes, like I knew it would.
The air between us goes taut as I wait for his next move, the moment hanging suspended.
My breath hitches at the wicked tilt of his mouth because I know that look.
It’s the same one I’ve been picturing for the past three years while wishing it were his hand between my legs and not my own.
He has my pants unbuttoned and unzipped in a flash, guiding them down my hips, taking my underwear with them.
He frees my right leg from my jeans, guiding it up onto his shoulder.
Dax’s priority is never to get my clothes off so much as off enough.
He kisses his way up my thigh, indulging in one just-shy-of-painful bite that has me hissing in a breath, before he soothes it with a swipe of his tongue and a kiss.
He goes down on me like this is the breakup sex we never had and makeup sex, all in one. He tastes me like he’s savoring it, like it’s the last time and not the second first time.
His thumb joins his mouth, making tortuously slow, tight circles around my clit as his tongue explores me like he’s going to make a topographical map of my pussy later.
When my hips buck forward of their own accord, his left arm curls around my thigh over his shoulder, taking more of my weight, my leg planted on the floor growing increasingly unstable.
This time, when I rock my hips, he hums in approval, his lips vibrating against my clit.
I gasp, nearly shooting up the wall at the rush of sensation, but his grip holds me in place.
Fingers digging into his shoulders, I give up what little sense of decorum I have left and ride his face.
He groans in approval, his free hand drifting up to toy with my nipples until the gentle rock of my hips grows desperate.
I sink a few inches lower on the door, and he has me, his right hand going to my hip, pinning it against the door.
It’s been three years, but you’d never know it from the way he still remembers exactly what I like, teasing, flicking, sucking.
He feasts on me until I have to squeeze my eyes shut, becoming nothing but a giant ball of sensation.
I arch against his mouth, my orgasm taking what little control I have left.
My toes curl with the intensity of it, and my heel digs into his back as my other leg straightens, before giving up any pretense of holding me up and going limp.
He works me down with gentle laves of his tongue, holding on to me until I come back into myself enough to stand.
He frees my ankle still trapped in my jeans before pushing off the floor, dragging his hand over his wet mouth.
I barely let him finish before planting a kiss on him, walking him backward toward the couch.
Maybe one day we’ll make it all the way to the bedroom, but right now, my need is too much.
A light push to the center of his chest and he sinks back obediently onto the cushions, and I settle atop his lap.
I don’t waste any time divesting him of his shirt, hands roaming across his chest, pulling him closer by the chain around his neck and kissing him before pressing him against the back of the couch.
He buries his hand in the hair at the nape of my neck, not letting me break our kiss.
My hands drift south, deftly undoing the button there and then his fly. “Condom?”
“Yes.” His raises his hips for me, and I slide my hand into his back pocket, fishing out his wallet.
Once I have the foil packet I seek, I toss his wallet onto the coffee table.
He shoves his jeans and boxers down to his knees, which brings his face to my breasts, his tongue darting out to flick the piercings there as he kicks his clothes off the rest of the way.
Our chests rise in tandem on a deep breath, the smile on my face mirroring his.
“Hi,” I breathe.
“Hi.” His hands coast up and down my thighs, and I lean in, hand going to his throat as I place a soft kiss on his lips.
I quickly get lost in our kiss, pressing my chest up against his, rocking against him gently. His touch drifts lower, a long finger teasing me. I gasp, and he seizes the opportunity, sliding his tongue into my mouth and a finger inside me at the same time.
I grind against him until I can’t take it anymore, a guttural noise escaping me. Leaning back, I place a hand to his chest to keep him from chasing my mouth with his own. I roll the condom on, tossing the wrapper over my shoulder, not caring where it lands.
I guide his arms onto the back of the couch.
“It’s my turn to take care of you, okay?”
He looks tortured, but he gives me an infinitesimal nod.
I slide my fingers between my legs, getting them good and messy.
Dax watches hungrily, his cock jumping impatiently.
I wrap my fingers around him, giving him the pressure I know he likes, working him for a few strokes before easing up onto my knees.
I slide over him once, twice, taking pleasure in the way he can’t take his eyes off us, his pupils blown wide, his hands gripping the back of the couch.
Then, slowly, I notch him at my entrance.
His attention flicks from where we’re joined to my face, my mouth dropping open on a silent gasp as I slowly work down his length, sliding down and back up, taking more of him each time.
He groans when I finally take all of him and grind against him with a circle of my hips.
Planting one hand against his chest, I brace my other arm behind me as I begin to roll my hips.
When he calls me “baby,” it’s a curse—and a prayer.
My entire body flushes with heat and pride at his praise, and goddamnit, I’m already close. I try to draw it out, undulating against him deliciously slow, but soon my rhythm begins to stutter, and I’m aching to pick up the pace, to increase the pressure.
“Dax,” I breathe, and he knows exactly what I want, what I need.
His arms come around me, pulling me into a kiss.
One hand drifts down to my hip, holding me there as he takes control, picking up the rhythm I lost, increasing the tempo.
Our kisses grow sloppy, tapering off until it’s less kissing and more a sharing of breath as we drink in the other’s gasps.
I pant out his name, teetering on the edge of release, and he grins wolfishly.
“Come with me,” I plead.
“I will,” he promises. He picks up the pace, and I cling to the back of his neck, our breaths intermingling as he watches me, waiting for the cues that tell him I’m tipping over the edge. He places one hand at my lower back, the other on my abdomen, applying just the right amount of pressure and—
Every muscle in my body locks up as my pleasure reaches its peak, before unlocking in a shudder that ripples through me.
Dax moans, and his eyes drift to where he thrusts into me again and again. The continued press of him against my clit is too much, and his attention snaps to mine when he feels the telltale flutter of my inner walls.
“Yeah?” he asks with a cocky smirk. He’s so damn pleased with himself for how he wrecks me.
I nod, coherency a lost art.
“One more time for me,” he whispers against the shell of my ear, not breaking his perfect rhythm. This time, he doesn’t need to read my clues, a cry ripping out of me as a second orgasm piggybacks my first.
He buries his face in my neck as he follows me over the edge, kissing me everywhere he can get to. He takes me with him as he sinks back against the couch, and I collapse onto his chest, sated, the only sound our labored breathing.
After our hearts have slowed from a gallop and our breaths are mostly normal, I ease off of him, my sweat-slicked skin letting go of his reluctantly.
I want to collapse sideways on the couch and rest, but I get up, holding my hand out for him.
He accepts, trailing after me into the bathroom, turning on the shower to let it heat up while I pee and he disposes of the condom.
It’s an easy rhythm, one we’ve done before, albeit not many times, our first go at this disproportionately short compared to how much room it’s taken up in my heart the past three years, like a squatter refusing to move out.
As we slip into the shower, I wrap my arms around him, pressing my cheek to the reaper at his back. I hope that we get longer than a few weeks this time. That we never got our epic ending the first time because we were meant to be epic, not end.