Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Lucia
I've doomed myself. I'm entirely sure of it, but there's no stopping now. No turning back. I need Dawson.
He's so careful, making room for his body between my thighs. One small shift of his body is all it takes to reveal what a few kisses do to him. I can't blame him, not when my skin is currently flushed and feeling on fire.
I want him to touch me. Not just on my face, but on the rest of me.
I bend my knee, trying to shift closer, but a sharp flare of pain shoots straight up my leg. A tiny groan slips past my lips—half pain, half pure frustration—and Dawson freezes instantly. The heavy warmth of his body pauses, his uneven breathing fanning over my face in ragged pants.
Before he can pull away and change his mind entirely, I'm reaching out to him. Not wanting this to already stop, I lean up to meet him.
"I'm fine." Before the reassurance can barely leave my mouth, his large hands hook beneath my thighs and lower back.
With a single, effortless tuck of his arms, he lifts me clear off the cushions. The sudden rush of being airborne makes me gasp right against his lips, my fingers instantly clawing into the solid muscle of his shoulders for balance.
"The couch is too small to risk hurting yourself." Explaining himself in small grumbles, he moves us in the direction of his bedroom. The same place we'd spent far too long kissing this morning.
Once he gently sets me down against the rumpled blankets, he’s right back on top of me, his heavy frame settling flush between my thighs.
Instead of kissing my lips, his mouth drags slowly down my cheek, leaving a trail of scorching heat before finding the hollow of my throat where my pulse is racing wildly.
My body arches on instinct, curling up to meet his mouth as he inches lower. When his lips press against my collarbone, he lets out a heavy, ragged sigh that blasts hot air across my bare skin.
"I don't want you to leave," he murmurs right against my skin, the vibration of his low voice sending a wicked shiver straight down my spine. I twist my fingers into the fabric of his shirt just to hold on. "Not tomorrow, or the day after."
The words sound permanent. Too good to be true.
My breathing hitches, growing faster and faster. "Dawson..."
He lifts his head to meet my gaze, his large hands clutching the blankets on either side of my shoulders so hard his knuckles turn white. He is looming over me, a wall of pure muscle and heat, trapping me in his space.
"I've got a feeling that if I let you slip through my fingers, it's going to be the biggest mistake of my life," he growls softly, his dark eyes scanning my face with a desperate kind of hunger. "I never wanted to risk letting my heart feel something again..."
He shifts his hips, his hard length pressing unmistakably against where I'm most sensitive through our clothes, making me gasp.
"...but the damage is done. It's out of my hands. I want you, Lucia."
His honesty strips away the last of my defenses, leaving my heart completely exposed. I look up into his desperate eyes, and the final wall inside me crumbles to dust.
"I always thought this mountain was a terrible, merciless place," I whisper, my voice shaking as I reach up to cup his jaw, feeling the rough scratch of his stubble against my palms. "But it has something incredibly good on it. You."
Dawson’s jaw tightens beneath my fingers, his chest expanding with a sharp, heavy breath.
"The mountain is wonderful," he murmurs, his gaze burning so hot I can feel it against my skin.
"You just need someone to show you. And I'll do it.
I'll do whatever it takes to make you say yes to me.
I want to share my space with you. All of it. "
The sheer, possessive weight of his words makes my head spin. Instead of wondering if all this is really happening, I want to grip the disbelief and make it a reality.
"Yes," I breathe out, the word a helpless surrender against his lips. “I’ll… I’ll give it a chance.”
That’s all the invitation he needs. His mouth crashes back down onto mine, and the hunger is absolute.
He devours me, his tongue tangling with mine like a man starved.
I arch up into him, my hands moving from his jaw to lock tightly behind his neck, pulling him closer until nothing else but this man takes up my view.
Suddenly, he breaks the kiss with a ragged gasp. The loss of his mouth leaves me whimpering, but he doesn't pull away completely. He hovers over me, his chest heaving, before his eyes drag down the length of my body to where my injured ankle rests gently against the blankets.
"I don't want to hurt you," he rumbles, his voice thick and rough with an arousal so intense it vibrates through my own skin. "But I want you so badly I can't think straight."
I bite my lower lip, my hips unconsciously tilting up toward his heavy frame, entirely consumed by the ache between my thighs. "If we're careful... it'll be fine."
Another deep groan tears from his throat.
Moving with hesitance, his large, calloused hands slide down to the waistband of my sweatpants.
They’re his, and far too big for me. He is incredibly gentle as he hooks his fingers into the fabric, working the thick material down over my hips, sliding it carefully past my knees and completely freeing my legs from the heavy clothes that had been swallowing me up.
He tosses the pants aside, but he doesn't plunge back over me. Instead, his gaze travels slowly back up my bare thighs before his eyes lock onto the center of my underwear.
Right where the pale cotton is visibly darkened, completely damp from how much I’m craving him.
My next breath catches in the back of my throat when I suddenly feel his thumb pressing against that wet patch.
"Am I correct in assuming you've never had a man lick you here before?" A little more pressure and I'm bucking my hips to get a little more friction.
I've barely touched myself, let alone anyone else down there. So, easily, I nod my head to his question.
A soft, pleasant hum leaves Dawson at my answer. The way his eyes drop back down, I can’t even imagine what he’s thinking.
His thumb drags across the damp cotton one more time before his fingers hook into the elastic of my underwear. He slides the fabric down my legs with agonizing care, mindful of my bad ankle, until the last layer that hides me is tossed to the floor.
I’m completely bare beneath him now, my pulse hammering in my ears, but he doesn't let me hide. His large hands slide up to grip my hips, pinning me gently to the mattress as his gaze drops. He just stares as he takes in the sight of my flushed skin and the glossy, weeping slit of my pussy.
The sheer intensity of his stare makes me want to squirm, to close my legs, but the grip of his hands keeps me right where he wants me.
"Lucia..." His voice is rough, thick with a silent praise that makes my head spin. He looks up, his eyes locking onto mine, looking so hungry, my stomach clenches. "Unbutton your shirt for me."
My hands are shaking so badly I can barely function, but I reach up anyway, my fingers fumbling blindly against the first button at my throat. The fabric parts open, exposing a fraction of my skin.
Just like that, I watch this man battle himself over where to look. Even more, once I’m three buttons in, revealing my chest. My breasts, hardly impressive, catch his attention like they’re perfect enough to win an award.
Squirming as I fight with the fourth button, his hands squeeze my thighs.
"Don't move," he commands softly, the hint of a growl making my toes curl on their own. "The couch was bad enough. I’m not letting you injure yourself any more tonight. Just lie still and let me have you."
Before I can even process the breathless rush of his words, his hand slides between my thighs.
His calloused thumb finds the very top of my slick opening, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves with a slow circle.
A helpless gasp tears from my throat, my back arching off the mattress on instinct. My fingers freeze on the next button of my shirt, entirely paralyzed by the sudden wave of pleasure.
Dawson watches my face, his own jaw clenching as he uses his fingers to gently part my outer lips, fully exploring the wet, unknown heat of me. He presses deeper, his thumb sweeping through the glossy moisture he created from nothing but our heated kisses.
I try desperately to focus on the next button, wanting to give him what he asked for, but my coordination is completely gone.
My hands drop uselessly against my chest, my fingers curling into the fabric of my half-open shirt as another heavy wave of pleasure rolls through me.
Not with what he’s doing to me down there.
Not when every stroke of his hand is turning my entire body into one big puddle against his mattress.
Satisfied with what he’s doing to me with his thumb alone, he presses his face into the apex of my thighs.
The first touch of his tongue is a broad, hot stroke that sweeps from the bottom of my opening all the way to the top.
My fingers instantly dig into the rumpled blankets beside my head as a shiver rolls straight down my spine. He’s so impossibly warm, his mouth a contrast of soft heat and rough, unyielding hunger against my sensitive skin.
I’ve never heard the noises leaving my lips. They’re not just moans but cries of overwhelming pleasure.
He groans right against me, parting my lips completely with his fingers so he can press deeper, burying his face in my wetness. His tongue laps at me with a heavy, rhythmic suction, pulling a helpless whimper out of me.
I lose count of how many times his name leaves my lips. Running on repeat, it feels like that’s the only world left that I know. Anything else is too confusing, too complicated.
I try so hard to stay perfectly still, terrified of moving my injured ankle and ruining the sheer perfection of what he’s doing to me, but the pleasure is too vast, too consuming to contain.
While my bad leg stays carefully pinned, my uninjured leg bends at the knee, my foot digging hard into the mattress as my thigh tenses, trembling violently with the desperate need to buck against his mouth.
Dawson catches the movement, his large hands sliding up to grip my hips even tighter, pinning me down so I don't accidentally twist. He lifts his head for a fraction of a second, his lips slick and shining with my moisture, his stare ravenous.
"You are the sweetest thing I've ever tasted,” he confesses, his voice thick. "Sweetest fucking thing in the world."
Before I can even process the praise, he plunges right back down. He focuses entirely on the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top, his tongue swirling over it in tight, agonizingly perfect circles while his fingers slide just slightly inside my tight heat.
The combination is devastating. The friction builds so fast it turns my vision hazy.
I'm completely trapped beneath him, caught in a storm of heat, the scratch of his stubble against my inner thighs driving me absolutely crazy.
My uninjured leg locks, the muscles in my thigh shaking as the tension in my lower body winds up tighter and tighter until it snaps.
"Oh, wait—” Tightening my grip on the blanket enough to make my hands shake, I can feel my body reaching its limit. “Dawson, I'm—"
The orgasm hits me like a wave, dragging me under. My hips lift instinctively, a loud, crying sob tearing past my lips as my walls clamp down around his fingers.
Instead of backing off, Dawson trembles in return, his grip on my hips turning concrete as he holds me steady. He drives his tongue right into the center of my climax, licking me through every single throb and spasm of my release.
I’m completely breathless, my chest heaving as the waves finally begin to slow, leaving me limp beneath him.
Slowly, he drags his mouth away, though his hands remain heavy on my hips. He looks up the length of my body, completely breathless, a satisfaction burning in his eyes. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to the inside of my trembling, uninjured thigh before meeting my gaze.
"I could taste this every single day," he murmurs, planting a vow that roots straight to my heart. "Every day for the rest of my life, and I'd never, ever get tired of it."
As good as that sounds, I’m not sure I’d be able to keep up with him. Is every orgasm going to feel this intense?
Dawson pulls back, shifting to sit on his heels. The cool air of the bedroom hits my damp skin, but the heat returning to his eyes is scorching. My gaze tracks lower, catching the tight, strained stretch of fabric between his thighs. He’s still completely hard, his own hunger barely scratched.
A wicked little shiver runs through me. We aren't even close to finishing.