Chapter Thirteen
Noa
He wasn’t in a rush, though.
His gaze moved over me as his hands teased the outsides of my calves and knees.
Then they slid up my thighs, over my hips, and my ribs.
Desire tightened, sharpened. My breath went quick and shallow. The pressure on my stomach became heavy and the ache between my thighs grew distracting.
His fingers went to the straps of my dress, working them off my shoulders with his eyes focused on my face, watching my reaction.
But he was helpless but to watch as his hands moved the bodice of my dress down, exposing me.
A low, feral sound moved through him, making my sex clench hard.
And he just… looked.
For an achingly long time.
It was unexpected.
Everything about Caymen suggested he was the hard, fast, dirty, and wholly satisfying type when it came to sex.
I didn’t know how to reconcile that assumption with the man towering over me then.
But finally— finally —he folded forward, coming over me, and sucking one of my nipples into his mouth.
A pained moan escaped me as I arched off the table and into his mouth. My hand slapped on the back of his neck, holding him to me as his lips sucked, his teeth grazed, and his tongue circled.
Desire was a coil twisting tighter with each passing second as he moved across my chest and continued the torturous pleasure.
His hands moved backward, sliding my skirt up until it was pooled around my waist. Then his fingers were moving back down, teasing over my skin until my muscles were shaking with need.
Only then did he grab my knees, lift them up, then spread them wide and press them to the table.
A soft moan escaped me as anticipation teased across my overly sensitive nerve endings.
Caymen lifted up, watching me with half-closed, heated eyes for a long moment.
Then he was lowering down, taking a seat in my damn chair, wrapping his arms around my legs, and pulling until I was where he needed me.
He glanced up one more time, giving me a devilish little twitch of his lips.
Then his face was between my thighs, his tongue tracing up the core of me, making my thighs shake and my back arch.
A low, guttural sound moved through him at my whimper.
Then his arms slid under my legs, curling around them, holding me in place. As if I had any plans on moving away.
But I understood his intention when his tongue finally found my clit, and the shock of sensation had my thighs trying to snap shut.
He wasn’t having it.
Not even as his tongue started to circle and my whole body writhed and fought his hold as the pleasure grew.
My lungs ached as my breath became nothing but short, sharp inhales. My body trembled. My soft whimpers grew to loud, unabashed moans that devolved into something like desperate whimpers as he drove me up, up, up.
All through it, he kept the same steady, relentless, perfect pace, never letting the pleasure ebb for even a second.
So it wasn’t long before the need snapped and the pleasure tore violently through me.
My hands slapped down on his head, holding him against me as he worked me through it.
The waves seemed to keep pulling me under over and over until finally, breathlessly, releasing me.
I sucked in a greedy breath as Caymen’s head shifted, gently kissing the crease of my thigh, then downward, before lifting up and watching me with still-hungry eyes.
I waited for him to reach for me, to pull me down on his lap, to slide a hand between us to free himself so I could lift up, slide down, and feel him fill me.
But he just stood, pulled down my skirt, and gave me a cocky smirk (that he’d totally earned), and stepped away.
“I’m taking a shower.”
Then he just left me there on the table, my world shattered in the most delicious way possible.
I pressed a hand to my hammering heart, feeling a smile tugging at my lips.
Maybe it was wrong, given the shitstorm we found ourselves in, but some part of me was happy to be in the safe house.
To be temporarily trapped with Caymen and the mutual interest simmering between us.
There was no outside world encroaching, no demands on our time, not much to do but eat, watch the occasional movie, and fall into bed.
Together. For hours. Until we were both wrung dry and sore.
With a sigh, I climbed down, cleaned the table, then started to work on the dishes.
That was where I was still standing when the bathroom door opened and Caymen walked out wearing nothing but a towel.
I couldn’t tell you if the moan I felt bubbling up in my chest stayed internal or slipped out. But… damn.
“Gotta problem,” he said, turning to me.
Hadn’t he left his phone on the counter? What bad news could he have gotten? Did the damn shower break or something?
“What kind of problem?”
“Well, we were prepared for you staying here,” he said, moving closer. And that towel was hanging on for dear life. I was rooting for its downfall.
“Okay,” I said, forcing myself to remember to swallow my saliva.
“Meaning, I don’t have shit with me.”
I couldn’t focus on a single word he was saying. Because a bead of water fell down from his hair. I traced its journey over his shoulder, down his pec, then dipping into one of the grooves of his abs before disappearing below the towel.
“Baby, focus,” Caymen said, laughter in his voice.
“I’m focusing.” On his body.
That got a full-on burst of laughter out of him, which did even more interesting things to those abs of his.
My gaze flicked up, finding his gorgeous face all the more handsome when he was smiling that big.
“Try focusing on my words.”
“Now why would I want to do that?” I asked, smiling back at him.
But then he was moving closer, making my heartbeat stutter.
He stepped behind me, anchoring an arm across my lower stomach, and dragging me back against his firm body.
Leaning down, his lips met my neck, making a needy whimper escape me.
“What I’m trying to say is I have nothing to wear.”
“I’m not seeing a problem.”
This time, I felt the chuckle move through him.
“Maybe not for the moment, but if we need to leave this place…”
“Let’s not,” I said, feeling dreamy and, yes, unbearably turned on again. “Let’s just stay here.”
“Don’t got a problem with that idea. Unless someone shows up with guns.”
“Ugh,” I grumbled.
“Sorry to kill the mood,” he said, not sounding apologetic at all as his fingers dug into my hip in a way that could only be described as possessive.
I didn’t want to be possessed.
And yet, for him, maybe I did.
His face shifted up, beard teasing over my jaw. Then his teeth grazed my earlobe.
I melted.
Behind me, I could feel the way he hardened, and just barely resisted bending over and rocking my ass back at him.
Instead, I turned in his arm.
His hold tightened on my lower back.
My hands danced up his bare chest until my arms wound around his shoulders, my fingers teasing up the back of his neck to sink into his hair.
All the while, he watched me with those dark, dangerous eyes of his. But when his gaze triangulated my lips, I could feel the change in him, the way his control snapped.
His fingers tightened on my hip.
His body tensed.
His hand rose, grabbing the back of my neck in an almost punishing grip, pulling me closer but pausing, waiting.
I couldn’t tell if I was the one to close the distance or if we both moved at once.
It wasn’t so much a kiss as a collision—heat, teeth, and the raw edge of everything we’d been holding back.
Caymen’s fingers tightened, almost punishing, but I moaned into his mouth; I bit his lower lip.
A low, vibrating sound moved through him, vibrated into me, making my breasts go heavy, making my nipples twist into needy points. He slammed me back against the counter, his hardness pressing against my belly.
My lips fell open on a ragged moan. He took the invitation to slip inside, his tongue toying, teasing, claiming.
Warmth crawled up my chest. Something molten burned in my core.
I felt fevered.
Yet all I wanted to do was leap into the flames.
My hands slid down from his shoulders, and the room narrowed to nothing but skin, breath, and need as I explored his chest, his abs, ribs, and back.
My fingers snagged the waistband of his towel and freed it with a flick.
A sound close to a growl escaped Caymen at that moment, the sound a match strike to my desire.
My palm slid down, flattened, slipped between us, then closed around his hard length.
The catch in his breath matched the one in my heartbeat as I stroked him down to the base, watching the way his eyes became dark pools of desire.
His own hands were greedy then, pulling down my bodice and closing his hand over my breast, squeezing almost to the point of pain as my hand kept stroking him.
His breath was coming in ragged huffs as his hand shifted, his thumb and forefinger finding my nipple—circling, rolling, pinching, twisting, until unfamiliar, throaty sounds were escaping me.
My hand shifted up, my thumb teasing across the head of his cock.
His free arm rose, slamming into the cabinet behind me, making my heartbeat skitter and my sex tighten at his lack of control.
He let me work him for another moment, his gaze motley, his body tense, his chest rising and falling faster and faster.
But then his hands were grabbing my hips, lifting me up, and then dropping me down on the countertop.
Reaching down, he pulled up my skirt so he could step between my legs that spread for him.
He guided my hips again, tilting, angling me as he stepped closer still.
Tension snapped, and my thighs trembled in anticipation at the feel of his hips moving between.
The hard press of him against me nearly made me shatter right then and there.
As it was, a sound escaped me—ragged, loud.
That rumble moved through Caymen again as he rocked his hard length against me, making my hips circle, needy, desperate for friction, for relief from the ache clawing deep inside me.