Chapter Sixteen
SHAY
OUR MOUTHS COLLIDE with a ferocity that steals my breath.
“You taste so fucking good.” His arms sweep around me as he stands, hoisting me off his lap.
My legs coil around him, locking me to the blazing heat of his chest and the hard ridges of his abs.
Our tongues tangle, teeth scrape, lips pull, and grind. I feel the sharp line of his jaw and the rasp of stubble. Heat spirals in every nerve, setting my veins on fire.
I’ve never felt like this with anyone, like he’s paying attention to every inch of me, like I actually matter.
He tastes so fucking good—too good—, but there’s no pause to say it.
We stumble forward, crashing into the edge of the retro sofa.
“Shit.” His curse is muffled in my mouth.
The momentum throws us off balance, but he doesn’t budge his hold on me. He’s granite. His arms clamp around me, bands of muscle and heat, locking me in place.
Solid.
Unshakable.
He doesn’t slow. Neither do I.
My hands snag his shoulders, grip his biceps, dragging him impossibly close. Mouth, hands, hips—all moving on their own, wild, instinctive.
A storm, raw and demanding, leaving no space between us.
Every other relationship I’ve been in has been safe, predictable, lacking fire. They fade into nothing compared to this. I’m alive in a way I didn’t know I could be.
Then his leg clips the side table.
Wood scrapes.
Metal rattles.
Something tips.
A sharp crash explodes through the room, ripping us apart mid-kiss.
His breath hits mine in hot, broken bursts. Mine stutters back just as hard.
I cling to him so tight I feel every thump of his pulse hammering against my ribs.
Together, we glance down.
The side table’s tipped half on its side.
A stack of old hardcovers sprawled open, pages fanning across the mustard-yellow rug.
A crooked photo frame is facedown, glass scraping the carpet—appearing intact from the angle.
The brass lamp rests tangled in the mess, shade bent sideways, cord snared around everything.
No shatter.
No glass.
Lucky.
“It doesn’t look broken.” My inhale steals his air.
“I’ll get it later.” His hand tightens on my thigh.
Our eyes meet. Heat strikes like a match. Electric. Reckless.
Our mouths slam together again.
Feral.
Insistent.
Insatiable.
We kiss as the world has vanished. Rough, messy, utterly consuming. I can’t tell where he ends, and I begin—every nerve lit, every pulse pounding, every ache is his.
I realize he’s not just taking me, he’s showing me, noticing me, responding to me. It’s intoxicating.
I gasp when we smash against the wall at the end of the short hallway.
The drywall thuds behind me. My chest caves against him.
Our teeth clash, tongues battle, and the friction of our bodies sparks heat straight through me.
He pins me to the wall. Solid. Ironclad. Nowhere to go but him. I’m painfully aware of his hardness pinned against me, and every part of me burns for more.
I dig my nails into his shoulders, feeling muscle bunch and flex under my palms, every twitch, every shudder.
He growls.
Oh my god, that sound.
So raw.
So deep.
It vibrates through my chest and leaves my skin buzzing.
His chest drives into me, hot and hard. Every ridge of his abs is like iron beneath my fingers.
I’ve never had anyone respond to me like this before. Moving. Reacting. Wanting me for me. Not just the act, but the person I am.
I quiver when his lips leave mine and trail to my jaw, then my neck. Teeth grazing just enough to make me wilt.
His hands grip my hips, thumbs carving into the curve of my waist, pulling me closer.
I arch against him, rubbing my thighs along his, feeling the heat of him through the denim of his jeans.
He growls low and deep. It vibrates through my chest—through my core.
I slide my hands over the planes of his back, feeling knots, strength, and warmth.
He nudges me with his hips, grinds his cock against me. I gasp, dragging a hand over his chest, tasting the sweat, the salt, him.
His lips trace along my neck, graze my collarbone, and tease the curve of my breast over the thin fabric of my top.
My fingers twitch toward the belt at his waist.
“Wait,” he rasps against my ear, voice trembling with something deeper than lust. “I want to do this right.”
Before I can answer, he hoists me up. My legs instinctively curl tighter around him, holding on as he navigates the short, narrow hallway.
I press my lips to the roughness along his jaw, tasting the salt of him. I trail my tongue along the stubble, nipping lightly.
He shudders.
I love it.
I press my mouth to the curve of his neck. Then the side of his shoulder. Nipping. Dragging my lips across warm skin. A low groan trembles through him, deep and ragged.
Every sound he makes is fire. Each rough inhale, every hitch, every guttural rumble vibrates through my teeth, my chest, my veins. All of them make me want more—more of this, more of him, more of the way he trembles under me.
I press my lips to the curve of his throat.
His hands dig into my hips harder, and I’m dizzy with the heat radiating from his body.
I kiss along the ridge of his collarbone, nipping, sucking. It’s enough to make him hiss my name under his breath.
He sways, nearly bumping into the wall. Every growl and rasp I extract from him makes my chest thrum.
He kicks open the bedroom door, and the hallway disappears, leaving just us, heated and hungry with desire.
He lowers me at the foot of the bed. My fingers brush over his ribs, across his abs.
I swallow against my own groan.
His eyes flick to mine, lips parting in a dangerous grin full of promise and heat.
“I could devour you right here.” His fingers slide my shirt off my shoulder. “But I want you. Every bit of you. And I’m taking my time.” His voice is thick with hunger.
“Then take me.” I’m breathless. “All of me.” I lift the T-shirt over my head and toss it to the floor, bearing my breasts to him. “Slowly.” I push my shorts over my hips, and they fall to the floor. “Every last inch.”
We’re moving from want to something deeper, tender, and scorching all at once.
Even in the dark, I can see his molten eyes drinking me in.
His hand finds the back of my head, and suddenly his mouth is on mine.
Warm. Firm. Claiming.
My lips part, and his tongue slides against mine, slow and deep.
I don’t think.
I just feel.
His denimed thigh slides against the bare curve of mine. His palm spreads at my waist, big and hot, pulling me in until there’s no space left.
He tastes like the root beer float we shared.
Vanilla. Sugar. Him.
Sweet.
Familiar.
Dangerously addictive.
He’s so attentive to my every move, every touch. He’s tuned to what I need, not just what he wants. I can feel it. And it’s intoxicating.
My hands drag up his arms. Hard muscle under worn cotton.
Heat. Strength. Everywhere.
Lord.
I hook my fingers behind his neck and haul him closer until we’re flush. His heart thuds against mine. Or maybe it’s mine. I can’t tell anymore.
The kiss changes. Slows. Deepens.
Everything else disappears until he stops.
“Wait here,” he murmurs against my mouth.
Then he’s gone.
Cold rushes in where he was. My body aches from the loss of him.
A lamp clicks on.
Warm honeyed light spills across the room.
He steps in front of me like something sinful.
I look up.
Wow.
His hair is mussed from my fingers. Lips swollen. Eyes darker. Heavy. Locked on me.
“Fun room.” His chest rises slowly and deeply.
I glance around.
Muted teal walls. A rounded cream vinyl headboard. Brass lamps with pleated shades. The air smells faintly like old fabric and clean summer sheets.
Cozy. Quiet.
Too innocent for what I want him to do to me in them.
I bite my lip. “Not as much fun as I plan to have.”
His smile turns lazy. Wicked.
“Oh yeah.” He steps closer.
“Yeah.” He steps closer.
Slow. Unhurried. Like he has all the time in the world.
Like he already knows I’m his.
He cups my breast, fingers warm and heavy, molding me into his palm.
I gasp.
His thumb brushes lazily across the peak—once. Twice.
Not enough. Never enough.
The way he pays attention to me makes my body react in ways I didn’t know it could. My back arches before I can stop myself.
Then he pinches.
I gasp.
His thumb rolls over the peak, sending heat straight through me. I arch into him, breath hitching sharply.
His lips quirk up at the sight.
He pinches.
Another gasp rips through me.
His smile lifts.
“The way you react to me—” he sucks in a breath. “I can’t get enough of it.”
His mouth trails down, over my jaw, my throat, slow and hot.
Every inch he kisses burns like he’s branding me.
I’m shaking.
I can’t say anything. Every nerve in my body is focused on him. My knees threaten to buckle.
His hand slides behind my back like he knows he’s making my entire body weak. He hoists my naked body against him and squeezes my breast again.
I gasp, and his mouth drops to mine, crushing, claiming.
Then he trails hot, firm kisses down the curve of my chest. His lips graze the skin over my nipple. I arch into him, breath hitching, fingers tangling in his hair.
He kisses me like he’s starving. Slow. Deep. Possessive.
Like his mouth is exploring every inch of me.
I feel wanted. Seen. Desired in a way that’s never happened before.
My fingers find the waistband of his jeans again, feeling the warmth beneath.
I unbuckle him, wanting—needing—him closer, needing him naked.
I slide my hand further inside the denim, palming him through the thin cotton.
His hips jerk. Then grind. I press harder, and he grinds harder. Every movement drags another groan from deep in his chest, ragged and raw.
“Fuck... it feels so good,” he rasps, voice low and thick. “Shit, I can’t—”
I glide my hand over him, up and down, teasing every ridge, every vein.
He groans again, low and startled, hips pressing into me, giving me every bit of him.
My palm slides along his length, tracing the thick vein that runs beneath, circling the sensitive tip.
His breath hitches, fingers tightening into my hair and scalp.
I let my thumb graze him, teasing. Every shudder beneath my touch makes my own ache flare hotter.
He shifts against me again, cock grinding, rubbing over my palm, skin sliding against skin.
I pull the denim down over his ass, hands squeezing his bare ass cheeks.
He growls.
His hands find my back, trying to pull me closer. But I kiss his stomach, fingers dragging over the waistband as I ease down the jeans.
I get on my knees.
“Shay—”
I look up at him. “Yes?”
The darkened look he gives me makes my stomach coil.
“I’m taking it slow,” I say when he says nothing. “Tasting every last inch of you.”
The way his eyes darken and his Adam's apple bobs when he swallows.
Hard.
I don’t give him what he wants. Not right away.
I press slow, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of his thigh, grazing the tender skin, making him hiss.
Then I touch him.
His abs tighten as I wrap my hand around the base. My thumb brushes over the thick vein that runs along the underside.
His hips lift just a fraction.
I smirk, biting my lower lip as I lean in, breath ghosting over the sensitive head.
His cock jerks in my grip.
“Good boy.”
“Tease,” he growls, his fingers threading into my hair.
He’s not quite guiding me yet, but the threat of control is there.
I laugh, low and throaty.
My lips brush the tip, teasing, coaxing, licking, and flicking just right.
He curses, deep, fingers tangling in my scalp, pulling lightly at the roots.
I drag my tongue up the length of him. Base to tip. I swirl around the crown before pulling back.
His hips jerk up, a desperate, wordless sound tearing from his throat.
I do it again.
And again.
I love this. Reducing him to raw, panting need with just my mouth.
His breath comes in sharp, uneven bursts. His fingers tangle in my hair, testing but not dominating, holding back just enough.
I part my lips, taking the head between them. Tongue presses flat against the underside.
His taste floods my senses—rich, male, heady.
I moan around him, muffled and needy.
His fingers tighten—not quite pulling, just demanding presence.
I obey.
I sink slower, tasting, savoring, then pick up pace.
My hand pumps the base in time with my mouth.
His breaths come sharp and uneven, his hips lifting to chase my mouth when I pull back.
“Shit, baby—” His voice strains, fingers gripping my hair as he fucks up into my mouth.
I pull back just enough to make him hiss, teasing the tip, diving down again.
Swallowing, sucking, every groan, every ragged breath, driving me further.
“I’m going to come—” He pulls my head away and forces me to look at him. “I’m not ready yet.”
I lick my lips.
“Damn it, woman.” He picks me up, kisses me hard, then tosses me on the mattress.