Chapter 9 #2
He lets my leg drop and lifts me off the floor.
Two steps to the bed. He puts me down on my back and strips my jeans down my legs, taking the underwear with them.
He stands at the edge of the bed and looks at me, naked except for the bra I'm still wearing, and the way he looks at my body isn't polite.
It's ownership. His gaze moves from my throat to my breasts to my stomach to the wet heat between my thighs, and he takes his time with every stop.
A year ago that look would have sent me running. From him it makes me wetter.
"Take it off," he says.
I sit up long enough to unhook the bra. His eyes follow my hands as I pull it free and drop it.
"Good." He pulls his shirt over his head. The boots come next, then belt and the jeans. He's thick and hard and the sight of him sends a pulse of heat between my legs that I feel in my teeth.
He takes his time. He stands there and lets me look the way he looked at me. I take in the broad shoulders, the chest thick with muscle, the flat stomach that narrows to the V of his hips. He wants me to see what I'm getting.
He comes down over me and his weight settles between my thighs. The full-body contact, skin against skin from chest to hips, is so much sensation at once that my fingers dig into his shoulders.
One hand gathers both my wrists and pins them above my head against the pillow.
"Keep them there," he says. "I want to hear you, not feel you fighting me."
His mouth works down my body with the same unhurried focus he brought to the buttons, from my throat to my collarbone to the swell of my breast. He traces the underside with his tongue, a long slow line that tightens my stomach.
Then he pulls my nipple between his teeth and the sharp edge of pain followed by the flat heat of his tongue makes my back arch off the mattress.
His free hand pushes my hip back down, holding me flat.
"I said keep still."
He gives the other breast the same attention.
His teeth come first, the scrape and sting of it, then his tongue, then the pull of his mouth.
He alternates between them until my breathing is ragged and my wrists are straining against his grip.
Every nerve in my body is running toward the place his mouth keeps promising to go.
His mouth moves lower. Down my ribs, across my stomach, along the line of my hip bone. He nips the skin above my hip and I jolt beneath him. He presses me flat again. His thumb traces a circle on my inner thigh, close enough that my whole body tightens in anticipation.
His hands push my thighs apart. His mouth finds my clit and the first stroke of his tongue pulls a sound out of me that doesn't have a name.
He doesn't tease. He doesn't build slow. He eats me like he's starving and the directness of it wrecks me. My hands leave the pillow and grab his hair.
"I told you to keep those up," he says against me, his breath hot on wet skin.
"Make me."
His hand catches my wrist and pins it against my thigh. The other hand spreads me wider. He pushes two fingers inside me while his tongue works my clit and the stretch of his fingers combined with the pressure of his mouth pulls my spine off the bed.
He sets a rhythm with his hand, fucking me with his fingers while his mouth stays on my clit, and the dual sensation builds a pressure so tight I can't breathe.
My free hand grabs the sheets. My hips rock against his mouth and he lets me ride the pace he's set, his fingers digging into my thigh hard enough to leave marks.
He curls his fingers inside me and hits a spot that makes my thighs clamp around his head. He presses harder, sucks my clit between his lips, and holds me there at the edge until my entire body is shaking.
The orgasm hits hard. My spine bows off the bed. The sound I make is raw and loud and I don't care. He doesn't stop. He works me through it with his mouth and his fingers until I'm shaking and oversensitive and pulling at his hair.
He lifts his head. His mouth is wet. The look on his face is pure hunger.
He moves back up my body, dragging his mouth along my stomach, between my breasts, up the column of my throat. When he kisses me, I can taste myself on his tongue. The rawness of it hits me hard enough that I grab the back of his neck and pull him deeper.
His cock presses against my inner thigh, hard and hot.
The skin-on-skin contact pulls my hips toward him on instinct.
He pulls back from the kiss and looks down at me.
His weight braced on one arm, the other hand tracing a line from my throat to my navel.
He watches his own hand move across my body like he's learning the terrain and plans to own it.
"You taste like you sound," he says, his voice low and rough. "Like a woman who's been waiting too long for the right hands."
"That's arrogant."
"That's accurate."
He slides his cock against me, not inside, just the length of him dragging through the slick heat between my legs. The friction against my clit sends my hands to his shoulders. He does it again, his eyes locked on my face, and his jaw tightens with the effort of holding back.
"Turn over," he says.
I roll onto my stomach. My legs are useless. He's already gripping my hip, pulling me up onto my knees.
His chest presses against my back. His cock slides against me where I'm soaked, thick and ready, and the anticipation tightens every muscle in my body.
His lips brush the back of my neck. "Tell me you want this."
"I want this."
"Tell me who's giving it to you."
"You are."