Chapter Twenty-Five #3
She turned in his arms and saw his expression for just a moment before they crashed together, filled with lust and something like wonder.
And when they finally kissed, finally answered that burning desire they had been dancing around for weeks, Maggie knew she should be scared of the way the press of his lips against hers felt like coming home.
His tongue darted against her lips, and she opened for him, tasting mint and earthy red wine.
She moaned against the way he moved in her mouth, imagining that tongue elsewhere on her body, against her nipples, inside her.
She couldn’t stop touching him. She twisted her fingers through his hair as they kissed, pulling him closer as he cradled her against him, sliding his knee between her legs and pressing his thigh against her.
She thought she might come undone just from the pressure of him there.
His hands were sliding down her back until they cupped her ass, squeezing as his tongue continued to explore her mouth.
Her fingers traced the line of his shoulders, down his neck, against his chin as he kissed her.
She caressed the space behind his ear and with her other hand grazed the hem of his T-shirt.
She pulled it up so she could drag her palms against his chest, his stomach.
She wanted to feel his skin against hers as she writhed against him, as the pressure between her legs mounted.
It was almost—almost—enough to send her over the edge.
His erection pressed into her stomach as he broke apart their kiss and said with a breathy hitch in his voice, “Maggie, can I touch you?”
She giggled; she couldn’t help it. “I thought we were?” And he groaned and then his mouth was on hers again, his fingers continuing their exploration of her body, slipping just for a moment beneath the waistband of her shorts and then returning over the curve of her belly and back to her breasts.
He tugged her shirt down, revealing her full breast to the air.
Her nipple pebbled in the chill until his lips circled the point, his tongue flicking against it.
She cried out, the sensitive touch darting straight to her core, the pressure of his thigh not quite enough.
“Arthur.” Now she was the needy one, her plea full of every desire she had ignored for weeks. “Please.”
“Please what?” he asked against her nipple. “Be specific.”
“Please touch me,” she begged, and he was so obedient, his fingers immediately darting back down to her waistband and beneath the elastic of her underwear.
He pressed one finger inside her, slowly at first until she squirmed against him.
Then two, filling her until his palm was flush against her.
She reached down to circle his cock with her hands, but he grabbed her hand and held it against the ground.
“Not yet,” he breathed, and she whimpered, wanting to bring him as much pleasure as he was bringing her. “Not until you come for me.”
She moaned as his fingers slid against her clit, circling it and alternating pressure until he found exactly what she liked, until her hips were rolling.
He sucked her nipple into his mouth again, his teeth gently scraping the sensitive skin, and she arched her back.
“That’s it. You’re so wet for me, Maggie.
” His breath against her nipple brought even more pleasure, the scruff on his chin moving against her as he spoke.
He kissed his way up her chest and back to her neck, finding a sensitive spot in the crook between her chin and shoulder, his fingers working her pleasure higher and higher as he did so.
Her hands were in fists against her legs as she arched into the pleasure, into his touch.
“You’re doing so well,” he whispered. “Come for me.”
With those words, Maggie was lost. Her orgasm cascaded over her in waves, her body pulsing around Arthur’s fingers, deep inside her. She bit Arthur’s shoulder as she cried out, riding his thigh still crooked between her legs to add to the pressure until she went limp with spent pleasure.
“Arthur,” she muttered, nearly delirious as his fingers slid out from inside her.
She missed the way they filled her, and reached again for the hard length between his legs, wondering if he would let her feel the way his cock filled her instead.
He bucked at her touch, letting out a groan as she stroked him through his boxers.
“You don’t have to—” he said through gritted teeth. “If you don’t want to, that is. I don’t expect…”
“Arthur,” she said again, dragging her fingernails over the front of his boxers and then to the waistband, toying with the elastic as she stroked him through the fabric with the other hand. “Shut up. I want this. Do you?”
He looked at her with his need plain on his face as her fingers grazed the waistband again.
“More than anything.” She tugged his boxers down until he sprang free, and began to stroke him.
His skin was so soft, and she wanted to taste it, wanted him to fill her everywhere.
Precome beaded at the head, and she rubbed her finger against it in languid circles.
Arthur moaned, his face against Maggie’s shoulder, bracing himself with his elbow on the ground so he didn’t crush her.
When Maggie closed her fist around his cock, he moaned again.
“I am going to come if you keep doing that,” he warned, and that was exactly what she wanted.
He leaned over her on his hands and knees, and it was such a perfect view of the way he lost himself to her touch.
She moved her hand up and down his cock, stroking the length and feeling flush at the way he was barely keeping himself upright above her.
He reached down, adding his own hand to hers, helping her find the rhythm that drove him over the edge.
And when she leaned up and kissed him, swallowing his gasp, he came in moments, cursing.
Arthur cleaned up with his abandoned shirt and then collapsed next to her, his head finding her shoulder.
She marveled at this closeness, which somehow seemed stranger than the sex.
After he’d caught his breath, he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, catching her mouth at the corner, and Maggie closed her eyes and leaned into him.
This is what she’d known since Beltane—she fit, right here.
His arms curved around her, pulling her closer to him until they were flush against each other, sated.
Just as she was beginning to fall asleep, he whispered, “Wait. Don’t move.” He gently pulled his arm out from under her and got up to bring her his canteen of water and find another shirt.
As she drank, he settled down next to her. Maggie looked at him in the darkness. His hair was mussed from where she’d gripped it, and there was the same look of wonder on his face. His eyes roamed over her slowly, lingering, like it was what he’d wanted to do for weeks.
After he drank his fill of water, Maggie tugged him back down to the sleeping bag, entwining their bodies again.
Arthur cradled her against him, her head resting against his chest, listening to the heartbeat that had broken the spell.
He laid a hand on her hip, and it was nearly enough to make her wet with want again, but she eased into him, tracing her fingers from his elbow to his hand and listening to his calming heartbeat until sleep carried them both under.