Chapter 15 Dorian #2
She’s so close to tipping over that line she’s always fought me on, always denied, always lied to herself about.
And I can feel it.
Every tight, pulsing inch of it.
I kiss her deeper. Harder. Like I’m claiming every breath she takes.
Her knees buckle just slightly, and I catch her hips, guiding her back against the counter so she can hold herself upright. She clings to me, heat rolling off her in waves that make something low in my chest growl.
Her breath fans across my jaw, uneven and desperate.
“Dorian… please—”
The word guts me.
I let my lips rest at the hollow just under her ear, tasting the warmth of her skin. Her body shivers, arching into me, and I feel the pull of everything I want to do, everything I can’t resist.
Her hair falls into my face, auburn strands brushing against my cheek, teasing me, making my pulse thrum faster.
“Part your legs for me, sweetheart.”
Her hands press against my chest, soft but insistent, as if she’s trying to ground herself, but her hips shift against me, betraying her desire.
The fabric of her dress rides up slightly, teasing the smooth curve of her thighs, the line of her panties peeking beneath. I can feel how tense she is, every muscle coiled, trembling against me, wanting, needing.
I drag my fingers along her waist again, above her thighs, memorizing the curve of her, the way her skin shivers under my touch. Her breath hitches, sharp and sudden, and it sparks fire straight through my veins.
I can’t stop myself from leaning in closer, pressing into her, wanting every inch of her against me. I let my lips travel lower, dragging a scorching line down her throat to the swell of her breasts.
My hands cup them hard, thumbs rolling over her pert nipples through the thin fabric, and she gasps, arching straight into me.
Her lips find mine, soft at first, then demanding, tugging me in as if she wants to steal what I’m holding back. I let my tongue meet hers, tasting her, feeling the pulse of her body answering every move of mine.
Her hands grip me, mapping my back, sliding over my shoulders, and it makes my head spin.
I lean my forehead against hers, chest brushing hers, and breathe in her scent. The dress rides up a little, revealing her bright pink panties, and I can’t resist.
“Fucking pretty,” I murmur, my fingers rubbing at the wet seam.
Her hands claw at my shoulders, digging in as her hips grind shamelessly against my crotch. I press harder, feeling the wet heat of her pussy against me, the panties now soaked, clinging to her folds.
I can’t resist. I slip a finger beneath the lace, dragging it, teasing her clit through the fabric. She whines, hips bucking, legs trembling.
Her whole body quivers, letting go of pretense, arching instinctively into my touch. I feel it like electricity shooting straight through me.
I slide the panties aside, my knuckles pressing against her. She’s always so ready for me, every single time.
I trace her clit with my thumb before sliding two fingers inside her. Her pussy welcomes me, warm and tight, and she gasps, rolling against my hand.
I keep my movements slow, almost teasing, watching her reactions like they’re a map I could study forever. Every shudder, every gasp makes me harder in my pants, and I press against her hip just to let her feel it.
My free hand cups her ass, gripping, squeezing, urging her closer. My name leaves her lips like a prayer, and I can feel the tension building, the pulse racing.
“Yes, sweetheart,” I whisper, pressing my thumb harder against her clit, thrusting inside her with shallow, languid strokes. Her hips roll, letting me follow her rhythm.
She trembles against me, gripping at my shoulders, leaning into my hands. I kiss down her neck, tasting her, licking a line that makes her shiver uncontrollably.
Her moans are low and ragged, and I can feel the way her body’s vibrating, clenching around my fingers.
She comes with a gasp, a shudder, and I hold her close, letting her ride it out, feeling her tremble and quiver pressed against me.
Her breath comes in broken waves. Her body curls, shivers wracking every inch of her as she comes around my hand, soaking me with her release.
I keep her close, sucking at her neck, kissing her temple, tasting her sweat and the remnants of her own climax. I hold her as she quivers, riding out every shudder.
Her hand finds my chest, pressing softly, letting me know she’s still here, still wanting me even as her body settles. I brush my thumb along her jaw, letting her eyes meet mine.
They’re hazy, heavy-lidded, and my pulse spikes at the sight.
Even as she trembles against me, I can’t stop. My fingers dip back inside her, slick and needy, circling, pressing, sliding, pushing her higher.
She cries out again, hips rolling with abandon, the sounds wet and desperate. I drag her lips back to mine, tongue clashing with hers, tasting her again, needing her just like this—writhing, needy, all for me.
Her nails dig into my back, drawing me closer, letting me feel the tension pooling, the need screaming from her every movement.
I thrust my fingers deep, curling them just so, hitting the spot that makes her cry out my name, voice raw and broken.
“Fucking tight… so ready for me,” I rasp, watching her body quake, watching her pussy clamp around my fingers.
I can feel myself on the edge, every thrust of my hand, every slick squeeze, making my cock ache.
When she comes again, screaming my name, hips bucking wildly, I’m right there with her, watching her.
She’s so fucking beautiful.
Her body melts into mine, still quivering, and I press my forehead to hers.
“You’re mine,” I growl, fingers brushing her clit again, coaxing another shiver out of her.
She moans, a breathless plea, and I can’t believe how fucking delicious she is—mine, dripping for me, desperate, begging, completely undone.
I slide my fingers out slowly, and she whimpers. I lick them clean, savoring her taste, her shiver making me hard all over again.
She moans low as I pull her in for another kiss, teeth grazing, her biting into my lower lip, making me shudder with the sharp bite of pleasure.
I pull back, grinning, seeing the flush in her cheeks, the way her lips still glisten. “Now,” I say, voice low, teasing, “will you say thank you?”
“Asshole,” she breathes, but the corners of her mouth tug up, that small smile lighting her face. I can feel her pulse in her throat, the heat still radiating off her, and it drives me insane.
The sudden chime of the door makes us snap apart, startled. Our hands linger a moment too long before she steps aside, adjusting her dress.
“Mrs. Coldwell,” she says, voice sharp but hiding a flush, moving past me as if she’s composed.
I take a moment to straighten myself, buttons straining, chest heaving. When I turn back, she’s facing me, cheeks pink, eyes still sparkling.
Mrs. Coldwell’s gaze sweeps over us, sharp and assessing. “Was I interrupting something?” she asks.
“Not at all,” Norah says quickly, shifting her weight, voice clipped but warm under the tension. She’s trying too hard, and it makes the ache in my chest twist. She likes me; I know it.
I grin, letting a long moment stretch between us, enjoying the heat in her eyes. “I’ll see you later,” I say, voice steady but low. “About six.”
She shakes her head without meeting my gaze, stepping past me, giving me a glimpse of that perfect curve of her ass as she disappears down the aisle.
I can’t stop smiling. The way she avoids my eyes, the way her lips twitch despite her composure, tells me more than any words could.
The scent of her clings to me, the taste of her still lingering on my tongue, her warmth pressed into me, leaving marks only I will remember.
My fingers twitch, remembering the softness of her thighs, the way she came apart under my touch, and the thought alone makes me harden again.
I shake my head, letting a small laugh slip past my lips. We both lost our damn minds, forgetting where we were.
“Norah,” I murmur, and the sound feels like a promise. I grin, imagining her biting her lip, trying to be mad at me even as she wants more.
The door chimes again, breaking the spell, and I shake myself, letting the tension stay coiled. She’s pretending like we’re not both still buzzing from what just happened.
And that’s fine. I’ll let her enjoy it a little longer.
I walk to the car, watching the street below, feeling the pulse of her memory in my chest. Every shiver she gave me, every gasp, every tremble pressed against me, I carry.
I’ll see her again, later, at six. I’ll see that smile she tries to hide, that spark in her gaze that betrays her, that little crack in her armor where she wants me more than she’d ever admit.
And when I do, I’ll make sure she doesn’t forget a single second of it.