8. Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Zane
S he has me hanging in suspense, waiting for an answer. Her grip on my cock is unrelenting, sending a mixture of pure pleasure coupled with frustration. I’m growing tired of the back and forth. I want to feel her body beneath mine, surrendering to my every touch. Each thrust bringing us closer together, making up for all the years we denied our feelings for one another. I’ve done my best to be gentle with her, to take things slowly, allowing her to come around to the idea on her own. In fact, it wasn’t until she straddled my lap earlier that something inside of me flipped, relentlessly demanding that I take what I’ve always wanted. I had every intention of being a gentleman but she’s been teasing me, and tempting me, for far too long. When I found her naked beneath that sweatshirt, I nearly lost all control completely. It has taken every ounce of strength and resilience to continue to resist the urges pulsing through my body. I’m tired of resisting. The soft, careful strokes against my shaft are more than I can handle.
I search her eyes for answers. Her starlight filled eyes give nothing away as they return, my gaze hopelessly lost in whatever this moment is that has been transpiring between us all night. I study her face and all the small movements she has no idea are giving her away. The way she sucks her bottom lip in, nibbling it anxiously as she weighs her response. Damn, those lips, so fucking delicious, made for my mouth to fit between them perfectly. Her lips are not the only part of her face giving away her hesitation. Her forehead crinkles just barely as she loses herself in clashing thoughts, and those soft gentle hands slow their pace, leaving my hard cock starved for a firmer touch.
“Answer me,” I plead, my patience having met its threshold.
Aspen blinks, removing her hand from my cock, lays it on my chest then whispers in a sad, resolved tone, “I really can’t stay.”
Surprising myself, the hand tilting her chin drops, my thumb landing on her bottom lip as the rest of my hand caresses her neck. I lean in closer until my lips are nearly on top of hers. Her eyelids flutter closed in anticipation of my kiss, but I don’t kiss her. Not yet. I will not kiss her, not until she gives in to what I want in return.
“Get over it. Whatever your hold out is, get over it. Please, Aspen. Stop fighting this. Stop fighting us.” My tone is more dangerous than before, more unhinged, more on the verge of taking rather than asking.
She picks up on it too. Her body trembles against mine, but she doesn’t respond. She doesn’t give in to me. Offering nothing in response is leaving me no choice. I can’t bring myself to do anything other than try to convince her, no matter how loudly my cock is screaming for me to slam her into a wall and stop giving her the choice to say no.
Removing my hands from the soft caress against her face, my finger tips eagerly pull at the edges of her sweatshirt. To my surprise, she doesn’t resist. Slowly, she allows me to pull it inch by inch up and over her body, discarding it hastily in a crumpled heap on the floor. Aspen stands in front of me, her chest naked and bare. Her breasts perky, voluptuous and round; tempting me to push things further, to ignore her pleas that she needs to go home. Silly girl, I think to myself. There was never an option of going home. Not after I intentionally drove the Jeep deep into the snowdrifts in the driveway. Ensuring in that one action that the opportunity to leave, safely at least, remained completely out of reach.
My lips turn up into a dubious smile, not just at the sight of seeing her topless in front of me, but with the satisfaction of a perfectly executed plan to keep her here with me tonight. What a sight she is. Fucking gorgeous. The blush that creeps over her cheeks makes her appear flushed, not with embarrassment, but with desire. She didn’t stop me; she hasn’t protested, and so I continue my attempt at convincing her to give in to her desire. I kiss Aspen softly, just one light, little peck to leave her craving more, and then I spin her around so her back is to me and begin peppering her skin with silky soft kisses down her neck, across her shoulders, while my other hand snakes around her body once more holding her in place against mine. As I continue my gentle assault, my fingers find her nipples taut and ready. They trace the peaks, the soft round curves. I pinch and pull, and all the while as she moans, her cries dripping with pleasure.
“I bet,” I say, pausing to growl in her ear. “If my hands were to slide beneath this waistband.” I give it a snap. “That they would find your panties drenched and waiting. I would wager my fingers might even find that if they slipped beneath those soaking wet panties I would find your pussy dripping, slick with the desire for me to fill you for the first time.”
Her body buckles, but I hold her in place as she cries out, writhing against me. My words are too much for her to maintain the control she’s been holding on to all night. Who can blame her? Even I am finding it hard not to act on the very things I am saying. My fingers are so tempted to slide beneath the waistband of the sweatpants to find out just how badly she is holding out on me.
“Do you still want to go home, Aspen?” I ask, my tongue flicking the shell of her ear, tracing it sensually.
She doesn’t answer my question. I pull her hair, arching her body against mine, nibbling her ear and growl this time, “Do you still want to go home?”
She shakes her head no.
“I can’t hear you, Aspen.” My deep, throaty voice rumbles.
“No,” she gasps.
“That’s right, baby. It’s cold outside.” I rasp.
“It snowed outside. There’s too much to get home,” she replies, eagerly going along with my narrative now.
I pinch her nipple, then drag my hand down her flat stomach to the waistband and trace its outline.
“That’s right, baby. There’s way too much snow.” My words are like the soft, gentle caress she needs to be pushed over the edge as I anxiously await her consent.
“Baby, it’s cold outside,” she repeats, as if convincing herself one final time.
“What do you need, Aspen?” I ask, continuing to trace the waistband of her sweats.
“Mmmm,” she moans, melting against my touch.
“Maybe just a shot,” she confesses.
“A shot? I think I can handle that. Go sit by the fire and touch yourself. I want to watch you do it while I pour you just one drink.”
She tenses. “Will you take one with me?”
“I’ll do anything you want, Aspen.” I spin her around, dip her, then surprise us both by dragging my tongue across each of her nipples.
Once I’ve righted her, I give her ass a smack and watch as she takes her place by the fire. She sits down on the mantel and begins tracing her nipples, dragging her dainty fingers through the trail of saliva I left on them.
That took a lot of convincing , I think to myself as I walk to the bar and pour us each a shot of peppermint schnapps.