Chapter 17
The moment Sawyer’s mouth crashes over mine, I hold my breath and pray this isn’t another dream. This whole night has felt like an otherworldly experience. I haven’t been myself. The woman I normally am would not behave like this. She doesn’t drink beer at common bars and dance barefoot with strangers on crowded, dirty floors. She doesn’t let loose and enjoy the simplicity of music and a hot man’s company.
The woman I’m expected to be is a refined, proper, and distinguished one, set apart from all the other women in the world, with manners and decorum.
It’s certainly not this wanton example I’m showing Sawyer, clinging to him and kissing him back just as hard. This isn’t who I’m supposed to be, but under his heated stare and exposed to his warm body, I can’t help it. I can’t even think about putting a stop to it or protesting his firm yet soft lips sealing over mine.
And I don’t.
I’m not sure who I am in this moment, but I know that I want to follow his lead. I can only go with his direction and hope he—or this lapse in my judgment—doesn’t hurt me in the end. The mere thought of saying no thanks or resisting this attraction that’s been sizzling between us all night is abominable.
All I want to do, all I can do, is trust that he’ll help me through this sexual panic. That he’ll give me what I want without needing me to request anything. He can see it. He has to feel it in my touch and my kiss. If he’s oblivious to how badly and desperately I need his mouth on mine and his hands gripping me tight, I’ll go insane.
If he can’t understand how much I need him but can’t make myself vulnerable to ask or beg, I don’t know what I’ll do.
He breaks the kiss, parting from me with inches hanging between our parted lips.
“You’re wrong,” he repeats. “You are a beautiful, brave woman, Claire.”
His words hit me hard, and I want to believe each one. I tip my face up to his, eager for more.
“Every.” He pushes the strap of my shirt down over my shoulder and lowers to press an openmouthed kiss to my skin there.
“Single.” As he trails his wet lips up along my neck, he shoves the other strap off my opposite shoulder. I shiver, both from his affectionate statements and his hot tongue dragging over my sensitive flesh.
“Inch.” Tugging with both hands, he pushes my shirt down. He nuzzles his mouth up toward my ear, kissing, licking, and teasing me. My shirt is flimsy, and my bra is more for show than support. Exposed to the air with one layer removed, my nipples bead instantly.
“Do you understand me?” he whispers into my ear before he moves his mouth toward me and presses a tender kiss to the corner of mine. I close my eyes at the heat of him surrounding me. The hotness of his kiss. The warmth of his hand pressing at my back. Then, the searing intensity of his fingers as he reaches up to rub my nipple through my bra.
“Do you—”
“Sawyer, I don’t know what the hell you’re saying,” I whine and wrench my eyes open to pout at him hopelessly. “I can’t—I don’t want to think right now. All I want is…” I swallow at the smoldering desire in his eyes. I’m doing this to him. Me. I’m the woman making him stare at me with that ravenous gaze.
“Tell me,” he orders quietly as he tugs the cup of my lacy bra down. He doesn’t wait for my instructions. Gripping my sides, he easily picks me up and closes his mouth over my breast. His teeth clamp down slightly as his tongue flicks at my nipple. The dual sensation of pain and pleasure rockets through me, building a naughty tension in my core.
“Yeah,” I choke out the reply, dropping my head back as I wrap my legs around his waist. I thread my fingers through his hair and hold on tight, determined to keep his face at my breasts. “This.”
“This?” he growls against my breast. He moves his mouth to the other one, still hidden by my transparent bra. His lips close over that nipple, too, and with a harder suction into his mouth, I swear I’m dripping wet.
“All of it. All of you.” I won’t beg, but it seems he hears the need beneath my shaky admission. He’s already moving me to the bedroom. Sucking my nipples and laving my breasts, he unerringly navigates his way to the one bed. It’s supposed to be mine tonight, but I’ll be damned if he doesn’t invite himself. Words are beyond me. I can hardly catch my breath with the rapid pace of my pulse. Between his teeth and tongue, I’m already delirious, and neither of us is naked.
He doesn’t need to speak either, not with words. As he lowers me to the bed, his hands convey what he thinks of my needs. He’s ready and willing to give me what I want, unable to cease kissing for more than a second to gasp for air, but not until he can see me.
When he struggles to remove my shirt, I distract him by unclasping my bra. With a dirty growl, he gazes at my tits and loses track again, kissing and groping with an increasingly faster and more frantic pace.
“Baby…” He cups them both, staring reverently as he swipes his thumbs over my hard nipples again. “I’ll give you anything you want.”
“Just this. You.” I pull him back to me for a hard kiss, and he follows me down to the mattress, proving his words. In a fumble of too many hands and way too much clothing, the process of getting me bare seems to take too long. I can’t manage the zipper of my skirt, but he can. He delays while dragging my panties down my legs, but I kick them off quickly. It’s unfair how one-sided he keeps this, but each time I reach for his buckle or zipper, and every chance I get to grip the hem of his shirt, he dodges my attempts.
“No. This time…” He presses his big hand over my stomach, keeping me flat on the bed as he crawls down. “This time is all about you.”
I blink, staring up at the ceiling and trying to concentrate through the hazy fog of desire twisting my mind. All about me? I’ve never received such a dedication. Through all my twenty-three years on this planet, I haven’t had such stark and utter consideration given to me, with nothing expected in return.
Then, once he fastens his mouth to my entrance, licking and sucking with vigor and without pause, I lose all trace of thought. I can only feel, and the wickedly good sensations he has coursing through my every fiber are out of this world.
A shivering streak of pleasure spirals through me, lighting my nerves on fire. The tension of a building orgasm coils tighter within me, and my muscles clench. He doesn’t let up, not when I grip the sheets and cry out loudly. He doesn’t retreat, not even when I clamp my thighs around his head and keep him there. And when I buck, arching my hips because I’m so sensitive to the sensual stroke of his tongue within my wet, throbbing entrance, he pushes his face onto me harder, doubling down on making me come.
I do, floating on a wave of pure ecstasy I haven’t felt in a long, long while, so distant that I can’t recall if Owen ever made me explode like this. I’m not sure any man I’ve been with has gotten me off as expertly as Sawyer just has, and I’m not inclined to consider anyone else attempting it.
Stop. Stop thinking like this. It’s absurd, and after all, sex is just sex. This is physical. Sawyer is determined to prove his point and drill it into my mind—for the night—that I’m worthy of his praise and compliments.
“Like that?” he asks, crooning in that husky, deep voice.
I want him to climb up here and kiss me. For as quickly and powerfully as he got me to come, I need some kind of aftercare. But he doesn’t move. Stroking my entrance with his fingers, he slows his ministrations and prolongs the climax. Smaller, lighter waves of my orgasm grip me, and all I can manage are gasps and moans.
“Or are you not done yet?”
He pairs that tease with another dip down of his mouth on me. My clit is too sensitive, and as he sucks on it, trying to make me come again, I cry out even louder.
“I—”
Crap. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. He’s overwhelming me, but again, he somehow knows.
“What?” he asks, peering up at me as he kneels on the bed.
I lick my lips, panting as he peels his shirt off and tosses it to the side. It’s my own private strip show, and just watching him reveal his hard body for me fuels my desire all over again, no matter how sensitive I feel from the lack of sex in my life.
“I want…” I pause and lick my dry lips again, eager for water. After all the alcohol, all the dancing, then this intense orgasm, I feel like I’ll be dehydrated forever.
He stands, lowering his jeans and boxers together while keeping his eyes locked on mine. At the sight of his long, thick cock jutting into the air, I mewl and reach out for him.
“No. This time is for you.”
Does that mean another time will follow? Soon? Because I adore the way he wants to worship and prioritize me, but I feel deprived of tending to him and his needs, too.
He rolls a condom on, still gazing at me with that deep stare of hunger. Before I can think to reply or argue, or even string along a coherent sentence, he climbs back over me. Hovering and flexing all those rock-hard muscles as he braces himself, he reaches for me again.
In a flash, he hooks his hand beneath my thigh and pushes my leg up, giving himself a better angle to enter me. The stretch of his cockhead is a delicious burn. When he slides into me hard and steady, driving his erection all the way in, I growl and clutch at his back, uncaring if my nails score and mark his skin.
It feels that good. Too good. And if he doesn’t move soon, I’ll go crazy. I’ve never felt so full, so stretched, and eager for that dragging slide of his veiny dick against my inner muscles.
“Please.” I kiss his neck, and he grunts. Leaning closer, he wipes my juices off his face, rubbing them onto the pillow. Then, as he turns his face to me, he kisses me deeply and pulls out. The second full pump into me is more forceful, and I can’t get enough of it.
Over and over, he thrusts into me and devours my mouth with sucking, demanding kisses that could almost make me come alone.
This is no delicate time ruffling the sheets and chasing a quick orgasm. He’s pounding into me with full-body friction, shoving the linens and pillows into disarray.
This isn’t a simple act of slotting his cock into me with just enough thrusts to get himself off and hurry to the shower, kissing me here or there to remind me I’m not alone. This rugged man is owning me, taking command of my body, and bringing it alive in a dirty, wonderful way.
I’ve never had a lover like this. I’ve never been so entirely consumed by a man. Because he is already my master, pulling a second, and even more forceful, orgasm out of me. I shatter and cry at the blissful release, and as I milk him, he stills deep inside me, groaning as he reaches his pleasure, too.
I don’t know how long I lay there. We both doze off, but over the course of the night, we do manage to find the covers and snuggle under them together.
After that restful, deep slumber, though, I wake alone.
No. It couldn’t have been a sex dream. As I sit up, feeling the aches and sweet soreness between my legs, I sigh. It was real. Silky smooth sheets caress my bare skin as I sit up fully. I so had sex with Sawyer last night, but he’s no longer here.
My heart races, because instead of waking in his arms and easing into a greeting after that momentous night we shared, I now face his return with anticipation.
I don’t have long for nerves to build up. Not wanting to be caught in bed when he’s already up and about, I slide out of bed and rub my eyes. I don’t have any excuses to hide behind now. There is no freaking way I can ignore or avoid what we did last night, and I panic, wanting to know what my story should be so I can stick to it.
As I slide my arms into a robe and tie it, he strides in. He’s already dressed, carrying two to-go cups of coffee. “Hey, you’re up.” He smiles, but there’s nothing special or secretive about it. He’s not giving me that knowing, cocky grin that suggests he’s thinking of something naughty. He’s not even speaking in a tender tone. Just casual. Whatever, like this is any old day, and I’m just another random person who shared a bed with him.
And it hurts.
It burns. This…coldness pierces me, but as soon as I recognize that I feel so wounded, I slap on a mask. We just had sex. Nothing more. But still…
I smile. “Yep. Sorry to keep you waiting.” It kills me to be so cavalier like this, to play along with his attitude. It’s crystal clear that he has no intention to treat me as a lover, as a woman he wants to worship. I’m just…Claire. I take the coffee, eager for a prop, for anything to focus on instead of trying to figure out why he’s acting like this.
As I take the cup, though, I almost drop it. Then, so off-kilter and riled up while trying to hide it, I overcompensate and almost trip over my own feet. This clumsiness isn’t like me. His stare is too potent on me, and I know my cheeks are burning up as I fidget under his gaze.
“You okay?”
I nod too quickly and gulp my coffee, effectively scalding my tongue.
“You seem jittery.”
“Nope.” I press my tongue to the top of my mouth, wishing I could cry; it hurts so bad. Damn coffee!
“Oh. I get it. You…” He rubs the back of his neck, arching one brow at me. “You wanna talk about last night.”
“No!” I hold up my hand and force a fast smile. He sure as hell doesn’t want to, and I’m not strong enough to explain why this sudden distance hurts. I knew nothing could happen between us, but apparently, I can only believe it after proving it with a huge mistake.
“Cool. Me neither.”
That’s freaking obvious.
“So, we’ll just, uh, hit the road then.” He smiles, but it lacks that warmth I’ve grown accustomed to. And right now, hating how quickly he’s dismissing me, I feel cold and alone, wishing I’d never come here with him at all.