Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
“Slow,” I repeat. “Yeah, I think I like that.”
“And we do this my way.” His hand closes over mine, and he moves me gently but firmly off his cock.
“That doesn’t seem fair,” I say.
“I like being in charge,” he says, easing me back until I’m once again leaning against the arm of the sofa. My feet are tucked under me, and he tells me to straighten them. “On my legs again,” he says. “Just as we were.”
“What—”
“Abby. Just do it.”
I swallow a protest, mostly because I’m curious, and slip my bare feet back onto his thighs.
“Do you want to know what I was thinking earlier? My fantasy of how the evening could go? What I wanted to do, but didn’t have the fucking balls? Not like you did, starting this whole thing up. Is that what you want, Abby? Do you want to know what I was thinking earlier? Is that really where you want me to take you?”
There’s heat and harshness in his voice, and I nod. Right then, I want nothing more than to see into his fantasies. To know if his were as wild and wicked as mine have been. How he wanted me. What he would do to me. Because every kiss or stroke or touch just goes that much further to validate the intense passion building inside me, not to mention my own boldness.
“Yes,” I say. “But you have to remember something when you do.”
He turns to meet my eyes.
“Just remember that I’m the one who had the balls to start this.”
His mouth twitches. “And for that, I think we’re both very, very grateful.”
His hand strokes my foot as he speaks. “We were talking like this earlier,” he says softly. “And it wasn’t even that long ago, but I have to struggle to remember what we were saying. Because that wasn’t the only conversation in my head. There was another one. My voice telling me to let go. To touch you the way I wanted to.”
“How did you want to?” My words are a whisper, and my whole body tingles.
“Gently,” he says, running his fingertip along the side of my foot. “An exploration,” he continues, slowly stroking my ankle, then my calf, then cupping me behind my knee. “A game to see when you would tell me to stop.”
“I wouldn’t have,” I say, then draw in air as he shifts on the couch, too, coming closer to me and forcing me to bend one knee up so that the ball of my foot is pressed against his cock, hard beneath my sole. He bends at the waist, one hand on that foot increasing the pressure as he meets my eyes, and the other hand stroking north on my other leg.
He’s reached the hem, and his fingertip slips under the loose cotton of the maxi dress, brushing my thigh just above my knee.
I whimper, and I see a gleam that looks like victory spark in his eye. “What will I find if I keep going north?” he asks. “Cotton panties? Silk? Or are you completely bare under that dress? I know you’re not wearing a bra. I’ve been mesmerized by your breasts all night.”
“Renly…”
My voice sounds breathy and unfamiliar.
“I’m betting nothing,” he says, and I close my eyes, not willing to acknowledge out loud that he’s right. Even more, not willing to admit—even to myself—that it was the fantasy of a moment like this that had me forgoing panties in the first place. “Should I keep going? Should I tease your pussy? See if you’re wet? Slide my fingers inside you and watch your face as you try not to grind against me?”
I make a low noise in my throat, a noise of longing. Of desperation.
“Or should I stop here and kiss your mouth? Tasting and taking? Fucking your mouth with my tongue until you’re weak and limp and begging for more?”
My head is spinning. I’ve gotten myself off to so many fantasies of Renly’s touch, of his kisses. But never have I imagined him saying these things, raw and wild and so very appealing. I want it all, and while part of me hates that he’s seeing me so needy and desperate, a bigger part of me is turned on by the fact that it’s him who’s made me this way—and that, of course, he knows it.
“Tell me,” he says, sliding off the couch and kneeling in front of me. He spreads my legs, and though the dress is still draped to my knees, I feel exposed. And, so help me, it feels wonderful.
His hands ease up my thighs beneath the dress. I whimper, lost in the sensations that are ricocheting through me now. Slowly, his fingers rise, higher and higher as he gently parts my legs. My breath trembles, and I’m burning with the anticipation of his touch. His thumbs are right there , brushing that soft, sensitive skin.
“Tell me,” he repeats. “Should I touch you or kiss you?”
I suck in a breath, my whole body trembling. “Couldn’t you please do both?”
He laughs. “God, I love you.”
I tense, those words crashing over me. He doesn’t react at all, and I realize he doesn’t know what he said. But he did say it. And damned if I don’t love him too. Not that I have the chance to say so, though, because he’s doing exactly what I asked. His mouth is hot on mine, his thumbs teasing my core. I spread my legs wider as his fingers thrust inside me, the kiss just as wild and hot, our tongues doing battle as if this kiss alone could take us both over the edge.
I moan in protest as he breaks the kiss, then gasp when he lifts my ass to free the dress. “Take it off,” he demands, though he doesn’t leave it to me. He’s back on the couch, his hands now on the material, pulling it up over my head and leaving me completely naked.
“Now close your eyes and put your arms on the back of the couch. And baby, spread your legs for me.”
I hesitate, the thought of being so exposed making me both excited and nervous. Mostly excited, though, and my nipples tighten and my core throbs as I do as he asked, feeling all the more vulnerable because my eyes are closed.
I feel his hands on my thighs just above my knees. He moves them higher until his thumbs are brushing the junction of my thighs. I tremble and bite my lower lip. I’m so wet—so turned on—and he can see everything. And damned if that doesn’t make me even more turned on. This vulnerability. This exposure.
With wicked slowness, he kisses his way up my inner thigh. I bite my lip, forcing myself to stay still. Then he lifts his mouth away long enough to blow a stream of air right on my clit. I arch back, clutching the back of the sofa, then relax—even whimper—when he stops.
“Tell me,” he says.
“More,” I whisper. “Please, I want more. Renly, I want you.”
“Patience, baby,” he whispers, brushing a kiss over my lips, then letting his lips roam lower and lower until his tongue flicks lightly over my clit. I suck in air, almost exploding right then, but he’s barely even started. Now his mouth closes over my sex, and he sucks and teases as I try to squirm, but his hands are firmly on my thighs now, holding me in place.
I know it’s breaking the rules, but I don’t care. I move my hands, then twine my fingers in his hair. I hold tight, practically forcing him to stay in place. To suck my clit and fuck me with his tongue. I want more—oh, God, I’m greedy—but first I have to let go of some of this pressure.
First, I have to explode.
As if the thought is a touch, my body breaks apart. I yank on his hair, and it’s probably a miracle I don’t pull out chunks as I buck and writhe against him, this man I’ve loved forever, this friend I never really knew before. Not like this. Not as a man who fits me so damn perfectly.
“Oh, God,” I say when I can speak again. “Renly, my God.”
He lifts his head, then slides up my body before kissing me, giving me a taste of my own passion. “I’m very glad you liked it.”
An almost hysterical laugh escapes me. “ Like has never before been such an understatement.”
“I’m very glad to hear it. But baby, you know we’re not done.” He kisses me gently then slides his lips over my cheek to my ear to whisper, “I still haven’t fucked you, and believe me, that is very much on tonight’s agenda.”
I swallow and nod, then take his hand when he stands and reaches out for me. He leads me to the bedroom, then nods for me to stretch out. I do, then watch eagerly as he strips out of my shirt and PJ bottoms, freeing his cock. He’s already grabbed a condom from the wallet he’d left on the coffee table, and I reach up to tease my own nipples as he sheaths himself.
“Christ, that’s hot,” he says.
“You like it?”
“I do.” He gets onto the bed, sitting next to me and idly stroking his fingertips over my bare skin. “Touch yourself more,” he says. “Show me what you did when we were kids. When you were in bed late at night, fantasizing that I’d climbed through your window.”
“Renly…” My cheeks are burning.
“Here,” he says, “I’ll help you.” He puts his hand over mine, then together we lightly tease my nipple before he guides my fingers down over my abdomen, then around my navel until we reach my pussy. I’m waxed, and he slides my fingertips over smooth skin before landing on my slick, sensitive clit.
“Inside,” he says, his own fingers teasing my clit as he waits for me to comply. “Tell me the truth,” he continues. “You’d fingerfuck yourself, wouldn’t you? And you’d pretend it was me.”
“Yes.” It’s the truth, but I’m so turned on I would have lied even if it wasn’t.
“Show me.”
I don’t hesitate—all hesitation and embarrassment have been washed away by a wild, sensual greed. I do as he says, thrusting three fingers inside myself as my hips move in time with my own demands. My eyes are closed, but I feel the way his hand tenses as he cups my mound. The way his breathing has become more ragged.
And then, finally, he growls, “Enough.”
I open my eyes, surprised, only to lose myself in a hard, punishing kiss as he moves on top of me. “I don’t want to take it slow,” he says.
“No,” I say, wanting him to just take, and to do it hard. “Not slow.”
I see heat flare in his eyes before he reaches between our bodies to adjust himself. And then, in one long, deep thrust, he spreads me wide and buries himself inside me.
I close my eyes, arching back as he pounds into me, deep and hard, teasing all my sensitive spots with the girth of him filling me and his fingers on my clit. Deeper and deeper, and when he tells me to open my eyes, I do, and I look into his as we move in rhythm together until finally—finally—I explode around him, my body clenching tightly to his cock.
He arches up, cries out, then collapses beside me. For a moment, he is completely motionless. Then he rolls over and kisses me, his fingers casually playing with my nipple as if he owns me. Which, of course, he does.
“That,” he says. “That was my fantasy.”
I sigh happily. “Yeah,” I say. “Me, too.”