Chapter 18 #2
As soon as she gave permission, his eyes dropped immediately. Feet planted, so tense his body shook with nearly imperceptible
tremors, he surveyed her splayed body in silence. His feverish stare swooped over her, lingering between her legs for several
thudding heartbeats as she melted beneath its heat. His expression changed as he studied her there. Turned possessive, like
her body belonged to him. Famished, like a man starved.
The chill from the window had vanished, and she was sweltering again. Flushed and aching with unslaked desire. She shifted
her ass, desperate for friction, and her needy body clenched around nothing.
Ruddy color glazed his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose as he continued studying her. His nostrils flared with each harsh
inhalation, and a vein at his temple throbbed rapidly.
There was no impartial judgment here. Not even a hairbreadth of cool distance. When he finally tore his eyes from her pussy,
they devoured her breasts, the swell of her belly, and the dimpled softness of her thighs in voracious, lingering sweeps.
At long freaking last, he stepped closer again. Reached for her. But not in the way or toward any of the places she’d anticipated.
His hand clasped hers. Lifted her arm out straight and gently rotated it until he could brush a finger over her outer elbow.
“Always loved the dimples here. Thought about them for two damn decades. Pictured touching ’em.”
The least practical corner of her soul swooned at that, although she’d have sworn to anyone that souls didn’t actually exist.
Eager to touch him in return, she freed her hand and reached for his jeans-clad erection.
He shook his head. “Not yet. Lose control if you do that.”
“Really?” Her glower was only semi-faked. “You’re still denying me your dick?”
He lifted a burly shoulder, unapologetic. “Seems like. That a problem?”
Honestly? Even though she was hungry to get her hands on him and make him feel as good as he was making her feel, she was enjoying this pillow princess gig too. At least for now. The utter unfamiliarity of receiving more than she
gave to a man was kind of intoxicating.
With a lazy flick of her wrist, she flopped back against the pillows. “Go ahead and pleasure me, then. I’ll just lie here
and take it.”
“Appreciate your cooperation, Dearborn,” he told her, sounding amused.
His smile faded as he refocused on her body, his expression turning intent. Slowly, he skimmed his knuckles over the soft
skin of her inner arm, from shoulder to wrist. Traversed the swell of her cheek with a light stroke of his thumb. Had her
flex her thigh so he could admire the muscles there. Urged her onto her belly so he could rub his bristly cheek along the
length of her neck, up to her hairline. Trailed a palm down her spine, then skipped her ass entirely to wrap his fingers around
the sturdy curve of her calf.
“When we volunteered at HHB?” His voice was a rasp, quieter than she’d ever heard it. “You’d lift your skirt to climb over
barriers. Saw your legs in those thick white stockings a dozen times. Wanted to get my hands on them so goddamn badly. Thought
about them at night. Jerked off to them in the shower.”
She turned her head toward him on the pillow. Smiled tauntingly. “I’d gladly jerk you off myself while you touched my legs, but you won’t let me.”
He glared at her. Then kept exploring without another word, each touch a tribute to every overlooked part of her. Only . . .
those details hadn’t truly been overlooked, had they? He’d noticed them. Noticed and admired.
Something about that made her eyes prick with tears.
By the time he finished paying homage to her shoulder blades, her ankles, her hair, she was trembling, overwhelmed by physical
need and emotional upheaval, seconds away from sliding a hand between her own legs and taking care of the need he’d stoked.
Once he had her on her back again, though, there was no mistaking the increased urgency suffusing every bit of physical contact.
Without hesitation, he reached out and ran his thumbs over her nipples. Tweaked them boldly as she sucked in a sharp, pleased
breath. Plucked at them until they were hard enough to ache, each little pinch echoing in her clit.
She lifted eagerly into his touch. Snapped her thighs shut and squeezed them together, because some pressure was better than
nothing.
His palms cupped her breasts, and he lowered his head between them. Lightly rubbed his beard against the sensitive flesh there
until she helplessly giggled and squirmed. Still bent over the side of the bed, he slid his chin higher, into the crook of
her shoulder, and dragged his open, hot mouth up her neck as his right hand smoothed over her belly and down lower.
“Stop,” she panted, because yes, she wanted that big hand between her legs again. But until she’d actually seen him naked
too, explored his body too, given him pleasure too, she intended to wait for her next orgasm. “Time for turnabout, Dean.”
The moment she slammed on the verbal brakes, he froze. Wrenched himself away from her, eyes wild with need.
She met his dark stare boldly.
“Strip.” If the pillow princess intended to become the reigning queen of his dick, his clothing needed to disappear. Right
now. “Slowly.”
Part of her wanted to do the job herself. But she’d be touching him soon enough, and she’d undress him next time. This time,
as he’d said earlier, she just . . . wanted to look for a while.
Maybe more than a while. Maybe more than a month, even.
Heaven help them both.