Chapter 34 #2
He curses, slips off the lace, and dips his head between my legs.
When his mouth joins his hand, the pressure of his lips and tongue exactly where I need it, I cry out—shatter against him—crash into a thousand pieces—a hammer against the thinnest pane of glass.
He doesn’t let up and I’m breaking over and over—wave after wave of pleasure coursing through me—a new drug that I’ll never have enough of.
Every ounce of built-up need flows over and into Jeff, who takes it like a gift, his eyes alight and fixed on my face.
“Jeff,” I whisper, tearing my gaze away from him to the sweetly spinning ceiling.
He murmurs a “what?” against me and the pleasant sensitivity of the movement catches my breath.
“Can you take your clothes off now?” I ask, my fingers still woven through his hair as he lifts from my new favorite place for him, and joins me in the pillows, elbow bent, head in hand.
“Just relax,” he tells me, stroking lazy circles over my stomach. “We have all night.”
I turn onto my side, press myself up next to him.
“And I plan to use the whole night. But right now, I need you to ditch the clothes.”
I use all of the strength to lift my leg over his hip and roll him over and under me. I’m sure he’s astounded by my grace, but he doesn’t comment because he’s looking up at me with that look again.
That’s the look I give to the cupcakes.
I slip my hands under his shirt and shut my eyes at the feel of him, silently counting the number of ab muscles my fingertips encounter.
“What are you doing?” he asks, as I get to six.
“Counting.”
“Counting what?”
“My blessings.”
His laughter sends a shot of heat back down below and I tug him upward so I can get his goddamned shirt off. He helps me through the struggle, then props himself on his elbows so that I can look him over.
“How do you have time to make these?” I ask, running my hand up between his pecs. It is a rhetorical question, but he answers.
“Steroids.”
I smile. Jeff is getting funnier. But I’m not telling him that because he already has every advantage over me. No way I’m giving him humor, too.
I shake my head. “Can’t be steroids. They cause ED.” I reach behind me and rub him through his jeans. His head falls back and the sight of him vulnerable just from that one small gesture makes me want to push further. I lower my mouth over his, sip at his bottom lip.
“So obviously it’s not steroids,” I tell him.
“You’re killing me,” he says, kissing beneath my chin.
I slide myself back out of reach between his legs and fold my knees beneath me as I start to work the buttons and slide off the denim almost as smoothly as he did it.
Almost. He watches me lift a bit off the mattress to get some leverage as I tug, and where I expect amusement, I find something else altogether.
Something that makes me feel warm and gooey—cookie dough in its second minute in the oven.
And the feeling isn’t just in my core. It fills my chest too. Scares the ever-loving shit out of me.
Jeff must sense that I need some help because he sits up as I toss the jeans to the side, and pulls me back to him, pushes my hair back with both hands and holds my face in his palms.
“Why do you suddenly look scared—like you’ve discovered I’m a vampire?” he asks.
“I wish.” I laugh. “Fear and ecstasy are two different animals, buddy. If I call you Damon will you be upset?”
His dimple appears then disappears all too soon.
“Seriously, do you need to slow down?” His eyes are slightly narrowed, his mouth a firm line while he tries to read me.
I squeeze my thighs tighter around his hips and rock against him.
And I think he knows my answer because the sound he makes tells me there will be no slowing down now.
He grabs my hips with his hands and pushes against me, just one last pesky layer of cotton between me and what I want.
Before the soft moan even escapes my lips, I’m flipped onto my back with his weight back on top of me, his mouth back on mine.
He stands, grabs each ankle and pulls me to the edge of the bed then looks down at me and says.
“Stay here.”
Where am I going to go, Jeff? Across the street for some pizza? Around the corner for a flat white?
He smiles like he’s got a direct line to my sarcastic thoughts then turns and disappears into the bathroom, assumedly to grab protection.
When he reappears in the square of light that surrounds him from the open door, I breathe deeply and sit-up a little so I can fully experience the sight of his slow walk back, the way he steps out of his boxer-briefs, pauses to let me take him all in for the first time—it is the sweetest, most painful anticipation I’ve ever felt.
He watches me the entire time he rolls on the condom and I feel an irrational surge of jealousy towards that layer of latex.
I want to be around him. I reach for him, close each of my fingers around what I want and his eyes close, and I stroke him slowly, until he lets out a low growl and grabs my busy hand.
He snakes his fingers between mine and pushes me back into the mattress, pinning the hand he claimed over my head.
I push my ass up off the bed, needing to be closer, and he fills me in one slow thrust. I squeeze my knees tighter, never wanting to let go of this—of him inside of me.
All I know for certain in this world is that the heavy, tingling need is rising up again, more insistent this time.
I hook my ankles behind his back and move to feed that need, slowly at first, then faster, harder as Jeff’s voice sends spirals of heat down over my body.
His wants and desires are emptying into my ear and every one makes the feeling intensify and grow.
What he’s going to do to me—how long he’s wanted this—every word is like spraying hairspray on an open flame and the images that are playing through my head make me greedy and wild.
I clutch his shoulder with my free hand and rock until I’m teetering on the edge again.
“Let go, Devon. I want to feel you let go around me—”
His rhythm picks up, his free hand pulling my hips down toward him so he’s so deep that I cry out as the pleasure spikes and sends me tumbling into the delicious release.
Jeff lets go as I fall, my name on his lips against my neck, his fingers still threaded through mine and clutching my hip.
When the final pulse of relief pours out of us, he looks down at me, his eyes dark and serious, a dangerous smile teasing his mouth and says,
“You only called me Damon once. Not too bad.”
I laugh until his mouth makes me forget what’s so funny.