Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
ELLIE
He loses his shirt first. I tug at the hem, encouraging it over his head, and his hat comes off with it, both tumbling to the floor with an air of unimportance.
Then our lips meet again. A deep kiss that works its way to every single cell in my body; I feel like a coiled spring, desperate to unravel.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he says, pulling his lips from mine.
I nod. “Yes.”
Yes. This is exactly what I want. It’s like this is exactly what I’ve always wanted.
“Are you?—”
I knit my hands around his neck and pull him back down, hot and heavy breaths mingling as we kiss. I loosen my grip, moving my hands down the plain of his back, feeling his muscles—solid and tight—under my fingers.
“Mike—”
“I’ll be right back.”
Then he’s gone. Leaving me cold and confused. Almost desperate, even. I sit up and peer around, only to see him emerging from a door a moment later, a fleece blanket slung over his arm.
“Are you sure, Kitch? I mean?—”
He swallows, watching my fingers dance over the buttons of my blouse and then he’s on top of me again, roaming hands and lips before he kisses me again. Slow and deliberate, sending a warmth all the way from my lips to my pussy.
God, this is infuriating.
“Mike—” I breathe, practically into his mouth.
“Hmm?”
“Mike, please…”
His hand slides down the outside of my thigh, leaving a trail of warmth. And there’s the tingle. And the way my skin ignites and the desperation I’m feeling for him to go lower. For him to touch me.
“What do you need, sweetheart?” he growls, shifting his position to plant lazy kisses against my neck. Right on a spot I didn’t know I had.
“I want you to—” A pressure on my nipple through the fabric of my bra steals the words from me.
“Is this what you need?” he says, right into my ear, reading my mind. “Do you need me to touch you?”
I shiver as his fingers—oh my God, his fingers—trace down my stomach, coming to a stop on the waistband of my trousers.
The anticipation. His breath in my ear before his lips trail over my skin. All he needs to do is flick open the clasp and slide his hand down and?—
“Oh, God,” I gasp.
It’s like he’s reading my mind. In a single motion, his hand is inside my trousers—over my underwear—almost tickling my skin as his hand stops on my pussy. Cupping me before stroking, once, twice, then he comes into contact with my clit. All through the thin fabric.
“Because you know—” he whispers, peppering kisses on my neck. “—as your husband, it’s my job to take care of you. All of you.”
A breathy groan escapes me, and I have no idea what to say because I am quaking. All I can do is nod and mumble something in agreement. Because yes. Yes, this is what I want.
“Mike—”
“I’ll warn you, sweetheart. It’s been a while since I’ve touched myself and you’ve got me really fucking hot.”
Oh, God. Why does that turn me on too? Knowing that I’ve got him excited. And he can no doubt feel how wet I am if I can feel how wet I am.
Before I can stop myself, I’m running my hands over his chest, hard pecs, and coarse hair that has me melting beneath him.
Masculine. That’s what it is. That’s what he is. Masculine and arousing, and then he adjusts himself so I can feel him against my leg. Hard. Imposing. Definitely not how he described it to me—but I already knew that. I saw the outline.
And now I want to touch it. I want to touch him.
I move my hands over his abs next, then I reach his naval, brushing my fingers over his skin, the heat from his breath tickling my cheek before he kisses me again, tenderly trailing kisses from my lips down to my throat.
I hold my breath, nervous, but I lower my hands, sliding them underneath the waistband of his sweatpants.
He’s commando.
“Oh, God,” I say, then I grip him in my fist.
He grumbles, low and throaty, and it sends a wave of excitement through my bones. I move my hand in lazy strokes up and down his shaft. Thick. Heavy. Hard in my hands.
Perfect.
A word I never thought I’d be using to describe a penis, let alone the one attached to Michael Betts, but here I am, revelling in every single inch of him. Desperate for more .
“Fuck, that’s good,” he says.
And my brain adds to the equation, because now all I can think about is him being inside me as I pump my hand a little faster.
He sucks in a breath and tugs my hands away.
“Let me—get you there first,” he says. And his face is in my neck, kissing and nibbling and I know, it won’t take him long at all. I’m like a rocket, ready to launch.
The rest of our clothes disappear in haste.
Frantic pulling and tugging until we’re both naked.
Lying on his sofa with the blanket wrapped around us.
But I don’t care. I haven’t even asked if his roommate is likely to come home.
In fact, he could be watching us—creepy, yeah, but I’m so immersed, I don’t?—
“Oh, God,” I say. A hot breath hits my left nipple, then a second later the pressure of his tongue, flicking and teasing, has me clamping my fingers into his hair.
He snickers. “Bettsy’s fine, if you’re wanting to give me a nickname,” he says, “but I guess God will do?—”
I’m chuckling. Completely lost in the moment, grateful that this is anything other than awkward and Mike is being so very much Mike.
“Hmm,” I mumble, willing my brain to come up with something else, but my focus has disappeared. Because his tongue flicks over my right nipple this time, as his hand slides down my body. Inch by inch. Lower and lower.
Then he touches me. Exactly where I need to be touched, forcing a moan to escape me. He sucks down hard on my nipple right before he slips a finger inside me.
And that’s all it takes. A finger inside and his thumb circling my clit, probably only a handful of times, to get me close. Like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, desperate not to fall over. Not without him coming along with me.
“I’m close,” I say, and without hesitation, he pulls is mouth and hand away. Then he’s moving, reaching for something from the coffee table. A condom. Suddenly my legs are in the air, resting on his shoulders. Strong and solid.
“Are you sure?” he says. “Because I very much doubt, you’ll only want this once—I mean, once you’ve?—”
“Shut it, Mike and?—”
There he is, lining himself up, then a second later, he’s pushing inside of me. Slowly, just the tip at first, but he adjusts himself a little and pulls me in closer, planting a row of kisses on my calf before exhaling, and then he’s still. Breathing deeply as we fully connect.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he says, but I can’t find any words. My body and brain have sort of disconnected because everything I have is focused on the feeling—the fullness. The sensation.
He pulls out slightly before thrusting back in, taking my breath away in the process. I’m gasping, moaning, and Mike’s breath becomes laboured and heavy. He moves in slow and deliberate strokes that have my whole body shaking with anticipation, because I want more.
He parts my legs and leans down, kissing me and building a gentle rhythm with his hips.
“Can you come like this?”
“Hmmm—”
He shifts his angle, and I feel it. The gentle grind of his body against mine. And I’m nodding into his mouth. Because I’m close. And when he picks up the pace, whispering that he’s close, I say three little words I never thought I’d say.
“Fuck me, Mike.”
And he does. Long strokes. Fast and hard. And his lips find mine as he kisses me, soft and tender: the complete opposite to the effort he’s putting in elsewhere.
And that’s all it takes for both of us to come.
Lips locked together. Bodies damp and hot.
His moans, erotic and intense, making me forget where I am, what I’m doing here.
I’m completely lost in the moment because this orgasm feels different, like it’s everywhere. Every single cell in my body feels it.
He breaks away from my lips, dipping his head into my neck, nuzzling my skin.
“That was—wait, you came, right?”
I nod, a smile creeping over my lips just as there’s a thundering bang on the door.
Thump, thump, thump.
Then a voice, calling through the boundary and Mike exhales.
“Ah fuck,” he says.
Thump, thump, thump.
“I know you’re in there, Betts. Open the door before I piss myself.”