Chapter 30
Thirty
MARC
The second we passed through the door of my house, I pressed her against it.
“Marc.” My name escaped her with notes of surrender and demand; a plea as her sigh moved through me in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
The whole way home I’d kept my hand between her thighs—not enough, never quite enough—moving slowly, stopping short of where she wanted me.
Watching her grip the door handle and seeing her work to breathe normally and fail.
Every small exhale she forced out dismantled me from the inside.
It had taken considerable control not to pull over on the side of the road.
Now, in the house, her legs trembled against mine, her hands fisted my shirt, and all of that careful control I’d been so proud of dissolved the second the door clicked shut behind us.
I brought my mouth to her ear, noting her shiver before I’d said a word. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
Her breath caught. The sound barely there—just a hitch, a fraction of a second. Her fingers tightened in my shirt, and she tugged on me to close the little distance that still existed between us.
I pressed closer, one hand braced on the door beside her head, the other finding her jaw, and tilted her face up toward mine.
Her eyes were dark, heavy in the dim entryway.
“You’re so fucking sexy. I can’t wait to have your perfect cunt tease my cock.
To have it pulse and squeeze me so hard I’ll see stars. ”
Her long, low moan filled the space between us, followed by the soft thunk of her head falling back against the wooden door.
Every muscle in me tightened in response.
She tipped her chin up, eyes heavy, dark in a way that made my pulse kick harder.
There was no hesitation in her. Just pure desire, and want so strong it consumed both of us.
This was Delaney. The same woman who had argued with me for twenty years.
Who had glared at me across the room with something that had never quite been the full gamut of hate, no matter how hard we’d both pretended otherwise.
Who had gotten under my skin in ways I’d spent years trying to explain away as irritation.
And now she was here—breath unsteady, lips parted, eyes soft, body already leaning into me … and I understood that beneath the wanting, that I was in serious trouble.
Not the bad kind. Not the kind you walk away from. The kind that changes things permanently. In the best way possible.
I kissed her once, slowly and deliberately. I traced my fingers along her jaw—the lightest drag—blown away knowing that she felt this, too.
Her hand cupped against the front of my jeans, and the contact burned straight through every coherent thought I had left. I moaned, not bothering to hold back. I wanted her to know how I unraveled at her touch.
She smiled—slow and satisfied—a smile that said she’d happily ruin me.
Her focus stayed on me as she worked my cock free, like she was keeping track of every fracture of my control. She pushed my pants and underwear past my hips and dropped to her knees.
A small box clunked to the floor the second she’d removed my pants.
I knew, distantly, that it mattered. A tickle at the back of my mind reached for the thought and came up empty. She picked it up and placed it on the entry. I watched her action and my mind was already forgetting about it as she turned back to me.
My head fell back on a sharp exhale as her finger lightly slid over my slit—the lightest touch possible—and then she brought it to her lips and licked it clean, watching me the whole time.
“Jesus,” I muttered, my voice rough.
Fuck me.
Delaney took her time. She traced her tongue over my hip bone first, then the head of my cock. Her hand wrapped loosely at the base, stroking in a rhythm that she seemed to be enjoying for its own sake. Likely because it was torturing me.
Her mouth teased me, licking up one side and down the other. My breath stuttered. “Damnit.”
My fingers threaded in her hair—running over her scalp the way I’d learned she loved—and her moan vibrated around my cock, soft and pleased. The sound shot to my spine. Even now like this, I needed her to feel good.
Her gaze lifted to mine.
The eye contact nearly finished me. She seemed to know it, because she chose that exact moment to take me deeper, one hand moving with a rhythm that turned my knees unsteady, and the other cupped my balls. I braced my palm flat against the door.
“You set the pace,” I managed through gritted teeth.
She nodded, then swirled her tongue around the head of my cock, with an attention to detail that made my vision blur. She sucked me in further, and the groan that had been building in my chest came out louder than I’d intended.
Her teeth grazed over me. I was barely able to pull myself back from the edge. It was something close to a miracle as my spine tingled and the need to come gripped me.
“You look so good on your knees.” The words came out breathless. Wrecked.
She drew back far enough to say, “I have a pretty good idea you’d say that of any position I was in.” The corner of her mouth curved.
“You’re not fucking wrong.” I tightened my hold on her hair and tugged gently. “Come here.”
She let me pull her up, and I kissed her once—hard—tasting myself on her lips, my hands cupping her face.
I walked her toward the bedroom. She grinned against my mouth the whole way, and something about that—her joy, her ease, the way she was fully and completely here with me—cracked something open inside my chest. I already knew what was in there.
Had known for a while, if I was being honest with myself.
I loved her.
She rolled her eyes. “One of these days, you’re going to finish in my mouth.”
“I’ll finish in your mouth, between your beautiful tits, and every other place I want to mark you as mine, but only after I come inside you first.”
I stripped her slowly, not out of patience—I had none left—but because I couldn’t stop touching her.
And every time I uncovered more of her, I had to stop and look.
Had to commit it to memory. When she was completely bare, she grinned, bright and full of confidence, and took off running into my bedroom.
I stood in the hallway for exactly one second, watching her go, and the thought swirled through my head: She was all mine. And I’d spend every day that she let me proving to her how unworthy I was of that.
She made it to the bed before I did and sprawled across it as if she owned it—which I was beginning to understand she sort of did.
Her jet black hair with purple tips fanned across the pillow.
I stopped at the foot of the bed and took her in: every curve, every line, every dip, and roll, and loved the entirety of her body. She watched me, watching her.
“You’re the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen.”
A soft flush moved over her cheeks before she reached for me, both arms extended. I crawled up the bed toward her.
Her legs parted as I got closer.
I kissed the inside of her knee. Heard the small, sharp breath my action pulled from her. I worked my way up slowly, learning every inch all over again. When I finally reached where she wanted me most, I paused—just for a moment—and admired what was mine. “Even your pussy is pretty.”
Her eyes were dark and her lower lip was caught between her teeth.
“Did sucking my cock make you nice and wet for me?”
“Yes,” Her voice trembled. “I need you inside me, Marc.”
I wanted the same thing. I wanted it enough that it took a conscious effort to slow down. I wanted to give her everything first. I wanted her to lose control, but first I had to make sure she was ready.
I took my time. I knew her well enough by now to know what she liked—I started over again, this time at her ankle, and worked my way up. Made her wait. Until the waiting was what drove her crazy. When I finally gave her what she was asking for, she didn’t stay quiet.
“Marc—”
I blew softly on her clit, and her whole body shuddered.
“Please, Marc.”
I devoted myself to that small bundle of nerves, two fingers sliding into her at the same time, and her walls closed around me immediately, warm and tight.
“If you’d hurry this up,” she managed, a little breathless, “I could be squeezing your cock like this.”
I lifted my head to look at her, stilling my fingers. She gave a frustrated, gorgeous whine. “Maaarc.”
“If you can still talk,” I said, holding her gaze, “then I clearly need to up my game. And if you want to keep complaining—” I grinned. “I can edge you until you stop.”
A pretty pout crossed her lips. Her eyes narrowed. Then she dropped her head back to the pillow, threaded her fingers through my hair, and pushed me closer to where she wanted me.
There was my brat.
I pulled her clit between my lips, sucked, and then licked, circling it.
Her back arched off the bed as I began to move my fingers inside her once again.
“Play with your nipples,” I demanded, and she complied immediately, and something about that—her trust, her willingness, the way she gave me this part of her—tightened my throat.
Her breathing sped up. The hand holding my hair yanked harder the closer she got. I worked steadily, chasing every response, my fingers curling inside her to find that spot that made her legs shake.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Don’t—”
“I’ve got you.” I laid my arm across her lower abdomen, keeping her in place.
Her body went taut, trembling, everything tensing at once—and then she let go, a long, low cry as her orgasm rolled through her.
Her walls fluttered around my fingers as I drank down her release and thought, with complete clarity: I could do this every day for the rest of my life and die grateful for it.
I slowed my hand as she came back down, then withdrew, and before she could catch her breath, I rolled her onto her stomach and pulled her hips back toward me.
The sound we both made when I thrust inside probably carried past the front yard. I didn’t care.