20. Chapter 20 – Lucy #2
I glared until his grin turned sheepish. He pursed his lips, shaking his head slowly from side to side, holding my gaze steadily.
“When you’re ready, Lucy, all bets are off.”
It was a silly threat. One laced with obvious affection. So why did it leave me feeling like we were on the cusp of something important?
We barely made it over the threshold before we were stripping, leaving a trail of clothing on our way to his bedroom.
Every touch was mixed with a trace of tenderness, only making me more eager for his hands.
His mouth. I ground against him, groaning when he boosted me against the hallway wall, my legs wrapping around his hips, the bulge of his erection notching between my thighs.
Already slippery and wet, I could feel my underwear growing sticky as heat built between us.
His mouth was firm against mine, exploring each curve, his hands echoing the eagerness of his lips as he gripped my hips.
I loved having him hold me so tightly. It’d be worth any marks.
I nipped at his bottom lip, wanting to stamp myself on him just as surely as he branded me.
He groaned softly, the low, breathy sound at odds with his usual confidence.
Having Clay Robertson at my mercy was impossibly sweet.
I bit softly again, just to hear that guttural moan, smiling against his mouth when he obliged.
He caught my mouth in a punishing kiss, leaving no room for play.
I sank into the sensation, the pure need pouring from him.
It was addictive, to feel so completely wanted. Adored.
He stumbled away from the wall, keeping up the onslaught as we lurched into his bedroom. I slid to my feet, but only long enough for him to help me out of the last of my clothes and grab a condom.
We came together in a rush, a single thrust of his hips making my eyelids flutter as he hit home.
We were more eagerness than finesse, but I didn’t care.
Every inch of me was ready for more, wishing I could absorb him through my skin, brand him as surely as he claimed me.
Arching, greedy for more, I savored every stroke.
Staring at Clay like I dared him to look away, all I really wanted was to watch him come. He filled me, making my skin feel like it would flay off under the weight of the pressure building inside me.
“You feel amazing,” he bit out, white teeth piercing his lower lip.
He plunged forward, the final press enough to send me over the edge, overwhelmed by the ripples of my orgasm.
Two more thrusts under the gentle undulations of my internal muscles sent Clay after me, a rasping sigh the only sound as he collapsed, his big body covering mine.
Slowly, he rolled to his side, dropping a quick kiss on my forehead.
I lay, looking up at the ceiling, trying to convince myself that it wasn’t spinning as I fought to catch my breath. Clay Robertson couldn’t have that much influence, could he?
He slipped back into bed, gathering me to his chest. I rolled, resting my head on his shoulder. He tucked one broad hand behind his head and arched his brow, glancing down at his chest.
“Did you figure it out yet?”
I chuckled, the sound raspy to my ears. “I was a bit busy.”
He grinned, making his dark brows dance. “Yeah, we were. But playtime’s over. You’ve got work to do.”
“You are a strange, strange man, Clayton Robertson.”
His grin turned cheeky. “That’s okay. You like it.”
“I do,” I grumbled, focusing on his chest. Analyzing the array of freckles and moles decorating his abdomen.
I rubbed my forehead. Was it my imagination that there were more of them than before?
Clay tapped a mole on his right side. “I’ll even give you a hint.
It starts here.” He tapped a freckle loosely in line with the first mole.
Slowly, I traced the possibilities, considering and discarding message after message.
The first letter could be an M, but I wasn’t sure.
Mischief-maker? Nature-lover? Both of those were too long. The second letter might be an A.
I’d swear that some of the freckles were new from last time. Impossible, right? I outlined the M-A, still not confident I was “reading” him correctly.
His hand wrapped around mine, drawing me to the next few dots in sequence: R. He chuckled, the soft sound shaking his chest gently beneath our joined fingers.
One of the moles was irregularly shaped. Almost smudged. I leaned closer. “Is this… Sharpie?”
Clay shook beneath me with the effort to hold back his laughter. A broad grin spread across his face. Suddenly, I didn’t even need to connect the dots.
“Let me guess: Marry Me?”
“Yes!” he shouted.
Reluctantly, I grinned. He looked so damned pleased with himself.
“You cannot trick me into marrying you,” I scolded.
Though the idea that Clay had dotted himself to propose might convince me. If he were serious. I locked away that thought. Clay was messing around, just like always. He didn’t really mean it.
For the first time, I wanted it to be real, not just teasing taken too far. And that scared me more than I wanted to admit. If I wasn’t careful, Clay would convince me that he was sincere. That I could trust him. And if he didn’t really love me, it would break me.
He caught me in a kiss that was at once sweet and playful.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”