Chapter Three #2
His weight settled against me, careful at first, then heavier when I arched up. His thick erection strained against his jeans, hard against the thin cotton of my shorts. My breath broke. His did too.
There was no hiding the shape of him now.
No hiding the ache spreading through me, hot and low and stupidly honest. My panties were already soaked, and every shift of my hips dragged wet fabric against my clit. My skin felt too tight. Every place he touched started arguing with every reason I had to stop.
Dex lowered his mouth to my jaw, then my throat.
I turned my head to give him room before pride could stop me.
His lips dragged over my pulse. His stubble scraped my skin. One of his hands slid down my side, over my ribs, and stopped at the hem of my tank.
“Tell me you want this,” he said against my throat.
“I already did.”
“Tell me again.”
I opened my eyes to the ugly motel ceiling and the narrow light moving across it. “I want this.”
“This isn’t only you buying time?”
“It is.”
His hand stopped.
I grabbed his wrist and pushed his palm under my tank, over my bare waist. “And I still want this.”
Dex lifted his head.
His face had gone hard in a way that made my pulse pound. Not angry. Not cruel. Stripped down to the last bit of control he’d left.
“You’ll tell me if that changes,” he said.
“I’ll tell you.”
“And if I tell you to stop trying to steal my keys while my hand’s under your shirt?”
“I’ll consider your feedback.”
His thumb brushed my ribs.
I gasped before I could stop it.
Dex’s mouth tilted. “That wasn’t a no.”
“No, Tolliver. It was not.”
His hand slid higher.
My tank dragged up under his knuckles. Cool motel air touched my stomach, then the underside of my breast. His palm followed, warm and rough, and I stopped being clever for one full breath.
He felt too good.
Not just hot. Not just big and hard and close enough to use. His thumb brushed the lower curve of my breast, then higher, until he found my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra.
I arched.
He watched my face.
“Still want to make jokes?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, and my voice came out thinner than planned. “I’m just reorganizing them.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It’s a complex system.”
He pinched lightly.
My hips lifted against his before I could pretend otherwise.
Dex’s breath hitched.
Then his mouth came back to mine, and the next kiss wasn’t patient. It took. It pushed. It gave me exactly enough pressure to fight back against. I shoved at his shirt, and he let me pull it up. He broke the kiss only long enough to drag it over his head and drop it beside the bed.
The motel light caught the tattoos over his shoulders and chest, shadows over muscle and ink.
He wasn’t polished. He was work-built, road-built, with a small scar near his ribs and dark hair trailing below his navel into his jeans.
The crucifix still hung around his neck, the leather cord stark against bare skin.
I put my palm over the cross.
Dex froze.
Not away. Still.
I looked up at him. “Should I not?”
His throat moved. “You can.”
I closed my fingers around the worn silver and tugged him down.
He came.
His mouth found mine again, and I kissed him with the cross trapped between our bodies, cool metal warming fast where it pressed against my skin. His hand slid under my back, and suddenly my tank was up, my bra was dragged down, and his mouth was on my tits.
I forgot how to breathe.
Dex’s tongue moved over one nipple, slow once, then harder when I made a sound I couldn’t dress up as strategy.
His hand closed over my other breast. He wasn’t gentle now, not exactly.
He was careful in a way that made the roughness worse.
He kept checking me without asking too many questions.
Every pause gave me room to stop him. Every touch made stopping him feel like the stupidest possible use of freedom.
I dug my fingers into his hair and pulled.
He groaned against my skin.
The sound went straight between my legs.
“Dex,” I whispered.
He lifted his head. “Say that again.”
My name was still locked behind my teeth. His was allowed out, and he knew exactly what it did to him.
I smiled because letting him see too much wasn’t on the schedule. “Bossy.”
“You like it.”
“I like your mouth better when it’s busy.”
His eyes flashed.
Then Dex moved down my body.
He shoved the sheet aside, and the room’s cold air hit my bare thighs. His hand went to the button of my cutoffs, but he stopped there and looked up at me.
My heart beat so hard I felt it under my tongue.
“Yes,” I said.
He opened the button.
The zipper followed, tooth by tooth, too loud in the motel dark. I lifted my hips, and he pulled my shorts down my legs. My panties came with them, wet against my skin before he dragged them away.
Dex paused with the fabric in his hand.
His jaw flexed.
“What?” I asked, even though I knew.
He looked up my body. “You soaked these.”
Heat rushed into my face and lower, where my pussy clenched around nothing.
“Don’t sound so pleased with yourself,” I said.
“I’m not pleased.” He dropped the panties with my shorts. “I’m hungry.”
The words hit low and filthy.
I opened my mouth with a comeback ready.
Dex put his mouth on my pussy, and the comeback died.
He licked me slowly at first, one hot stroke from opening to clit that made my hands clutch the sheet. I bit my lip against the sound climbing up my throat. He lifted his head just enough to look at me.
“No hiding,” he said. “I want to hear you.”
“That’s a lot of confidence for a man on his knees in a budget motel.”
His hand slid up my thigh and held me open. “Trouble, if you’re still making jokes, I’m not doing it right.”
Then he lowered his mouth again and proved he knew how to correct a mistake.
His tongue found my clit, and my back arched off the mattress.
I grabbed for him, one hand in his hair, the other locked in the coverlet.
He worked me with rough, steady pressure, then faster, learning exactly how hard I liked it before I could hide the answer.
Every time my hips shifted, his hand followed.
Every time I tried to pull back from the edge, he dragged me right to it again.
The man was infuriating.
He was also very, very good with his mouth.
I shoved my fingers tighter into his hair. “Dex, fuck.”
He made a rough sound against me.
The vibration broke something loose.
Pleasure pulled tight through my belly, sharp and bright. My thighs trembled around his shoulders. I tried to swallow the next sound, and Dex slid two fingers into me, slow and deep, while his mouth stayed on my clit.
That finished the argument.
I came hard, hips lifting, breath breaking, one hand twisted in his hair and the other fisted in the ugly motel coverlet.
The orgasm rolled through me in hot waves that left my knees shaking and my chest tight.
I heard myself say his name again, not clever, not useful, not part of any plan I wanted to admit.
Dex stayed with me until I pushed at his shoulder because my clit had gone too sensitive.
He lifted his head, mouth wet, eyes dark.
I didn’t look away.
He moved up my body and kissed me. I could taste myself on his lips, salt and heat and him, and it made me pull him closer instead of pushing him off.
I caught his jaw before he could take over completely. “My turn.”
His eyes narrowed. “You don’t have to.”
“Did I sound uncertain?”
“No.”
“Then lie back.”
Dex stared at me, and I could see the exact moment he decided to let me have it.
He rolled onto his back.
The bed creaked under him. I pushed up on shaky knees and straddled his thighs, still half in my tank, bra shoved low, bare from the waist down. The arrangement was ridiculous.
Dex looked like he might die from it.
Good.
I slid down his body until I knelt between his legs. His hands fisted in the coverlet when I reached for his belt.
“Still trusting yourself?” I asked.
“Less than I was.”
“That sounded honest.”
“It was.”
The buckle opened. I pulled the leather free and dropped it beside his hip. His keys stayed in his front pocket. I knew exactly where they were. I would need them later.
Right now, I needed the man under me to stop looking controlled.
I opened his jeans. His cock pushed hard against the black fabric of his boxer briefs, thick and obvious, straining toward my hand. My mouth watered before I could make a joke about it.
Dex saw.
His jaw flexed.
I dragged the denim and briefs down enough to free him, and the first clear look at his cock made my breath catch.
He was big. Beautiful. Hard enough that pre-cum leaked from the tip and shone in the motel light.
I wrapped my hand around him.
Dex’s breath left him in one rough pull.
The sound satisfied something mean and hungry in me.
I stroked once, slow from base to tip, and his hips lifted a fraction. Not much. Just enough to prove I had him too.
“Careful,” he said.
“You keep saying that.”
“You keep ignoring it.”
“Maybe you should stop giving warnings you don’t want me to obey.”
His laugh came out wrecked. “You’re going to ruin me.”
“Only a little.”
Then I lowered my mouth over him.
Dex swore.
The word hit the ceiling and came back down hot.
I took his cock deeper, one hand around the base, the other braced on his thigh. He tasted like salt and heat, and the weight of him on my tongue made my thighs press together. His hand moved to my hair, then stopped like he’d caught himself before taking control.
I looked up at him.
He was propped on one elbow, chest rising hard, crucifix resting against his sternum, eyes fixed on me like he couldn’t look away if the room caught fire.
I took him deeper again.
His hand went into my hair.
Not forcing. Holding. Asking without words.
I hummed around him to answer.
Dex’s head dropped back against the pillow. His fingers tightened. The restraint in him was almost prettier than the breaking. I used my tongue, my hand, my mouth, learning the places that made his breathing go rough and uneven. He tried to stay still. He failed beautifully.
“Trouble,” he said.