Chapter Fourteen #4
“Sky,” I warn, but I’m not quite sure what I’m warning him of.
He grins, cheeky and mischievous. “Hm? No? Maybe this, then.”
His lips land on my neck, nipping at me, dropping wet kisses in his wake as he goes.
It’s intoxicating—Skylar being over me like this, so dominant and sexy. I’m being thoroughly fucked by just his lips and his words, his wandering hands and his rolling hips. At this point, I might just come in my pants.
And I wonder, for a moment, how something this lovely can be so wrong. How could it be a crime to look at this man and want to cultivate everything that he is?
“You’re drunk,” Skylar says against my skin, regaining my attention. “When you breathe, I can taste the booze on you. It’s hot.”
“You’re not exactly sober yourself,” I point out, feeling the silk of his hair on my chin as he works my neck generously.
“Hm. Ture. But even sober, I want you this badly. Ever since you touched me that first time, I’ve wanted you.”
My mind replies, I have wanted you for much, much longer, though I do not say this.
Instead, my hands roam his bare chest, feeling his hot flesh beneath my fingers, and I let it spur me on.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty, Sky. Fucking gorgeous sitting on me like this,” I ramble.
He sighs, loud and dreamy. “I love it when you talk to me like that. Like you’re obsessed.”
“So damn obsessed,” I assure him, fingers digging into the meat of his ass as he draws patterns on my jaw with his tongue.
“Fuck me,” Skylar suddenly demands, and I startle, catching his eyes as he leans back enough to stare me in the eyes.
“What? Are you sure you want that?”
He nods, desperate and needy. “Please.”
“But you’re a virgin. I-I’d be taking your virginity. You don’t want it to be special?”
Skylar tilts his head at me, as if he thinks I’m stupid. “Is this not special? You’ve been my best friend for years. When I look at you, Everett, I see something that belongs to me. And by law, in nature, that means I belong to you. Take it. Show me what real pleasure feels like.”
I have him flipped under me so fast—so fast, in fact, that the squeal that leaves him doesn’t make an appearance until seconds after he’s stationary against the mattress.
“Whoa,” he breathes out.
“I’m going to destroy you,” I whisper against his mouth, so fucking charged with need, with desire to own him the way he’s been mentally claiming me.
Skylar moans, arching his body into mine like a house cat searching for the hand of its owner. “Do it.”
I bite into the flesh of one of his pecs, hearing his hiss of pleasure and pain, a sexy, sadistic mixture. His nipples pebble, giving me exactly what I need to bite them, lick at them like they’re my favorite flavor of ice cream on a hot, sunny day.
Amidst all of the lust and the bliss I’m feeling there is a part of me that is taking the backseat to my desire—and that part is terrified that I’ll wake up tomorrow and this will have all been a dream.
That I never left Rockhill; that I never managed to pick myself up off the ground.
Because the feeling of his skin, the sound of his voice, and the reality that he’s here with me and he wants me is so unrealistic, so far out of my realm of possibility that I think I might be hallucinating. I might be dreaming.
I am so happy right now, so incredibly content that I’m scared of it. But it’s taken the backseat; I can fear it tomorrow. Tonight, it’s just him.
It’s all Skylar and nothing else.
Once his nipples are red and sore, I drag my teeth over them painfully. I have no room for gentleness, not tonight. Not with the liquor coursing through my blood, with Skylar beneath me begging to be torn apart.
“Evie,” he gasps. “More.”
I have his pants and briefs off a moment later, my eyes hungrily taking in his leaking cock and trembling thighs.
“More, puppy? You want more?” I coo. He nods frantically, little curls bouncing with the movement as his hands tangle into my hair. “Say please. Tell me how good you feel.”
He groans as I bite at his hip bones, the tip of his dick rubbing against my face. “Please, more, you asshole. I feel good—so fucking good. You always make me feel so fucking good.”
The choked moan that leaves me is obscene. I suck him down, enjoying the taste of him, the hot weight of his length on my tongue.
Skylar is gasping under me, dick pulsing as the tip hits the back of my throat. Instinctively, I swallow around him as I choke, fingers running up the inside of his thighs, closer and closer to his hole with each pass.
I can feel the building tension inside of him. Never quite close enough to come, but close enough to drive him crazy.
Suddenly, a thought comes to me, and I pop off of him to ask, “Do you have lube?”
Skylar shakes his head. Of course he doesn’t; why would he? For some reason, this makes me happy.
“Well,” I continue, “then maybe we don’t—”
“Spit,” he demands.
“But that will hurt. It’s not a good enough lubricant.”
His glare is a fiery thing, lighting me up and going straight to my painfully hard erection.
And then he opens that sinful mouth and says, “Then hurt me, Everett.”