Chapter 27
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
Ambrosia
Molten heat sparks in Dawson’s eyes, but I only get to admire it for a split second before his lips cover mine.
He tastes better than he feels, like the caramel and cider from earlier.
Within seconds, I’m lost in the feel of him.
Our mouths move together like they were always meant to.
The kiss isn’t sweet or shy or quick like it was before; this kiss is all teeth and heat.
I open for him without his asking, and he dives in, his tongue touching mine in the most overwhelming way with a moan I feel deep in my core.
He presses me into the sliding door, and I grip the back of his shorts, holding him to me as he devours my mouth.
But I give just as much as he does.
I nip at his lip, suck his tongue in my mouth, and arch up into him so he knows that I want every single inch of him.
He may need to add baseball to the list of sports he plays, because he has a bat in his fucking pants that is throbbing against my stomach.
I moan into his mouth when he presses it into me, letting me feel every single inch of him.
And there are a lot…of inches.
I want him badly.
I slip my hands into his shorts, digging my nails into his bubble butt, and the sound he makes is somewhere between a primal growl and a whimper.
He moves his hands from my face, one going to my throat, gently holding me, while the other slides down my side, leaving a trail of heat that has me vibrating all over.
I suck on his bottom lip then whisper against his lips, “I want you.”
“Thank fuck,” he groans, kissing down my jaw to my neck.
He nuzzles his nose as he licks and sucks my flesh.
I squeeze his ass again, and he nips at my neck before taking his hand from my throat and putting it on my hip, squeezing so hard I reel at the feeling.
He slides his hands down the backs of my thighs and lifts me with ease.
When I’m airborne, I don’t cry out or fear anything.
I know he has me. He takes me to the couch as I kiss and nibble along his jaw. “Ro, you’re driving me crazy.”
“Good,” I say as he lays me down, covering my body with his delicious one. He smiles against my lips before devouring them again. I need to feel his skin, so once more, I slip my hands into his shorts and squeeze his butt.
I may be obsessed with his ass.
“I live for your touch,” he murmurs against my lips, the feel of his lips sending chills down my spine.
“Touch me,” I practically beg, breathing like I’ve been running for twenty minutes.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his eyes searching mine. “I want to—fuck, I want to—but maybe we should go slow?”
Slow? Fuck that.
I lick up his chin, over his lips, to the tip of his nose. His hips jerk into me, and he lets out the most satisfying whimper. I almost come at the sound. “Please, Dawson,” I whine, squeezing his ass. “This has been slow enough. Touch. Me.”
He groans against my lips before he pushes my skirt up to my waist, gliding his fingers along my hips and down my thighs. “I’ll give you anything you want,” he whispers, kissing down my jaw. “I just don’t want you to think this is all I want.”
“I know it’s not,” I say. And I truly do.
With how resistant I was, I’m as surprised as you are.
But come on, we’re all on the same page, right?
Or am I being na?ve?
All my thinking goes to hell when he trails his lips down my neck.
His mouth is hot, soft, and I want to drown in the feel of him.
I open the buckles of my straps, and he pulls down my shirt to expose my cleavage, where he licks and sucks on my flesh.
I tilt my hips up as he settles between my thighs, his hardness thick and heavy against my center.
I wrap my legs with his, threading my fingers into the hair at the back of his head and knocking off his cap.
I throw it off the couch as he continues down my body.
I gasp loudly when he swirls his tongue around my belly button, sucking on my flesh before kissing my mound over my tights.
His eyes cut to mine, and they’re so dark, his mouth parted as he gasps for air, his face flushed.
I trace a finger along his jaw and then his lip before I whisper, “You’re stunning.”
He bites my finger softly and then smirks at me. “That’s my line.” I laugh softly as his fingers dig into my thigh. “Can I take these tights off and devour your sweet cunt?”
I nod, unable to answer with words, and he gets to work.
Together, we push down my tights, my panties following, before he is between my thighs.
He throws my legs over his shoulders as he takes my pussy in his mouth.
I scream, arching up into his mouth as he takes long, languid licks.
He angles his tongue between my lips, finding my clit before sliding down to circle my opening.
He does it over and over, so slowly, as I fall apart beneath his talented mouth.
I have never in my life been savored, but Dawson Sinclair is doing just that.
And boy, do I fucking scream for him.
He swirls my clit with the tip of his tongue, and my body shakes for him. He groans loudly before looking up at me. “I need more.”
More?
I don’t even get to ask before he pulls me onto the floor with him. I end up on top of him, but then he takes hold of the back of my knees and yanks me up his body to his face. He smacks my thigh and demands, “Sit on my face, gorgeous.”
“Huh?”
He chuckles before he drags me up over his lips, my knees by his ears and my pussy covering his mouth and nose. I go to complain about hurting him, but he smacks my ass.
“Ride my face, Ro. I want you dripping down my cheeks and throat.”
I sure as hell didn’t have riding Dawson Sinclair’s face on my bingo card.
He brings me down onto him, and without even thinking, my body moves of its own accord.
His nose hits my clit in just the right way, and my first orgasm comes out of nowhere.
Dawson open-mouth kisses my pussy as he mumbles praise against my sensitive flesh.
I can’t even form coherent thoughts once he starts fucking me with his tongue.
“That’s it, baby. Give me more.” His fingers bite into my flesh as he sucks my clit before pressing down with his tongue to push in and out of my entrance.
I’m nothing but an exposed nerve at this point.
I’m screaming so loudly and shaking so badly, I almost cry in relief when my second release hits.
But Dawson doesn’t relent.
He continues to tongue my entrance, lapping up my release as he squeezes my ass, pulling my cheeks apart, which causes a hell of a stretch for my asshole and prolongs my pleasure.
I haven’t ever heard half the noises that are leaving my lips, but the lewd sounds of him eating me have me craving more.
I press down on his tongue, wanting him deeper inside me as I lean back, one hand landing on his stomach, while the other meets his hard cock.
I look behind me to find him peeking out the top of his shorts, and my mouth waters at the sight of precome at the tip.
I twist slightly to take hold of him, my fingers not even making it around his length, and tug roughly.
He arches into my touch, groaning against my center, and I’m reeling at how much I love that he craves my touch.
Next thing I know, I’m on my back, and he’s kissing up my stomach. “Dawson,” I whine as he presses his cock into my center. His stupid shorts are in the way, and when I try to move them, he pins my hand above my head. “Please, I want you inside me.”
His eyes roll to the back of his head as he visibly trembles. “Ro, baby,” he mutters against my lips. “Slow down.”
“I want you.”
“Fuck, heart-stopper, please,” he says as if he’s being tortured. “We—”
My eyes lock with his, and I’m in awe of the pure heat and need in his eyes. But his actions aren’t lining up with what I see. “Do you not want me?”
He presses his cock into me, each hard, delicious inch making it real difficult to remember to breathe. “I fucking want you. Shit, I need you.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I don’t have any condoms,” he says, his eyes pleading with mine. “Let me just take care of you—”
“I have some in my room.” Dawson presses his lips together, his eyes burning into mine.
“I want you inside me.” He licks his lips, but I can still see hesitation and I don’t understand why.
Does he not want me? But even as I think that, I know that’s not it.
He just devoured me and ruined me for the rest of my life.
I can feel him throbbing against me. I can see in his eyes he wants me, but why isn’t he taking what we both need?
It doesn’t make sense.
Feeling self-conscious, thinking I may be making this into something it’s not, I say, “If you don’t want to, it’s fine. Just tell me—”
“I want to,” he says, cutting me off, his eyes still locked with mine. His fingers move along my ribs, his cock nestled against me like he belongs right there and nowhere else. “I want you—only you, Ambrosia.”
I feel his words in my soul, but I also feel like he isn’t telling me everything. I move my hand up his neck and cup his jaw. “Then why aren’t you balls deep inside me?”
His neck strains against my touch, and he licks his lips as he sits back.
He pulls me up and into his arms before he helps me to my feet.
Our fingers thread together like it’s their purpose to be intertwined.
I pull him with me, walking backward toward my room.
He watches me as he follows, worrying his lip while I guide us toward my bed.
He drinks me in with my skirt stuck at my hips and my chest heaving.
My boobs aren’t all the way out, but they’re on their way.
He licks his lips, and I do the same, drinking him in.
His shorts ride low on his hips, his cock hard and tenting the material.
His shirt is all wrinkled, and you can see where I have yanked at it.
It also has a wet spot on it that I’m assuming is from me.
Sorry, not sorry.
When the backs of my legs hit my bed, I reach out, pushing his shorts down to release him.
As I suspected, he’s packing one hell of a weapon, and I’m obsessed with it.
He’s long, he’s thick, and while I know it’s going to be a struggle to get inside me, I am here for the stretch.
My mouth waters at the sight, and I want him in my pussy and in my mouth.
He pushes his shorts down just as I wrap my palm around his thick cock.
But to my surprise, before I can stroke him, he catches my wrist to stop me.
Our eyes meet in a clash of desire, heat, and vulnerability.
“Ambrosia…” he starts, and I take a step forward to comfort him. I cup his face how he did mine before he kissed me, and he drops his forehead to mine. I stroke him slowly, and his breathing is erratic and so sexy.
“Let me take care of you,” I whisper, and he places his hand on my hip, holding me tightly, but he doesn’t let me stroke him.
“I need you to know something.”
Warning bells go off in my head. Shit, does he have an STI? Damn it, why… I knew this was too good to be true.
I swallow hard, my eyes moving back and forth between his. “Yeah?”
“You’re going to laugh.”
I furrow my brows. “I’m the furthest from laughing right now. More like I’m about to combust if you don’t get a condom on and get inside me.”
He lets out a small sound of distress, his fingers biting into my wrist. “Ambrosia.”
“What?”
He looks so anxious, and I don’t understand why.
This is the very first time I’ve ever seen him not fully confident in himself.
The man owns the field, the ice—hell, any place he goes.
He demands respect, attention, and he thrives on it.
It makes absolutely no sense to me since this right here is his jam.
Sex, fornicating, ruining women for all men, yet Dawson is trembling.
And not in the way I want him to.
With only three whispered words, I figure out why.
“I’m a virgin.”