Chapter 24 #2
I’m supposed to be getting a break this weekend from work, from pressure, from being the guy who always has to keep a grip on everything. But right now, I don’t want a grip on anything but her body.
I just want her.
The walk back to the room feels too long and no time at all. We take the elevator in silence, but she's close, her shoulder pressing against the center of my chest, my hand on her waist. The second the lock of the door clicks behind us in our room, my senses heighten.
Her scent hits me, her breathing more audible in the quiet room, my attraction to her nearly staggering me as she turns to face me.
I get one look at her flushed cheeks, parted lips, half-lidded tipsy eyes, and I don't hesitate. She’s in my hands, and I’m in hers. Her shoulders hit the wall behind her just as her fingers fist in the front of my sweater and haul me down.
My mouth meets hers like I've been waiting years, not weeks, kiss her again.
Her mouth is hot and desperate and open on mine, and I kiss her back just as hard, one hand on her waist, the other in her hair, pulling myself closer until there’s no room left between us at all.
She makes a broken little sound into my mouth that forces my blood to obey gravity and rush down.
“Fuck,” I mutter against her lips.
She answers by kissing me harder, her hands shifting, fingers tangling in my hair to keep me locked on her. I can taste that damn mojito on her tongue.
I hiss as I retreat just enough to look down at her, her fingers pulling at my hair to try to prevent me from moving.
“Carly,” I say through gritted teeth, and she reluctantly loosens her grip.
Her eyes are hazy and half lidded, but they’re focused — on me, only on me, as I grasp her chin. “How drunk are you?”
She laughs, the sound a little breathless. “Tipsy enough to be brave but not drunk enough to not know exactly what I’m doing,” she answers, her fingers tightening again in my hair to try to pull me back down to her. “I want this. You. Stop stalling.”
That’s all the confirmation I need.
I haul her off the wall and fully into my arms, walking her backward toward the bed, my mouth meeting hers over the course of ten or so steps.
My hands move everywhere — her waist, her ribs, the curve of her hips.
The back of her legs hit the mattress and I lift, dropping her far enough back that her whole body is on the bed, and crawl over her, her body sprawled out on the white resort sheets with waves of brown hair fanned around her head like something out of a painting.
I yank her sweater over her head in one motion, then another for the tank top beneath, her lack of a bra hitting me somewhere low in the gut. She’s flushed, bare from the waist up, her chest heaving, and something fully primitive in me takes over.
Her hands move to my sweater, but I catch her wrists in one hand and force them down above her head, pinning them. My other moves down her body, over her chest, her breast, her stomach, before slipping around the curve of her waist and catching a fistful of her leggings at the back.
“Lift your ass for me, sweetheart,” I rasp.
She obeys without so much as a snappy comment.
I drag the fabric of both her leggings and her underwear down over her hips before she settles again. They slip off her feet and land somewhere I do not care to observe, leaving her entirely bare beneath me.
Mine, my brain screams, and for once, I let it linger. At least for tonight, she can be mine.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I mutter, and her cheeks flush darker as her arms squirm beneath my hand. “You don’t get to touch me yet.”
“Gray—”
“No.” I slowly release her wrists, and to my utter surprise, she doesn’t immediately try to grab me. She just slowly lowers them to a more comfortable position on either side of her head, and I take the win.
I pull my sweater over my head and break her knees apart with one of my own, keeping my eyes locked on her as I undo my shirt button by button.
“I have had two fucking weeks to think about this,” I say, my knuckles grazing my stomach as I work the last button open. “I’m doing this how I want to. And I want to taste you.”
My shirt falls to the bed, and I shift myself down her body, settling low between her thighs before grabbing them and pushing them up onto my shoulders.
She shudders, her mouth parting just a little more, her gaze locked on mine as I lower my head and drag my tongue through her in one long, slow stroke.
The sound she makes forces my blood harder south than it already was.
She tastes like temptation that I am completely incapable of resisting.
I do it again, and then again, finding her clit and starting to work it in tight little circles as her back arches, her head pressing into the sheets.
Her hands move to my hair, timid at first from my instruction, then knotting when I don’t tell her off for it.
“Oh god—” she whines, her hips shifting just slightly. “Yes, fuck, Gray—”
I hum in smug satisfaction, and she whimpers, her fingers pulling harder at my hair. “Louder,” I murmur against her slick flesh, then suck her clit fully into my mouth, dragging my tongue over it.
“Aah—” she cries, full-throated, desperate.
The sound of it fills the room, and something inside of me breaks a little bit more.
I’ve heard her trying to be quiet, Penelope just down the hall asleep — but my daughter is nowhere within a fifty-mile radius, and Carly has no reason to hide now.
I want more of that sound, more of the filthy and uninhibited whines from her lips.
“That’s it,” I praise, pulling my mouth just back enough to speak, my lips and breath ghosting over her. “Let me hear you properly. No one’s listening this time but me, sweetheart.”
She pushes against my head, trying to reconnect me. “Gray, please, please.”
I chuckle and drop my head again, giving her lip a little nip before focusing on that little bud again. My hand shifts, and I slip two fingers into her with ease, curling them at the end and pressing upward.
She sobs.
“Just like that,” I murmur against her, fucking her slowly with my fingers while my tongue works her, and her words start turning into incoherent, desperate noise that barely makes sense. “God, you taste so fucking good.”
She whines and moves her hips more, grinding down onto my tongue and fingers, my name barely more than a whimper on her lips. Her breath gets quicker, more gasping, and her walls grip the shit out of my fingers, her thighs starting to shake and squeeze around my head.
I don’t let up for a second.
She comes apart in my hands a second later with a cry that sounds like it’s ripped from her chest, her whole body seizing before relaxing and twitching around me, her pussy milking my fingers like it’s trying to take more of me.
I don’t stop until she physically pulls like hell at my hair.
I suck in air through my teeth and let her drag me up her aftershock-ridden body, her legs so naturally wrapping around my hips, begging not just with words, but her body, too. “Need you,” she breathes, her hands moving to my neck. “Now. Inside of me.”
“You were so good with manners before.”
“Please.”
“Good girl,” I murmur, pressing my lips to hers as I work my slacks and boxers off, kicking them somewhere behind me. I settle fully between her thighs, sliding the tip of my mind-bogglingly hard cock through her slit, up and down, up and down.
She whines into my mouth, the heels of her feet pressing into my lower back insistently, her hips shifting to try to snag me at her entrance.
I let her succeed.
“Fuck,” I grunt, resting my forehead on hers because I can’t focus on her lips anymore, can only focus on the desperate screaming in my head to take her, to sink into her, to lose myself in her again. And I am so past trying to resist it.
I sink into her in one slow, relentless thrust, groaning as I hit her back wall. Her body is hot, tight, and so wet that there’s barely any resistance, and I have to stop myself before I move just to catch my damn breath.
“You’re—God, are you squeezing me on purpose?”
She laughs breathlessly and kicks at my ass with her heel. “Yeah. Move. Please.”
I push up on my forearms and shoot her a glare without an ounce of real irritation behind it, then pull my hips back before driving forward hard. A broken moan punches out of her, and then another as I do it again, setting a punishing pace from the start.
The headboard hits the wall.
The sheets twist beneath us.
Her nails scratch at my chest hard enough to sting.
And god, I love it. I love it so fucking much.
“Yes—ahh—please, harder—”
I hook her calf over my shoulder and sit up a little, changing the angle, and she cries out so loudly that I almost cover her mouth on instinct. “God, you’re noisy when you want to be,” I rasp. “Love hearing you beg.”
With one hand braced on the bed beside her head, I drag the other down her body and between her thighs, groaning as she squeezes me again the moment my fingers brush her clit.
Her breath catches, then becomes gasping when she pushes herself up on one elbow, her other hooking around the back of my neck, her mouth latching onto my collarbone.
What I do not expect, though, is for her to get her damn teeth involved.
She bites down into the muscle between my neck and shoulder, a grunt of surprise punching out of me, and for a second I’m a little stun locked, blinking through the need as my thoughts stutter to a halt. Christ. That’s—
“Jesus,” I mutter, lifting my hand from between her thighs to grab a fistful of her hair to keep her there. “Yes. Do that.”
A breathy little giggle escapes her before she sucks the skin into her mouth, gently biting this time, giving enough suction to form a bruise.
I fall back down on my elbow, groaning, and drop my hand back to its previous job, rubbing tight little circles over her clit as she picks a new spot of skin to destroy me with. “Mark me,” I rasp, feeling her answering squeeze. “Don’t care where. Fuck—want you to.”
I mean it. There isn’t a single part of me right now that doesn’t want evidence of her on me.
Her mouth works my collarbone, my neck, anywhere she can reach, biting and sucking and leaving little red marks that’ll bloom purple by morning.
I should care — I know that. I have meetings to attend when we get back, a company to run, a public image, a stupid bet running. But I do not give a single fuck.
She goes a bit gentle on one, and I thrust into her with a bit more aggression. “Harder,” I order.
Teeth bite down hard until I hiss, and then her tongue is moving over it, soothing it, and I think I might actually lose my mind. I can feel my orgasm building at the base of my spine, can feel her walls rippling instead of squeezing like she’s close again, too.
“Look at me, sweetheart.”
Her eyes snap up to mine, a little trail of saliva connecting us as she pulls back just a little. She looks wild, broken, completely and utterly desperate, those hitched little breaths with long pauses between as her muscles start to tense.
I keep my pace, watching her, stroking that swollen bundle of nerves over and over, the sight of it burning into my brain as she shatters, collapsing back onto the bed beneath me.
Her mouth falls open on a wail, praise I barely hear spilling from my mouth, and the feel of her nails over a spot she’d just marked sends me rapidly over the edge with her.
And not for a single second do I think of the consequences of the choices we just made.
Not while we come down from the high, not while I kiss her soft and slow just to see how it feels, not when I slip out of her but keep her tucked to my chest like she belongs there, not when I clean her up or check the marks in the mirror.
And certainly not when we fall asleep tangled up together, her back to my front, my arms locked around her like I could keep her there if I was just determined enough.