Chapter 22 #2
“Fine.” Her grin dissolves into a moan when I press my mouth to hers again.
“Take it off,” I repeat.
She removes her bra, and ah, fuck. Her tits are peaches and cream, round and softly sloped.
“Touch them.”
She hesitates for only a moment, her chest moving in and out. Her hair brushes her shoulders as she places her hands beneath the curves, squeezing them, then plucking the hard nipples. Hot eyes on me, lips parted, releasing soft pants.
My dick throbs. I could come just from watching her. But that’s not my plan. I grasp her hip in one hand, my other palming her breast as my lips fasten around her nipple with a firm tug.
“Chaz,” she gasps, driving her fingers into my hair, holding my head against her while her little mewling noises flood me with heat.
I move my hand from her hip to between her legs.
She’s warm and wet through her panties. I fall to my knees and pull them over her hips, dragging them down to her ankles.
She kicks them off, and I kiss my way back up her long, silky legs, rubbing my hands up the backs of her thighs to cup and squeeze her ass.
My eyes are fixed on her bare pussy. She’s not shaved; instead, she’s cropped low to the skin.
“Christ, I want you.” I press a kiss to her mons and, standing, yank down the comforter and ease her onto the sheets. Her breasts are pinkened from my mouth and beard. She’s all flushed and naked, and I can’t stop staring at her.
She pulls me on top, kissing me, swirling her tongue against mine.
Her hands are on a mission, racing down my torso and inside my pants.
She wraps her fingers around my cock. I stop thinking.
My body tenses as I thrust into her tight, warm fist several times.
Afraid I’m going to lose it, I remove her hand and kiss her palm.
“I need to touch you. Feel you all wet and hot for me.”
“Touch me,” she urges, settling back against the pillows.
She looks like a goddess with her tousled hair, eyes glazed, and lips crooked with a come-and-get-me smile.
I lower onto the bed beside her. Run my hand over her breasts, her stomach, and between her legs. She’s warm and soft all over. I roll my tongue around her nipple, tasting vanilla and Lexie. Her hand grips my hair again as my fingers spread apart her lips—her lower lips.
“Damn,” I murmur, her legs falling open, giving me greater access. “Can I finger-fuck you, baby?”
“Yes . . . ohhh.” The moan catches in her throat as I slide one finger inside her.
My eyes close for a moment just to concentrate on how tight and juicy she is around that one digit.
Her back arches off the mattress when I add another finger.
“You feel so fucking good,” I rasp, plunging my fingers in and out of her. Again and again.
“Softer or harder?” I ask, having kept my pace gentle.
“Harder,” she moans.
Oh, Christ. That one word, raw and atavistic, slams into me, sending my blood into a full boil. I drive my fingers into her, harder and faster. She bucks her hips, chasing every thrust, pulling me deeper and deeper into her heat.
She’s moaning and rocking, her breasts bouncing. One hand fists in my hair, and the other clutches the sheets—unrestrained, holding nothing back.
It’s a thing of beauty, seeing her so wildly turned on. I pump my fingers again, pushing her toward the edge. Then in a deliberate stroke to take her over, my thumb grazes her clit.
“Chaz!” My name explodes from the back of her throat—that tight, swollen knot beneath my touch begging for release.
Sweat trickles down my back, determined to give her this. I increase the pressure. Her body trembles and strains, reaching for it. Her breath spills out in husky exhales. She’s so close I can feel her teetering on the brink.
And then it’s gone—a bucket of ice water dousing the flames. Her body stiffens, going rigid in a way I recognize from before. Her hand grabs my wrist.
“Lex?”
“Stop. Please.” Her voice quivers, breaking something in me. I pull back instantly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“It’s okay, Blue. Come here.” I pull the comforter over us and draw her into my arms. She curls into a ball, small against my chest.
It wasn’t a panic attack this time, but the fallout feels just as heavy. She’d been right there with me, so open and trusting, giving herself so freely. And I still couldn’t help her win that battle.
Holding her close, I run my hand in slow, soothing strokes along her back.
Rationally, I know this isn’t about me being unable to satisfy her.
It’s not some blow to my ego, but it is a blow to my heart.
I hate that she’s disappointed and hurting.
I hate that she blames herself. I hate that she feels broken, and I couldn’t show her that she’s not.
Lexie shifts, looking up with an anguished expression, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, a single drop spilling over onto her cheek.
I catch it with my thumb. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Lex.”
“Don’t tell me you’re not disappointed. I won’t believe you.”
“Of course, I’m disappointed. I wanted to give you that. But touching you, making you feel good—that doesn’t always have to end in an orgasm.”
“But it never does. I thought it would be different this time. It felt right. I wasn’t in my head. It was there, so close, and then it just disappeared. Maybe it’s hopeless.”
“I don’t believe that. This is all still new. It might take more time and practice. I’m all for that. I’ll train like it’s the Olympics.”
She gives me that withering look.
“I’ve got more than just these fingers. I’ll show you my other talents next time. Figure out what works for you.”
“Your fingers weren’t the problem.” Her voice goes quiet. “Trying just might frustrate us both.”
“Only if we make it all about that. Did you like me touching you?”
“I loved it.”
“Then that’s all that matters. The rest will come.” I shoot her a wink, pleased with my pun.
She shakes her head, but her smile is real. Then, as if her mind has shifted again, she lets out a frustrated groan. “Ugh! I should’ve just faked it. Saved us both the trouble.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Hope you’re joking. Because that’s the last thing I’d ever want.”
“I know. I’d never fake it with you; you’re too important to me.”
“Good.” I sigh in relief. “But now I have to hear it.”
“Hear what?”
“Your fake orgasm.”
“Not a chance.”
“Oh, come on,” I tease. “You brought it up.”
It takes a lot of cajoling and the promise of more éclairs to get her reluctant agreement.
“Okay.” She hesitates another moment, her cheeks turning pink, before tilting her head back dramatically. She closes her eyes and lets out exaggerated pants, followed by an over-the-top howl.
I burst out laughing.
“Shut up.” She swats my chest, fighting a grin. “I read that most men like women to scream.”
“That wasn’t a scream, baby. That was a werewolf mating call. I’d be like, Hell, no, I’m out. I got me a shifter.”
Her laughter bubbles over, and it’s the best sound. When it fades, she leans her head against my shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to my skin. “Thanks for making me laugh. For not making it weird.”