39. Lizzy
Lizzy
He tore off his own shirt and slid his hands up my back, drawing me flush against his chest and his pelvis and the front of his thighs, and—oh God—he was big and solid and hard.
Everywhere. His perfect chest pressed to mine, his heartbeat thumped hard enough to make me feel a little drunk, even though I’d only had one drink at dinner. Then he rocked his hips against mine.
The tension was killing me. The buildup this week had brought me to a fever pitch. I wanted to feel and see him naked. I was desperate to feel his weight on me, hear the noises he made when he lost control. He was holding back, and I didn’t want him to.
Then the teasing and lightness and fun evaporated from the air between us. He held me at arm’s length and took me in, his look fierce with heat.
“Lizzy.” He cupped my cheek. My name felt like a confession from his lips, rough and wanting. “You feel so good, you taste so good. I’ve never felt like this—kissing someone, touching someone. I want this to be good for you, and I-I’m using all my willpower to hold back.”
I breathed in his scent, salt and rich leather, felt his warmth, touched my lips to his.
I’d never felt so wanted before. This, this was the passion I’d written about, the passion I’d craved in my own life and never had.
And I’d never felt so open and unselfconscious and free.
Because it was him, a man who’d reached deep into himself for me and shown me his faults and mess and insecurities.
In my first draft of sex scenes, too often I’d written choreography, scenes that could be cut and pasted into another book.
Change the names, and it would still work.
With him—the real, earnest, wonderful him—and me, being together was different.
Each heartbeat, each glance, each touch, drew us tighter together, the connection between us taut and alive.
“Then don’t hold back,” I said. “I want to feel how much you want me.”
In a frenzy, we wrapped tighter around each other as we stripped, clawing, pulling, seams ripping.
I was swept away by the pull of him, undone by how his need for me made him tremble and cry out.
With a growl, he yanked off my bra and jeans and underwear.
I pushed down his black boxers and jeans in one shove, and he kicked them away.
He stepped back for a second, his eyes inviting me to take him in. Those planed cheekbones, black hair falling unrestrained over his face, his broad, golden chest tapering to a narrow waist and molded steel abs. And, God. He was built…everywhere.
He gave a satisfied smirk and stepped back into me.
Then it got raw and messy, teeth, lips, and hands, scraping, scratching.
One of my legs twined around his. His legs were hard and muscular and rough with hair.
I reached down to feel him. He held me under my arse with his hands, kneading my skin and flesh, lifting me up, rocking me against his hardness.
He sucked in a breath. “Yeah, that’s too good. I’m already on the edge. We do have to slow this down after all. We’ve got all night. First, I want to look at you.” His voice was scratchy and ragged, his hunger sending arousing signals deep into my core.
I hadn’t ever heard this kind of honest lust from a man before, and it made me feel newly confident and desired.
He eased me down and stood over me. He was completely relaxed about his naked body, even more natural and confident than at dinner, clothed.
He swaggered back from me, and he was framed by the window, his eyes focused on my body.
I felt exposed and shy, unused to this kind of undisguised scrutiny.
But then his blatant attention filled me with a reckless excitement.
I threw out one hip, rested a hand there, and pulled my shoulders back.
I looked right back at him, taking my fill.
He watched me watching him, and that made him harder, his breath tight and short.
Then he took me in. His blue gaze trailed down my neck, around my breasts, down my stomach and down, down, down, his breath quickening, his stomach muscles flexing.
His bottom lip dropped open, and heat pooled low in my belly at his naked want.
His eyelids went heavy, and he strutted back to me, picked me up around my waist, and lowered me onto the bed.
The suspense made my mouth go dry and my heart race. Then he climbed over me, his intense wall of muscle coiling tighter around me. His movements were slow enough to torment me, and I could see in his curved lips he was savoring the tension, letting my craving build.
His knees on either side of my hips, he slowly, tantalizingly, drew a map of my body with his fingertips, from around my face, down my neck and chest, and along my shoulders, tormenting me with his slowness and patience.
My skin felt hot and glowing in the trail of his touch.
Then his tongue traced over my body, following his fingers down my stomach and lower, until his head was between my legs.
Oh God. I moaned from the sheer, raging anticipation.
Looking up at me with hooded eyes, he pulled my hips to the edge of the bed, slung one of my legs over his shoulder, and knelt before me.
With a moan, holding my hips, he sank his face into me.
Breathing me in, he blew warm air on my skin, sending my pulse skittering.
My hips bucked and my toes curled. His tongue flat, he lapped at me, first flicking his tongue subtly, then hard, sucking, his wet tongue twisting.
On and on, until the pleasure was excruciating, until I couldn’t bear it.
The build was tense and sweet, and I was hovering, about to tip over the edge, about to fall. Insistent swirling sensations rose and rose until they burst in a rush, hot waves crashing through every nerve ending.
“Darcy,” I groaned out. “Oh God.”
When my muscles relaxed, I pulled him back up my body. I could smell the musk on his skin, taste myself on his lips, and the connection sealed us closer.
I teased the hair at the nape of his neck and felt him shiver.
My whole world narrowed to his touch, his fingertips teasing their way over my skin, his hardness against me, desperate for friction.
He skated his fingers down my back, making me arch like a provoked cat.
I’d never felt this heat, this need, before, my emotions driving every second.
I felt freer with Darcy than with anyone in my life.
We’d told our darkest secrets this week, and I was sure we had more to say, but not now.
His gorgeous body and face hovering over me overwhelmed me with a desire I’d never felt. But this wasn’t infatuation, where I was blinded to his faults. I knew him now. He’d bared himself to me. I’d laid myself open to him, and now, exposed and raw, I felt bound to him body and soul.
I ached to say, I know you, and you are the man I want. I love you, I love you, I love you.
But it was too soon.
Instead, I showed how much he’d unraveled me. I wrapped my legs around his back and made a strangled sound. “I need you. Now.”