Chapter 6 — Sienna #2
He reaches behind me and unhooks my bra with one hand. Pulls it off and drops it.
And then there's nothing between his hands and my bare skin and when he touches me this time, when his rough palms close over my breasts and his thumbs find my nipples and circle and press, I make a sound I don't recognize.
He makes that growl again and his mouth moves down.
Kisses and bites trail from my throat to my chest and when his mouth closes over my nipple, hot and wet, my knees actually buckle.
He catches me. One arm around my waist holding me up while his mouth works, tongue circling and flicking and then his teeth grazing just enough to make me jerk.
He pays attention to what makes me gasp, what makes my fingers tighten in his hair, what makes me arch into him seeking more.
He switches to the other breast and gives it the same treatment, and I'm drowning in sensation, in the heat of his mouth and the scrape of his stubble and the solid strength of his arm holding me up.
My hands find his shoulders, his back, mapping muscle and scars and ink through touch.
He's all hard lines and controlled power and I want to feel all of it against me, over me, in me.
His mouth leaves my breast and he straightens, both hands going to my jeans. He undoes the button and zipper and hooks his thumbs in the waistband and pulls them down along with my underwear in one rough motion.
I step out of them and I'm completely bare and he's still half-dressed and the asymmetry makes me feel exposed in ways that should make me self-conscious.
But the way he's looking at me erases any thought of hiding.
He's staring like I'm something he's been starving for. Like every soft curve and thick thigh and full breast is exactly what he wants.
His eyes track down my body and stop between my legs and his hands flex like he's restraining himself from just grabbing.
"Bed," he says. The command in his voice is unmistakable.
I turn to move toward it but his hands catch my hips and turn me to face the mattress instead.
"No," he says. "Like this. Hands on the bed. Bend over."
My breath catches. I do what he says, bracing my palms on the mattress, bending at the waist, and I hear him behind me making a sound that's pure male satisfaction.
His hands slide over my hips, my ass, my thighs, exploring like he's memorizing the shape of me.
Then his hand slides between my legs from behind and his fingers find where I'm already wet and I hear his sharp intake of breath.
"Christ," he mutters. "You're soaking."
I am. I'm so turned on I'm shaking with it. His fingers slide through the wetness, circling but not entering, teasing, and I push back against his hand seeking more pressure, more friction, more anything.
"Greedy," he says, and I can hear the dark satisfaction in his voice.
Then his fingers slide inside me, two at once, and the sudden stretch makes me moan.
He doesn't move them at first, just lets me feel the intrusion, the fullness, and then he starts to work them deeper, curling, finding angles that make my whole body tense.
"That's it," he says, and his other hand is on my lower back, pressing down slightly, adjusting my angle. "Take it."
His fingers move and find something inside me that makes white sparks flash behind my eyes.
He feels my reaction and focuses there, relentless and precise, and I'm gripping the mattress so hard my knuckles are white.
His other hand slides around my hip and his fingers find where I'm most sensitive and he rubs in tight circles while his other hand keeps working inside me and the dual sensation is too much, building too fast, and I'm trying to tell him I'm close but the words won't come.
"Come on," he says, voice rough. "Let me feel it."
The orgasm hits sudden and hard and I come around his fingers with a cry that I couldn't stop if I tried. My whole body clenches and shakes and he works me through it, fingers gentler now but not stopping until the last aftershock fades.
I'm gasping for air, thighs trembling, and I hear him undoing his jeans. The sound of a zipper. Fabric hitting the floor. His boots thudding one after the other.
Then his hands are on my hips again and I feel him behind me, naked now, and the thick length of him presses against my ass and I realize how big he is and my breath catches.
His hand grips my hip harder and he positions himself and I feel the blunt head of him pressing against my entrance.
He pushes in slowly. Just the tip at first. And already the stretch is intense, almost too much, and I have to force myself to breathe and relax.
He holds still, giving me time to adjust, and I can feel him shaking with the effort of going slow.
"Breathe," he says. "Relax. Let me in."
I do. I breathe out and consciously relax and he pushes in another inch and the sensation is overwhelming. He's thick and hard and I'm stretched around him and I can feel every ridge, every vein, the heat of him sinking into me.
"More," I manage to say.
He pulls back slightly and pushes in deeper, working in increments, letting my body accommodate him. Each thrust goes a little deeper and I can feel my body opening for him, accepting him, taking him in.
When he finally bottoms out, when I can feel him fully seated inside me, we both go completely still.
I'm so full I can barely breathe. Can barely think. Can only feel him everywhere, stretching me, filling me, claiming me.
"Fuck," he says, and his voice is absolutely destroyed. "You're so tight. So fucking perfect."
He pulls back slowly and the drag of him against my inner walls makes me moan. Then he pushes back in, still controlled but with more force this time, and my fingers dig into the mattress.
He sets a rhythm that builds gradually. Long strokes that pull almost all the way out before driving back in deep.
Each thrust measured, like he's learning what I can take, what makes me gasp, what makes my back arch.
I can hear the wet sound of him moving in me, can hear his breathing getting harsher, can hear my own sounds that I'm not even trying to control anymore.
His hand slides up my spine and fists in my hair and he pulls, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to arch my back further.
"There," I gasp. "Right there."
He focuses there, driving into that spot with devastating precision, and I'm climbing again already, impossibly, my body tightening around him.
His other hand slides around to find where I'm sensitive and his fingers work in rhythm with his thrusts and I'm not going to last, can't hold back, and when the second orgasm hits I come with a scream, clenching around him so hard he groans.
But he doesn't stop.
He doesn't slow down. Just keeps driving into me through my orgasm and past it until I'm oversensitive and shaking and pleading incoherently for something I can't name.
He pulls out suddenly and his hands grip my hips and flip me over onto my back on the bed.
I barely have time to process the position change before he's between my thighs and pushing back inside, and this angle is completely different.
I can see his face now. Can see how wrecked he looks. Eyes dark and wild, jaw clenched tight, muscles in his arms and shoulders standing out with the effort of control that's barely holding.
He leans down and his mouth finds mine and we kiss while he moves.
Deep and claiming and almost brutal. His hand slides under my lower back and tilts my hips up and the angle changes again and now each thrust goes deeper, hits different places, and I break the kiss to gasp for air.
"Look at me," he says. It's not a request.
I open my eyes and meet his and the intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch.
"I want to watch you," he says. "Want to see your face when you come on my cock."
The explicit words combined with the way he's looking at me combined with the relentless rhythm of him driving into me pushes me higher again and I didn't think I could, didn't think I had another one in me, but apparently I do.
"Wrap your legs around me," he says.
I do, hooking my ankles at his lower back, and the position pulls him impossibly deeper and we both make sounds at the sensation.
He's so deep I can feel him everywhere, can feel the fullness in my belly, can feel him claiming parts of me I didn't know existed.
His rhythm is starting to lose its precision. Getting rougher. More erratic. I can tell he's close, can feel it in the way his muscles are shaking, can see it in the tension in his face.
His hand slides between us and his fingers find where I'm swollen and oversensitive and he presses and circles with clear intent.
"One more," he says. "Give me one more, Sienna. Want to feel you come around me."
"I can't—"
"Yes you can." His fingers move faster, more insistent, and his hips drive harder. "Come on, baby. One more. Let me feel it."
The endearment combined with everything else, with the way he's looking at me like I'm everything he wants, with the way his fingers are working and his cock is hitting exactly the right spot, pushes me over the edge one more time.
I come with his name torn from my throat, clenching around him, and the sensation triggers his own release.
His hips stutter and then drive deep one final time and he comes with a groan, spilling inside me, and I can feel the heat of it, can feel him pulsing.
He doesn't pull out right away. Just stays buried inside me while we both shake and gasp and try to remember how breathing works. His forehead drops to mine and we're both slick with sweat, both trembling with aftershocks.
Finally he pulls out slowly and I feel the immediate loss, feel empty without him, feel the evidence of what we did start to leak out.
He collapses beside me on the bed and immediately pulls me against his chest and I go willingly, boneless and sated and completely undone.
We lie there in silence for a long time. Just breathing. Just being. His hand slides into my hair, gentle now, and I rest my palm over his heart and feel it gradually slow.