Chapter 16 #3
The way he stares back up at me, expression undone and unguarded, detonates a series of explosions that echo the tenderness already there. His lips part, but it ignites more than just base want. I swear that he snuck in and wrapped invisible strings around my heart and soul that are pulling taut.
His hand comes up to frame my face. I haven’t been touched in ages, not like this, but even so, I know that there’s nothing in the world that could compare to this.
His hand is so gentle, his fingers rough and his palms calloused.
No one has ever bothered to look up at me like I’m the reason they’re drawing their next breath.
I already know how Cruz tastes. I want more than just a few seconds imprinted indelibly on my mind.
I want the warmth of him wrapping around me to fill up the empty spaces.
He draws me down and curls up, meeting me.
I want to kiss him starved and wild, but his lips are as gentle as his hand.
They brush against mine, so soft, so light, like the kiss of air.
I whimper and my eyes flutter closed. I lean into it, melting down the length of Cruz until our chests touch again.
My nipples are hard in my bra, and I press them against him, enjoying the flash of tender pain that arrows down straight between my legs.
His lips part under mine and my tongue glides over his. I chase the sensation with the rest of me, molding my body against his. I brace both my hands on his shoulders, sprawled out on top of him, covering him, our bodies in perfect alignment.
He lets me lead for a blissful moment and then his teeth scrape over my bottom lip. He groans when he does it and it’s like I’ve electrocuted myself. My body transforms into a livewire.
Holy fuck.
His hand tangles in my hair and he draws me in, angling his own face so that I can kiss him deeper.
I don’t attack his mouth, but I do let loose, opening for him, stroking his tongue, writhing a little on top of him because I can’t not.
He’s sweet, peanut butter and jam and tea, but he’s mint and dark, sparks and light, and himself too.
I kiss him until my lips feel swollen. I shift my hand down and press it flat, searching for his heartbeat.
I love the hard slamming in answer. I keep going, nipping and licking and stroking his tongue with mine as I glide my hand down and find the hem of his t-shirt.
I push the soft cotton up until I find warm skin.
More than warm. He’s an inferno, his skin so hot and smooth.
Crisp as my fingers crawl up and I find the trail of hair over hard muscle.
I want to push his shirt up and taste him there.
When I break the kiss and pepper his jaw, trailing down his throat, he groans and shivers beneath me. I stop at the base of his throat and kiss his hammering pulse before I look up at him with a silent question.
“Whatever you want, I’m yours.”
Fuck. That’s exactly why I shouldn’t do this.
Because this man looks like a beast, a soldier, a warrior, and a biker, but underneath all that hardness, he’s sweet and golden.
He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met, and maybe that’s why we’re a good match.
It would explain why I was fine until I met him.
All this time, I wasn’t waiting for something.
I was waiting for someone. The imperfectly perfect match to my own weirdness.
There wasn’t anyone who even came close until Cruz.
We’re not hot and cold slamming into each other to create the perfect storm.
We’re two trade winds meeting, swirling, and calming.
I want something more than simply undoing his jeans and going straight for his cock.
I want my hand wrapped around him. I want him in my mouth.
I want him bucking and writhing with pleasure.
I’ve never felt achier, emptier, or more alive, but I don’t want that to be the sole purpose of this exploration.
I want to touch and taste all of Cruz. I want to treasure his body and find what other secret little spots bring him pleasure.
I want to surprise him, map him, treasure him.
I flatten my palm and push up his shirt.
I plant kisses along the strip of skin right above his jeans.
He jerks underneath of me, shivering and gasping.
His body is glorious. His abs are carved out, a light dusting of hair curling around his navel, going all the way under his jeans.
My thighs ache from being split so wide around his thick thighs.
The heat of him burns against me and through me.
I resist the urge to grind down and back, letting his hard cock scrape across my aching clit.
I can’t believe that we’re doing this. We’re only here now because of the choices that Liam made.
Would we have met otherwise? Part of me wants to think that it would have been better if we hadn’t, but that’s the cowardly part.
Maybe the part that wishes Liam had never gone to Seattle at all because I want him to be safe. Always.
I keep pushing Cruz’s shirt up, kissing him as I go. He must have showered right before coming here. He smells good, like spicy bodywash. It’s good, but I have an animal thought that his sweat and the raw masculine taste of him would be even better.
A few scars intersect with muscle. A constellation of tiny brown freckles speckle his upper abs.
He’s got that glorious V, and when I get his shirt up high enough, I get to stare at the hard, rounded beauty of his pecs.
I shouldn’t take his shirt all the way off.
If we start shedding clothes… I’m not ready for that.
I leave him trapped, his shirt around his neck while I flatten myself against him and take his nipple into my mouth.
I suck hard, scraping my teeth over it. His hips arch up so high that his cock stabs into my stomach.
I can’t help it. I grind my hips against him, wriggling until his hard erection is pressed right between my legs.
“Fuck,” he hisses between clenched teeth. His hands come up and brace against my hips, but he quickly drops them away.
I want to pick them up and let him use me. Let him grind me against his cock until we both explode. I don’t know if I’m ready for that either. We shouldn’t be doing this.
I don’t stop dry humping him entirely. I slow down.
Marginally, but every kiss, every lick, every time I suck his nipple or graze him with my teeth, causes him to jerk and drive up into me.
I keep my hands on his arms or his shoulders, or press one hand flat on the floor so that I don’t do what he wanted to do and grab his waist to guide him.
I want to inch up a little more. Sit up and ride him. With clothes, but still. I can’t imagine how hot that would be.
“Sit on my face?” He phrases it like a question, and his voice is heavy with doubt. He doesn’t think that I’ll do it. It’s not a challenge, though. I can easily say no.
I should say no.
I shouldn’t be sitting on the face of my son’s good friend.
I absolutely should not be edging off of him and tearing my jeans open with one hand. I shimmy out of them and tug them off. I’m ridiculous, squirming around until I free one leg and then kick them off.
I leave my panties on. They’re plain. A boring beige. I wasn’t expecting anyone to see them tonight.
I can literally see Cruz’s bulge kick in his jeans when he looks at me.
He doesn’t think they’re anything less than super sexy.
That’s a good thing, because they’re going to stay on.
He can push them aside if he wants to, but there’s no way that I’m taking them off.
I need that barrier. If I keep them on, maybe I can pretend that we haven’t obliterated every single line.