36. Claire
thirty-six
That sounded way sexierin my head. The stunned expression that melts over Nathan’s face sharply contrasts the press of his thickening erection against my belly. I sigh softly, pressing up on my toes to trace the tip of my nose against his.
“Please?”
I tack it onto the end, hoping that makes my request sound less desperate—which is stupid, because it actually makes me sound ten times more desperate.
He stiffens. My stomach somersaults immediately. Oh, I’ve gone and messed this up before it could even get started, haven’t I?
But maybe that’s for the better. I’ve never been allowed to hold onto something that was wholly my own. Letting go of Nathan seems like something that will only grow tougher as time goes by. Better now than when my grip on him is so visceral that I’ll leave claw marks when they have to tear me away from him.
I swallow, my hands flat on his chest, and peer up at him.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“No,” he says gruffly. “That is not why I invited you over here tonight, or why I did all of those things.”
Shame and guilt wash over me like high tide, and I look away, biting my bottom lip. I’d be high tailing it out of here if it weren’t for the forceful hand beneath my jaw, guiding me back to the steady mossy green behind his glasses.
“Let me rephrase that: I do want you like that, Claire. More than I care to admit. But I invited you over here tonight so that I could cook you dinner and check in with you. I bought you those things because they bring you comfort. You’ve had your world upended, and I haven’t even gotten to ask you how that’s made you feel. I haven’t seen you in two weeks, and the breathtaking pain of being without you made me realize just how bad I am at following the rules when it comes to you.”
Oh.
Slowly, I close the gap between us again, one hand sliding from his belly up to his chest.
“Okay. Well, me too,” I nod. “Same.”
Fucking smooth, Claire.
He exhales, relief dripping off of him like summer rain, and palms my waist, inching us together again.
“But Nathan.” It comes out as a whine, and damnit, I’m perfectly fine with that as I wind my hand behind his neck and pull his face down to mine. “What if I want you, too?”
A short moan catches in his throat.
“Sweet Claire.”
A hand slides up the column of my throat. When his thumb pauses over my pulse and presses down, my lips part. I gasp, and a quiet moan escapes. His fingers tighten on my throat just slightly, and wait, am I into that?
By the way my hips arch? I guess so.
His thumb slides along the edge of my jaw before catching over my bottom lip. He tugs it down, hissing when my body presses against his again, when his erection juts against my stomach.
“You want this, sweetheart?”
I nod, my jaw still slack, my pulse back to racing again beneath the press of his thumb.
“Words, Claire.”
“So badly. Yes, Nathan, I want you.”
“Breaking all of my rules for you.”
He nods once, and like that simple phrase has initiated a transformation, the man of resolve switches into one of command.
My back hits the wall of the study.
Or, rather, the bookshelf, just inside the doorway.
I can’t say I haven’t imagined us having sex in here. I just didn’t think we’d get to this particular fantasy so soon.
His mouth covers mine and it is an instant plunder. His hands in my hair, his tongue devouring, his hips effectively pinning me to the bookshelf. I’ve unlocked the wild side of Nathan Harding and I never want him inside that cell again.
“You have,” he says, then cuts himself off with a full-lipped, wet kiss. “No idea.” Another kiss, this time ending with a nip at my bottom lip. “How often I think about you.”
I whine because his lips leave mine, but it trails into a moan when he sucks without preamble against my pulse. Oh shit, that sensation. Can you come from necking? Because I swear, my throat and my clit are directly connected.
“Every day, Claire. Every hour. I can’t get you out, but sweetheart, I don’t think I want to.”
And then he lifts. One hand stays buried in my hair and tugs while the other sneaks beneath my left thigh and clutches it against his hip.
“Be a good girl and bring up the other one for me. I want to wear these sweet thighs around my hips.”
I do as he says, but not because I have a choice. The second my legs are wrapped around his lower back, he grunts, and settles his cock right up against my pussy. We both moan at the contact.
“Been dying to hear you come again, Claire. You’re ready for it too, aren’t you sweetheart?”
I nod, biting my bottom lip, and he just starts moving. His cock is strained up against his joggers in a thick tent, and he’s effectively fucking me through our clothes. And the sad part is? He’s going to have me to orgasm in under a minute.
It’s so hot. Pinned to a bookshelf, dry humping this man whose words wax poetic while his body rides mine dirty.
While one hand holds my waist steady, the other returns to my throat, his thumb back to my pulse. I’m about to lean into it—yep, I definitely like it—when he pauses. His hips continue rutting, but his head tilts in question beneath those stone green eyes.
Asking permission.
Doesn’t he know that I’m powerless to say no in his hands?
“Please,” I gasp, knowing he’s going to ask me for my word. He applies the lightest pressure at my throat, and I moan, clutching his waist, gripping his T-shirt as I moan, “Harder, Nathan, I’m going to come.”
He grunts, rutting against my center as his grip on my throat tightens.
“That’s right, Claire, you come for your man.”
His hand is around my throat and he’s dry humping me through our clothes, but it’s the, your man, that does me in.
Holy shit do I like the thought of possessing him.
I explode. His hands haven’t touched anywhere below my waist, and my pants are still on, but I am ruined.
“Fuck, yes, so good,” is all I can manage in stuttered gasps. I cling to him, my hips meeting his, chasing the sensation that zaps along my nerve endings, better than my own fingers have ever done. I’m panting in stuttered breaths by the time his hips stop punching between my legs, and he loosens the grip on both my throat and my thigh until my toes touch the ground.
I slide down the front of his body the whole way, my hands squeezing his pecs before sliding up, landing on his shoulders so that I can push up to kiss him.
It”s slower, but the passion has doubled. My tongue tangles around his. One hand slides up into his hair. He wraps both arms around my back and squeezes, and my hard nipples rubbing against his chest are sensitized enough to maybe send me into another orgasm. The room is filled with nothing but our panting, moans and grunts and squeaks, until he pulls away, and I begin to protest.
But then, Nathan Harding falls to his knees. I swallow.
“What are you doing?”
That precise, methodical man returns, delicately sliding my leggings down my legs to leave me in the black, lacy thong I threw on just in case. He tilts his chin up at me and smirks.
Nathan Harding. Smirking up at me from between my legs. Possibly the world’s eighth wonder.
“Cleaning up my mess.”
I don’t have time to react, because he presses that smirk right up against my thong covered pussy, and his hot breath renders me speechless.
“This is soaked, Claire.”
He sucks me, right through my underwear, then presses his tongue over my clit. All the while, his chin stays tilted, eyes on mine. My jaw is slack, eyes drooped. I sink a little lower, letting the bookshelf hold me up, as Nathan shifts my soaked thong to the side and runs his tongue along my seam.
He eats me like a man starved, taking his time with the meal he’s been offered. He strokes me languidly at first, long strokes from the front to the back, carefully avoiding my clit no matter how my hips squirm beneath him. I lace my fingers into his hair and tug, trying to guide him exactly where I need him when he pulls back and slaps my clit.
And like, in retrospect, maybe that was what I wanted instead?
“Impatient girl.”
He slaps me there again with the flat of his fingers, and with each tap, I feel myself growing wetter, each, “Fuckfuckfuck,” growing whinier.
I lean into it.
“Oh, my naughty girl. You want more of this?” he says, rubbing soothing strokes over my clit with gentle pressure. “You like when I slap your pussy?”
“Maybe,” I nod, my hips jutting of their own accord. He grins up at me with a wild look in his eyes and slaps my clit again. I slide further down the bookshelf, the grip I have on his hair tightening.
“Try that answer again, honey.”
“Yes, yes, I liked it, Nathan. Do it again.”
“Good girl,” he growls, then rewards me with three quick slaps before soothing my clit with a French kiss like the one he gave my mouth. My ass slides further down, and I hold him to me.
I work my hips in the same direction of his mouth, panting as he flutters his tongue, then backs off and switches to long pulls before doing it again. I’m a freaking mess. I want to come but I don’t want this to end. I’ve never been so blissed out before in my life.
“Nate—Nathan,” I stutter, rocking shamelessly against his face.
“What’s that, sweetheart?”
“You’re so, so good, Nathan.”
I grip his hair harder, holding him between my legs. He rewards me by shaking his head, his long tongue vicious and dirty against my opening.
“Show me, Claire. Squeeze those thighs hard for me.”
“Won’t I hurt you?”
“I want to wear your thighs, baby. Now be a good girl and squeeze.”
He leans back, swatting my pussy as he calls me a good girl, and I’m right on the edge as he goes back to devouring me, and I do exactly as he says.
“That’s it,” he mutters, trapped in the triangle of my trembling thighs. “Squeeze me, Claire. Show me how good your man takes care of this pussy.”
I cry out a string of Gahs!, squeezing my fist in his hair while my other arm shoots up behind me, slapping against the books he’s so carefully organized on his beautiful shelves, and come all over his mouth.
I can’t control the trembling of my thighs as Nathan works me through my orgasm, kissing me chastely and teasingly as I come down. When I finally come back to earth, I catch a glimpse of the playful man who has been coming out of his shell. I smile dreamily, lazily, and huff a laugh.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, dipping his chin in exasperation.
“Nothing,” I laugh again, uncurling my fingers from his hair to cup his cheek. I swipe my thumb along his bottom lip and gasp when I find him wet with me. “You just look like the cat that ate the canary.”
“More like the man who ate his woman’s pussy.”
I gasp, and he smiles in a way I’ve never seen. Huge and full and bright. I forget for a minute that he’s on his knees in his study, and my ruined underwear are somewhere discarded, and that I’ve had two orgasms in the span of ten minutes. For a moment, I just want more of that radiant smile. The one I’ve only seen him give to me.
But then, he stands to kiss me, my taste still on his tongue, and I remember that massive erection still straining against his joggers. My hand dips down, and I take him in my fist over his clothes. With both hands cradling my waist, his forehead falls against mine. He rocks his hips slowly in time to my touch, and for a moment, we exist like that. The second I squeeze, he picks me up, folds me over his shoulder, squeezes my ass, and says, “I need you in my bed for the rest of what I have planned,” before following through on that promise.