32. The Human Heating Pad
THE HUMAN HEATING PAD
Felicity
Dean covered my body with his, pinning me to the mattress, his mouth everywhere at once, my throat, my jaw, my lips, my shoulder, all of it at a fever pitch so sharp I couldn’t tell pleasure from ache.
I was a live circuit, every nerve wired directly to him.
His hips pressed into the cradle of mine, the weight of his body an anchor and a thrill, grinding out a rhythm that made me arch for more, a greedy, shameless plea for whatever came next.
He caught my gasp with his tongue, a slow, dirty sweep that curled through my mouth until I had to clutch at his hair to keep from floating off the bed entirely.
His hands were everywhere, rough and sweet, shaping my waist, my ass, my thigh, the touch both possessive and desperate.
When he gripped my leg and hiked it high on his hip, the new angle lit me up like a fuse.
I moaned so loud the headboard rattled, and he answered with a growl that vibrated through my chest.
“Fuck,” I breathed.
I couldn’t get enough of him.
His skin was silk stretched over muscle, salt-slick and hot and blessedly real. My nails raked up his back, scoring trails he would find in the shower tomorrow. He only pumped harder, dragging me toward him, like he wanted to fit us together so tight we’d never come apart.
Just when I thought I was about to combust, he gentled his pace.
His lips finding mine with a slow, hungry deliberation that was almost more torment than relief.
I was restless beneath him, my hips jerking to meet his, my hands grabbing his hips to pull them into my body, not able to get close enough to him.
The next thing I knew, Dean, with a low rumble that vibrated straight through my bones, flipped us both in one smooth, gravity-defying motion.
Suddenly, I was straddling him, thighs spread wide over his hips, palms braced against the solid wall of his chest as if I’d been born to ride out the storm he’d built inside me.
I blinked down at him, more than a little breathless, my hair falling into my eyes, and he grinned up at me, wolfish and wild, hands on my hips as if daring me to take what I wanted.
I reached up and grabbed hold of the headboard to steady myself, then lined him up with my body, taking the thick velvet weight of his cock in my hand.
I relished the sound he made—half groan, half plea—as I guided him to my entrance and sank down, inch by greedy inch, until I was so full the world shrank to just the two of us and the beautiful, unbearable stretch.
We both went still, suspended in the moment, because neither of us could handle it all at once. I dropped my head forward, gasping, my forehead resting against his, and for a second there was only the deep rhythm of our breath and the pounding of our hearts.
Then his hands flexed, his fingertips digging into my thighs, and I started to move.
At first, I rocked my hips in aching, shallow tilts, teasing us both, watching his jaw clench and his eyes go molten with need.
Then I lifted up, almost letting him slip free, before driving down hard enough to make the bedsprings squeal.
He growled, a real, animalistic sound, and the next thing I knew he had both hands braced on my ass, guiding my pace, setting a tempo that was pure, merciless bliss.
I clung to him as I rode him, my palms slick with sweat, my knees trembling from the effort, the pleasure building in me with every slap of skin and every guttural sound he made.
My hair was everywhere—my face, his face, the pillow—so he grabbed a fistful at the nape of my neck and pulled me down to kiss him, his tongue slick and claiming.
I kissed him back, messy with desperation, until my head was spinning and I couldn’t remember my own name.
When he started to thrust up into me, matching my rhythm, I almost screamed.
The angle was perfect, the friction just right, and the headboard was rattling so hard I worried guests would hear it in the cabin next door.
I clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in deep.
His hands slid up my back, then down to my hips again, holding me in place for each grinding, perfect thrust.
The orgasm hit me out of nowhere, like being struck by lightning—my whole body arched, every nerve singing, my mouth open in a silent cry I wouldn’t have recognized as my own.
My vision went white around the edges and for a second, I was just pure sensation, every muscle locked as I shattered around him.
Dean waited for me at the edge, letting me ride it out, his hands gentle now, soothing my hips as I trembled and shook and finally collapsed against his chest, shivering with aftershocks.
As I caught my breath, one of his hands were tangled in my hair, the other stroking lazy circles between my shoulder blades.
I felt like I might melt right into him, but before I could fully recover, without any warning, he snaked his arms around my waist and rolled us again, trapping me under his full weight, his cock still deep inside me and somehow, impossibly, harder than ever.
He kissed me long and slow, his tongue mapping the seam of my lips, and when he finally started to move again, it was with a gentleness that felt almost reverent.
“God, you’re perfect,” he whispered against my mouth, and for the first time…maybe ever, I almost believed it.
He shifted, bracing himself on his elbows so he could look down at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. Then, as if he’d been waiting for just this moment, he hooked both of my legs up over his shoulders and drove into me with a power and precision that made me see stars.
The pressure built again, higher and higher, and I clung to his biceps, feeling the corded muscle flex under my fingers.
He kissed me through it, practically folding me into as he fucked me, swallowing my gasps.
When the orgasm I’d just recovered from tore through me again, I dug my nails into his back, heedless of anything but the way he made me come undone.
He followed me over the edge seconds later, groaning my name into my neck, his whole body tensing as he spilled inside me. I loved the way he lost control, the way he let go, just for me.
For a long time, we didn’t move, just lay tangled together on top of the comforter, slick and sticky and utterly spent. I stroked his hair, the short tendrils at his nape, and he ran his palm up and down my thigh and hips, grounding me, tethering me to him.
After he’d caught his breath, Dean rolled onto his back, pulling me with him so I could drape myself over his chest. I tucked my head under his chin, listening to his heart slow from a gallop to a gentle canter. I’d missed him so much. I’d missed this.
He traced lazy circles on my bare back, his hand warm and reassuring, and for the first time in my life, lying naked in bed with someone felt less like exposure and more like shelter.
When my brain was beginning to reassemble itself, he broke the silence, his voice low and so soft I almost missed it. “Do we need to go pick up Maverick?”
The question was a left turn and it caused my chest to fill with warmth. He was worried and conscientious of my responsibilities.
“No,” I said, still a little breathless. “He’s spending the night with Nonna. Since the plan was to leave tomorrow, she wanted him to spend the night our last night in town with her. She made it sound like she’d die if she didn’t get every second of him before he left.”
His arm tightened around me, and I felt the change in him immediately. The easy warmth between us disappeared beneath a sudden tension in his body.
“What?” I lifted my head, resting my chin on his chest. “What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he brushed a strand of hair from my cheek, tucking it gently behind my ear. His fingers lingered there, tracing the curve of my face as his eyes searched mine.
“I keep thinking about how close I came to losing this.”
My heart stumbled. “Losing what?”
“You.” His thumb swept softly over my cheekbone. “Maverick. Mornings with you. Nights like this. All the ordinary shit I didn’t know I wanted until it was right in front of me.”
A shiver moved through me that had nothing to do with the cool air against my skin.
“Dean—”
“I convinced myself I could take whatever pieces of your life you were willing to give me.” His gaze held mine.
“Stolen moments. Dinner. Breakfast at your kitchen counter. Maverick climbing all over me like I’m playground equipment.
” The corner of his mouth lifted, but his whiskey eyes stayed serious.
“I told myself it was enough because having some of you was better than having none of you.”
My throat tightened.
His hand slid to the back of my neck, holding me like I was something precious.
“But it’s not enough anymore. I want more.”
“What do you want?” I whispered.
The intensity in his gaze melted into something achingly tender. “Everything.”
My breath caught.
“I don’t want to visit your life anymore, Felicity.
” He pulled me closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between us.
“I want all of it. I want the mornings. The bedtime stories. The horses lined up on the windowsill. Your cold feet shoved under my legs because apparently, I’m a human heating pad. ”
A laugh escaped me as tears welled up in me.
“I want the mess. The boring days. The hard ones. I want to know where Maverick left his shoes and what you need from the grocery store. I want to be your person.” His forehead touched mine. “I don’t want pieces of your life.”
His lips brushed mine, soft and achingly tender.
“I want all of it.”
My heart squeezed so hard it almost hurt.
“All of it?” I whispered.
“All of it.” His arm tightened around me. “For as long as you can put up with me.”
I smiled. Putting up with him I could do. I could do that forever.