Chapter 6 #2
“Lift your hips, Cubby love,” she whispers, voice rough as she impatiently tugs at the waistband of my jeans.
I do as she says, cool air kissing my bare thighs as she drags the denim to my knees.
I crunch up enough that she moves back an inch, and I work her jeans down too, hands desperate as I grope handfuls of her skin, falling back against the pillows and drawing her closer to me.
Chest to chest. Our hearts clanging against each other in a jagged rhythm. It’s my new favorite sound.
“Want you,” Darcy says on a harsh groan as my hands curl around her ass, squeezing and kneading as she wriggles her arm between us, and I realize she’s dragging her underwear off her hips. I was wrong before. Her saying that is my new favorite sound.
Her fingers—rough and callused and so familiar I whimper—curl into the elastic of my underwear, gripping tight, but not moving the last shred of fabric that separates her touch from the place I want it most.
Suddenly, everything comes into sharp focus. My heart beating so hard, so fast, it feels like it might rip me apart, like I’ll be torn to shreds if she doesn’t touch me where I’m slick and desperate, already mindlessly shifting in search of friction.
All of this feels inevitable, like I’ve been running with a resistance band slung around my waist and it’s finally jerking me back into place, exactly where I’m meant to be.
“Need you,” I plead into her mouth before pressing my tongue against hers, silently begging for her to consume me. She does as I ask, kiss decadent and wild.
At the same moment, we touch each other, our knuckles brushing between our bodies as we move our hands.
My fingers glide through her wet folds, finding her clit, giving a light, questioning press to the swollen bud.
Darcy cries out into my mouth, her fingertips slipping to my entrance, circling and swirling as the heel of her hand rubs against my most sensitive spot.
Our mouths break apart, and we stare in wide-eyed wonder as we continue to touch each other, explore this forbidden, sweet territory.
Darcy’s eyebrows fix in fascinated, hazy focus as she finds a spot, a rhythm, that has my entire body trembling, my head spinning as pleasure spikes through me.
My hands move like they belong on her, like they were designed solely to bring Darcy pleasure, wring out those sharp whimpers and desperate cries that are punctuated by her hips pressing harder into my touch, her teeth biting my lip.
I’m instantly obsessed with the way her face creases in need when I put two fingers in her, my thumb circling in a steady, firm pressure against her clit.
“Tell me again,” she commands, her hips bucking against my hand.
I try to focus but she hits a spot so good, starbursts of color obscure my vision and my head falls back, an agonized moan ripping from my throat. “Tell you what?”
Darcy’s free hand snakes into my hair, fisting it and tilting my head so I’m forced to look at her, look into those big blue eyes that are somehow both sharp and eclipsed with pleasure.
“Tell me that this is okay. That all of this is okay,” she pants.
Despite the frantic heat clawing through me, I pause, my pulse pounding in every corner of my body.
I look at her. Stare. Her lips red and bee-stung, hair a mess, cheeks flooded with color, and expression wrecked.
I fall so deeply into my body, every feeling magnified—her breath across my cheek, our feet tangled, the heel of her hand against my clit, fingers deep in me.
I’ll never recover from this.
In a rush of movement, I flip us, Darcy falling to her back, her hair spilling across the pillow, chest moving rapidly as she stares at me.
I adjust us, using my knees to open her legs wider, sitting back on my heels to see where I touch her.
Her hand moves from between my thighs to my knee, but I can’t even be bothered by the lack of stimulation, not when this new position allows me to watch the smooth glide of my soaking fingers as I move in and out of her.
Her head rolls back, throat exposed. I curl over her body to kiss the spot where I see her pulse fluttering.
“Darcy,” I say, placing a soft bite to the spot. “It’s perfect.”
She cries out, her hands moving to my hair, holding me tight against her. “Is this normal?” she whispers against my temple.
A gasp tumbles from my lips as I press my legs together against the mounting pressure. “Is what normal?”
She levels her face with mine, eyes dark and wild and a little bit terrified. “Is it normal to feel this much? This much want?”
I nod, my nose dragging against hers. “I think so.”
“How do you know?” Her voice is a soft but firm demand, hands gripping my shoulders.
I clear my throat, ignoring the warning bell in the back of my mind trying to stop the dangerous words pressing out of my overly earnest mouth. The truth can’t be swallowed down. “Because I feel it all too.”
Our touches become frantic, like this is the last chance we’ll ever have to know the comfort of another person’s skin.
Clashing teeth and bitten lips and pounding hearts and her fingers back on me, in me.
We rush together over the cliff, a shared, sharp cry into each other’s mouths as we tumble over.
We break apart, only for a moment, collapsing on our backs, chests moving from disjointed breaths. Then we turn back to each other with the inevitability of magnets, like no single kiss will be good enough to end the night on.
We press our lips back together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, something we’ve done every night and we’ll continue to do till we’re old and gray.
We rest there, not kissing exactly, but our lips still touching, still brushing against each other, the delicate warmth of Darcy’s every exhale on my skin.
My head is swimming, heart tripping over itself about what this means and how we shouldn’t have touched each other like that and how it seems impossible we’ve never touched each other like that before and … and …
Sleep pulls me under as I nestle deeper into the circle of Darcy’s arms.