Chapter Twenty-One #2
I could feel the hard calluses on his palms roughly rub along my skin as he slid his hand from my ankle, over my knee, along the inside of my thigh, where he paused to squeeze the throbbing juncture between my legs.
I bucked against his hold, looking for relief, but his fingers moved on, caressing my hip and sliding up my side until he reached my breast, now clothed in just a bra.
In seconds, his fingers undid the front clasp and my breasts spilled out.
I was amply built all over thanks to the aftereffects of the hormones I’d taken while trying to get pregnant, but I refused to let my mind go to a place where I felt less than for being curvy.
Still, I glanced at Simon’s face, trying to determine how he felt about my body.
He used one finger to slide over my exposed nipples and my back arched. He breathed one word before he lowered his head and sucked the aching tip into his mouth. “Gorgeous.”
My entire body flushed and I didn’t know if it was the pleasure from his touch or the happiness from his praise or a combination of both. I just knew that never ever in my thirty-two years of aliveness had I ever wanted anyone as desperately as I wanted Simon O’Malley right now.
“Now, O’Malley,” I groaned as he moved his leg between mine, pressing his weight against my heat-slickened core.
“No.” He continued to tongue my nipple, then he sucked one between his teeth, giving me a jolt of pleasure-pain that almost made me come without even taking off my shorts.
This was simply not fair. It was as if he’d been given a manual on exactly how to touch me but I knew that wasn’t it.
What Simon had that no other man in my romantic life did—not my ex or my many flings—was the power of observation.
When I arched my back in response to his touch, he noticed and he doubled down.
If my breath caught in my throat, he registered the response and used it against me to elicit more gasps and sighs.
I refused to let him be the only one skilled at this dance, however.
I loosened my grip on his shoulders and let my hands skim down his arms, moving to his sides and very purposefully tracing the defined muscles of his torso until I reached his waist, where I didn’t hesitate but used one hand to grip his hip and the other to cup and squeeze the hard length of him beneath his shorts.
The hiss he drew through his teeth might have been the most satisfying sound I’d ever heard. It was my turn to chuckle.
Simon captured my hands in his and held them by my side while he nudged my legs farther apart with his knee and settled himself in the cradle of my thighs as if he planned to be there for a very long time.
He let go of my hands and started kissing me again, but this time both of his hands were busy, alternately tracing my curves with gentle fingers and kneading my ass while hauling me closer.
Thought ceased. All I could do was feel.
By the time I felt him unbutton my shorts and slide my remaining clothes down my legs, I felt as if my insides had liquefied. More. I wanted more and more and more of him, touching me, kissing me, slipping inside of me, I was more ready than I’d ever been. Simon, however, had other ideas.
As he tossed my shorts and undies over his shoulder, he shifted until his mouth was at the juncture of my legs.
I sucked in a breath when I realized his intent.
My ex had never enjoyed oral, either giving or receiving, and so I had always felt awkward when a guy headed down south.
I rose up on my elbows and started to protest, but Simon grasped me under the knees and yanked me back down, putting my legs over his shoulders as he moved in on me.
I could feel his hot breath against my tender skin and I lost the will to fight.
If this was what the man wanted to do, far be it from me to get in his way.
His lips moved up my inner thigh and I melted.
His teeth nipped my clit and I arched as exquisite sensations rocketed through me.
I was so close I knew if he open-mouth kissed me I was going to explode into an orgasm of cataclysmic proportions.
Instead, Simon slipped one finger inside and gently pumped.
It felt amazing. Then he added a finger and I was sure I saw stars.
Then he kissed me, stroking my clit in a firm circular motion with his tongue while his fingers kept up the pressure and I let out a moan as the orgasm crashed over me in blissful waves of sensation.
I felt as if I were a star exploding across the night sky.
Simon didn’t stop stroking with his tongue or his fingers until my orgasm finished with one final shudder.
He moved back up my body with predatory grace. The wicked dimple flashed in his cheek as he smiled with supreme male satisfaction. When my gaze met his, he said, “That’s one.”
I laughed. It came out low and throaty as if I were some sexy siren and not a woman who lived in her van with her dog. Then again, why couldn’t I be both? Simon had laid me bare, literally, and it was time to do the same to him.
I reached between us and unfastened his shorts, pushing his clothing down past his jutting erection—well, hello—and over his firm backside to his thighs, where I used my feet to push them down all the way.
I put my hands on his hips and pushed him up so I could take in all of him from his sculpted physique, to his beautiful face and crown of wavy hair.
Had I ever been with such a perfect male specimen? No. Unequivocally, no.
“Why are you so perfect?” I asked. “Tell me you have a bunion somewhere.”
He choked out a laugh. “What?”
“Dandruff,” I said. “Please have dandruff.”
“Sorry, no.” He was still smiling as he leaned in to nuzzle my neck.
“A hairy wart?”
“Nope.”
“There has to be something wrong with you,” I protested. “It’s simply not fair for you to be this handsome, smart, sexy, and kind. Come on, give me something.”
“Why?” he asked. “I’d say we’re perfectly matched.”
I shook my head at him. “Um, I know you’re in bed with a naked woman and that could make a guy temporarily mentally impaired but we are not the same.” I gestured between us.
“Of course we are,” he said. “You are exquisite.”
I’d have argued the point but he swooped in and kissed me and I lost the thread of the discussion.
I hadn’t thought I could queue up for another orgasm so fast, but there I was, clinging to him and touching him everywhere my fingers could reach.
I wanted to memorize every rippling muscle, I wanted to draw him—which was weird because I couldn’t draw—still, I felt this need to seek out every inch of his skin and memorize the feel of him beneath my fingers.
When I moved my hands up his thigh he stilled. I didn’t.
I stroked his cock in a firm grip and I heard him mutter under his breath just before he grabbed my hand and redirected it to his pecs.
“Careful there, we don’t want to have an early discharge,” he drawled, and I felt a rush of power. Did I do that to him? Me?
I rolled out from beneath him and pushed him onto his back.
I climbed on top of him, straddling his hips until his cock was pressed right where I wanted it.
I swear I could feel it pulse against my opening and I felt a flutter of another orgasm building.
I bracketed his head with my hands and said, “Now, Simon, I need you now.”
At the use of his first name, his nostrils flared and he grabbed a condom from the nightstand and made quick work of sheathing his length before he grabbed my hips with his hands.
I reached down and guided him to my entrance.
The clenched muscles of my previous orgasm resisted him just enough to make his entry a delicious stretch that caused even more sensations to swamp me.
He slid in so gently, as if to be certain I was ready.
Heck, I was so ready I wanted to bite something—him.
Instead, I spread my knees and lowered myself onto him with a decisive drop.
He hissed at the sensation of me squeezing him and his eyes shut as he went perfectly still as if fighting for control.
I didn’t want him to have any control. I straightened up and grabbed the headboard in my hands and moved up and down, establishing a vigorous rhythm as I chased down the sweet sensation that was beginning to swell inside of me.
Simon let out a grunt of satisfaction and reached up to cup my breasts, his thumbs flicking my nipples as I kept up the pace.
I felt his hips stiffen and I knew he was close.
I wanted him to lose it just as I had and I wanted to be the one who drove him right over the edge.
I reached behind me to cup him at the juncture of his legs and he arched his back as if he was about to climax, but no.
Instead, he gritted his teeth and rolled us over until I was under him again.
“You are a wicked woman.” He drove into me and I arched, trying to get closer as I felt the beginning of my orgasm sparkle in my peripheral vision.
I wanted to shout his name, knowing it would push him over the edge, but I’d lost my powers of speech as the swirling desire dragged me under and all I could do was tighten my core, waiting for the release to break over me.
As if he was right there with me, Simon lifted one of my legs and drove more deeply into me. Then he lowered his mouth to my ear and whispered, “I swear I could happily drown in you, Hannah.”
It was the first time he’d used my first name, and it sent a shiver down my spine, which detonated my orgasm and I felt my body clench and release around him as the pleasure rippled through me.
“Simon.” It came out as a multisyllabic moan and Simon responded by thrusting into me once, twice, three times and then he was in the same whirlwind of sensation I was. We clung to each other as we rode out the waves. When it finally stopped, Simon rolled to his side, taking me with him.
I was draped half across him and as limp and sated as I’d ever been when I felt him kiss my hair as he said, “That’s two.”
I awoke hours later and slipped away to shower.
I was just rinsing off the bodywash when Simon slipped into the shower with me.
I wish I could say it was his fault but it was me.
I was the problem. The sight of the hot water sluicing down his muscular form behooved me to soap the man up from top to bottom and he let me.
When he turned me around to face the wall and slid into me from behind, well, it was the quickest foreplay to orgasm of the night.
When my legs would have given out, he wrapped his arms around me, pulling my back to his chest. He nuzzled the sweet spot at the curve of my shoulder and growled, “That’s three.”
The man positively swaggered when we left the shower and, honestly, I couldn’t begrudge him a bit of it.