Chapter 13 #2
I didn’t, but I wanted to. I dipped my head and pressed a kiss to her lips, tension easing from my muscles as I did. I hadn’t been lying, at least from my perspective—kissing Hollie was like meditation. And it was addictive.
Her breathy sighs made me want to get closer to her, and I pressed my hand into her back, drawing us together.
“Do you have anything in the oven? Anything likely to burn that I’m going to get the blame for?” I asked.
She shook her head, her eyes sleepy with desire. “Nope. Wanna meet the band?”
I chuckled and lifted her up and over my shoulder. “I just hope there’s a French horn player. A brass band is nothing without a French horn.”
I strode out of the kitchen and down the hall to my bedroom, where I tipped her onto my bed.
“Wow. This bedroom is ridiculous.”
I glanced over my shoulder before grabbing Hollie’s hips and pulling her to the edge of the bed.
“It’s got an entire living room in it. Two sofas and—Our entire trailer isn’t as big as just this one room.”
I pulled her top from her jeans and dragged it over her head. I inhaled as I took in her smooth, creamy skin. I wanted to rip her bra off but knew I had to be patient.
“Are you the richest man in England?” she asked as if it were a serious question.
“Don’t be crazy,” I said, unfastening her jeans. She wiggled, helping me as I peeled them off her. I took a step back as she lay on my bed in her underwear. “But I feel like the luckiest.”
She groaned. “Cheese alert!”
“Is it cheesy if it’s true?” I asked. I crawled over her and stole a kiss.
“Absolutely,” she replied, her fingers undoing the buttons on my shirt. “Especially if it’s pre-sex. It sounds like you’re persuading me to get naked. And I don’t need persuading. Not by you.”
“Oh yes,” I replied, kneeling as I stripped off my open shirt. “The band.” I hooked my thumbs into her underwear and pulled them down. “Now, where are they?”
“They are quite small. You might have to look really hard.”
I chuckled. I don’t think even Tristan made me laugh as often as Hollie did. I kneeled on the floor, my thumbs pressed against her hips, my eyes level with her pussy. “Nope, can’t see a thing. I hope you weren’t lying, Hollie. I’ll be very disappointed if I don’t get a warm welcome.”
She moaned and her hips shifted. “Closer. You have to look very close,” she whispered.
I don’t know who I was torturing more—her or me. I wanted to taste her more than I wanted most things, but knowing she wanted me? Knowing she was wet just at the thought of my tongue on her was doing things to my cock that felt illegal but oh-so-good.
“Still nothing,” I said, the edges of my lips almost touching hers, my breath warming her skin.
She moved her legs a fraction, rubbing the inside of her thigh against my jaw. She moaned. I was toast. I couldn’t hold back any longer. I pressed my tongue over her clit and almost dissolved at the warm slide of her.
Her fingers in my hair urged me on, and all I wanted to do was make her happy, make her come, show her that what we were doing wasn’t banging, whether or not I was her boss.
I circled over and over, one way and then the other, feeling her clit unfurl beneath me.
I pressed hard and began to flick up and down, reaching up for her hands, linking her fingers with mine.
She fought me a little—no doubt unwilling to relinquish control.
But I wanted to touch her, make her come—I just wanted her to lie back and enjoy it.
From what I could read between the lines of how she described her life back in Oregon, she was all too used to taking responsibility and looking after people, all while feeling like an outsider.
I wanted her to see how she could relax with me, how she belonged under my tongue.
She’d confessed to me that I made her edgy. Well I was going to smooth all her edges away.
Her fingers tightened in mine and her hips lifted.
“Dexter,” she cried out, almost in disbelief.
She made to shift away from me, to escape her pleasure, but I pressed my elbows down onto her thighs, keeping her in place.
As I pushed my tongue through her folds, she began to pulse—her entire body juddered as she cried out.
I stilled my tongue and watched as her orgasm coursed through her, her eyes opening to mine as she reached the peak and floated down back to me.
“You’re gorgeous,” I said, skirting my thumbs up her palms and then releasing her hands.
She shook her head as she tried to push to her elbows. “You’re . . . I mean. Wow. I’m in trouble.”
I chuckled and crawled over her and she swept her thumbs over my cheekbones and pulled me to her, kissing herself from my lips and then reaching down to undo my jeans.
With fast fingers and a weird maneuver with her feet, my jeans and boxers were pushed to my ankles and I shook them off as she unclasped her bra.
“So, I met the band,” I said, lying on top of her as I pushed her hair off her face.
She giggled and squeezed her eyes shut. “How were they?”
“You taste fucking amazing,” I replied. “And watching you come is . . .”
She covered her eyes with her hand and I pulled it down.
“Look at me.”
Slowly she opened her eyes.
“Watching you come is like seeing a cut stone for the first time.” God, what was it with this woman and how corny she had me sounding? But I couldn’t explain it any other way—she was at her most beautiful when she climaxed.
“And it got me rock fucking hard,” I said, moving against her.
“I feel that.” She brought her legs up and I rested against her mound, the throb that had started in my dick spreading down my legs, up my torso. She began to rock under me, just tiny movements, that connected my dick and her clit.
“Are you dry humping me?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t say dry,” she replied.
I groaned just at the thought of driving into her wetness.
“You have a condom?” she asked.
I grabbed the one I’d left on the bedside table before I got undressed and covered my cock in record time. “You ready?”
She took a deep breath as if she were preparing herself for my dick inside her—as if she was slightly concerned it would be too much. Too big. Too hard. It felt like someone had cut the tie on my self-control—I couldn’t wait a moment longer.
I kneeled up, instinctively wanting to take in her reaction when I plunged into her. It wasn’t enough just to fuck her or taste her pussy—I wanted to possess this woman. I positioned her legs over my shoulders and for just a second before I pushed in, I paused, teasing—her or me, I wasn’t sure.
“Please,” she whimpered.
Had this girl burrowed into my subconscious and figured out the exact thing that would press my buttons, send me over the edge, and cause me to lose myself in the moment? Apparently, Hollie Lumen was my kryptonite.
I tensed my body, bracing myself for sensation, and thrust in as deep as I could go.
A guttural roar ripped through my throat at being connected to this woman.
The feeling was primal, as if what we were doing was necessary for our survival—like if we didn’t fuck, something would be desperately wrong in the world.
She shifted her hips and I turned to press a kiss against the delicate, soft skin of her leg and slid my hand down to press gently on her lower belly before pulling out softly and ramming back in.
Her hand covered mine. “That feels . . .”
I thrust in again and felt the ripples under my palm before she finished her sentence.
“Dexter, I’m going to come again. Wait—”
But I wasn’t going to wait. I couldn’t. Didn’t want to. I wanted to fuck. I wanted her to come and I wanted to do it all night.
I thrust and thrust and my jaw tensed so powerfully I thought it would shatter as her orgasm squeezed me oh-so-tightly.
But I didn’t stop—wasn’t going to give her time to recover, make me laugh, make me want her more.
No. I was just going to concentrate on fucking her.
She was going to see that she should never have joked that she didn’t want to have dinner with me, never questioned whether or not we should date, or whether she should take the job.
I was going to convince her that questioning anything to do with us was entirely ridiculous.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her words pushed out in a breathy fog.
“I’m fucking you. We’re fucking.” Sweat sheeted my skin and my lungs filled and emptied as if I was approaching the finishing line on a marathon. But I didn’t care. All I could focus on was this woman beneath me who had me so wound up.
I pulled out and moved her leg from one side to the other so she was on her side and then I pushed in again.
The blood sang in my veins as it pumped around my body, pulsing in my wrists, neck and cock.
I positioned her leg further up so I could get deeper.
I wanted to crawl into her and become one person.
Her hand clamped around the arm that was holding her leg in place and she looked at me, her gaze full of vulnerability and desperation.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.” Her head tipped back and her entire body began to convulse.
From this angle, as she clamped around my cock, I couldn’t hold back any longer, didn’t want to. We should have this moment together.
I cried out, ramming myself into her one final time before collapsing behind her.
I wanted to stay like this forever.
Spent.
Floating.
Exhausted but so fucking happy.
Her body sprawled half on mine, and the rise and fall of her rib cage had me mesmerized.
Had sex ever been so all-consuming? So intense?
She made to roll away from me and I circled my arms around her waist, shifted and pulled her toward me so we were spooning.
She smelled good, like vanilla and flowers.
Sliding her hand back, she grasped my thigh, as if she wanted to actively hold me, like it wasn’t enough for me to be holding her.
It was as if she couldn’t take without giving at the same time.