Chapter 7 #2
“Miles,” she ordered and thrust her palm out, waiting for his. He obeyed—how could he do anything but? And then he died, just a little, when she brought his palm to cup her breast. “Touch me.”
Spell broken, his lips fell to hers just as her hand worked atop his—guiding him to please her.
The only thoughts his head could form centered entirely on the scent of Bella, the taste of her, the sensation of her nipple pebbled between his fingers.
When she slid her other shoulder free from the night rail and her breast met his chest, he swallowed her groan with his own. She let the flimsy fabric slide to pool in the fresh hay beneath them.
“Bella…” he breathed as he stepped back to admire her.
If she were any more beautiful, it would have hurt to look at her. As it was, West wasn’t certain he could ever stop.
He was staring like a slack-jawed fool, needed to say something, do something. But words perfect enough for that moment didn’t exist—certainly not in his head.
Her gaze shifted to one side, lips pursing and releasing. “Well?”
“Well, what?” he asked dully.
“You’re just…” standing there like a dolt. She shook her head, catching his gaze again. “If you’re not capable, I’m certain I can find other offers.”
He hid a smile beneath a growl. “I’ll show you capable.” His fingers slid down to span her waist, and he yanked her tight against him.
Nothing had ever felt more wonderful, more right, than her body slotted against his as his lips found her neck once more—tracing the trio of freckles there.
They’d tempted him for far longer than he was willing to admit.
And they tasted like the cool autumn air in the barn and her soft, spicy scent.
Bella’s fingers threaded in his hair as her other hand bumped along his spine.
His lips trailed down, tongue dipping into the divot at the base of her neck—saltier there, addicting. And then, then West did the thing he’d thought about more often, and for much longer than he ought to have.
He claimed her nipple between his lips.
Four perfect fingernails dug into his back as she gasped his name, arching into his mouth. His cock gave an appreciative throb at the sound. Shamefully, he was rutting against her thigh like an animal, but he couldn’t have stopped for the world. He set about driving her as mad as he was.
Both of her hands slid down his flank and snuck beneath his breeches, grasping his arse.
He groaned her name against the breast he was worshiping.
She slid her hands around to the front of his falls and began working the buttons as he traced the underside of her breast with his tongue.
There were new freckles here—he’d never paid enough attention to the stars to name their constellation.
“Bella,” he warned, as she popped another button.
“Miles,” she chirped back, then shoved the fabric down his waist.
And then her smooth, exquisite hand found his cock.
He pulled back to catch her gaze. “Fu— Bella, Bella, Bella. What are you—”
“I should think it obvious.” With her free hand, she shoved his breeches as far down his thighs as she could reach, the other working along his prick. He made the fundamental mistake of glancing down to see that magnificent hand working along his reddened flesh.
It was clear she was inexperienced; she explored, her touch tentative and unpredictable. But nothing had ever felt better. And the sight, the sight would live with him as long as he had breath. Those elegant fingers danced over his flesh…
His tongue darted out to wet his impossibly dry lips as his gaze flicked to her. Her attention was fixed on her hand, teeth gnawing on her lip.
“Tell me what to do.”
“I… You don’t need to—”
She shook her head, umber eyes catching his. “Tell me what to do,” she repeated.
West swallowed, heart hammering away. With a shuddering breath, he wrapped one of his hands around hers.
The difference was stark—silky smooth, pale skin engulfed by rough, tanned flesh—stark and erotic.
There was no mistaking Arabella Sinclair for anything other than a lady. And that lady’s hand was on his cock.
Together, they worked him up and down at the tempo and pressure he preferred.
She gave an experimental twist of her hand on the downstroke, and his knees threatened to give way.
“Alright, alright—” With more reluctance than he thought possible, he pulled her hand away.
“Wha—”
He cut her off with a quick kiss. “About to fall over, darling.”
“Graceful.”
He nipped playfully at her pleased smirk before carefully urging her to the blankets below, then stumbling after her.
Propped on one elbow above her, he chased away the nervous set of her mouth with his own.
“Bella,” he whispered against her lips. His throat bobbed with a swallow, and she pressed up on her elbows to lick at the knot there.
Her name fell from him again on a groan.
“Show me what to do,” he asked, craving the same guidance she had requested—needed it to ensure this moment was as wonderful for her as it was for him.
She pulled away, eyes wide. “What?”
“Show me how to touch you.” West tucked a loose strand behind her ear.
“But you’re not— You’ve done this before.”
“Not with you.” He dipped his nose to brush hers before trailing it along her throat, inhaling her essence. “Never with you.”
Bella caught her lip between her teeth before releasing it along with a shuddering breath. Then she gathered his hand in hers.
Together, they slid along her inner thigh, up, up, up.
West watched their joined hands with interest as they approached her dark blonde curls, his heart in his throat. Impossibly gently, they glided—together—over the petals of her sex. His obscene groan entirely overtook Bella’s delicate moan. She was soft and wet for him and everything lovely.
“Here,” she whispered, directing two fingers to the button at the apex of her thighs.
She guided him until his palm pressed against her mound and her bud was wedged between his index and middle fingers.
His fingertips dragged along her opening.
Once, twice, she demonstrated the rocking motion she preferred, her hips working in time.
He caught her lips with his, matching the cadence of her movements. When she was satisfied that he understood the rhythm of her body, she left her pleasure to him, drawing her hands down his body in long, luxurious strokes as she encouraged his efforts with breathy moans.
With each pump, she grew damper against his fingertips.
He practically drooled at the thought of tasting her; she would be musky with that hint of spice that always lingered inexplicably on her skin.
But such a thing surely wasn’t done with a lady—not that anything else he’d done that night ought to be done with a lady.
Carefully, he slid one fingertip into her opening, just teasing.
Once again, her hand reached for his cock and found the now familiar motions with ease. West bit off a curse.
And then, she shocked every last thought out of his head: she parted her thighs wider and guided his cock toward the crevice between them.
“Bella—”
She shook her head, silencing the feeble protests at the edge of his tongue.
He swallowed the lump that overtook his airway, nodded, and dropped even lower above her. The overgrown strands of his hair brushed her forehead.
With a surprising confidence, Bella drew him toward her center. Breath fled his body when their most private flesh met. Aligned, her hands caught the curve of his arse and urged him inside. Nothing had ever, would ever, feel so incredible as the slick, wet, burning heat of Arabella Sinclair’s sex.
As he sheathed himself fully inside her—unthinkingly fast—his heart stopped. Tiny pinpricks dug into the cheeks of his bottom. Bella’s fingernails loosened one at a time as the furrow smoothed from her brow and her umber eyes met his—flecks of gold flickering in their depths.
“Alright?” he breathed.
“I— yes.” She nodded, one hand dragging along his side to his shoulder blade. Tentatively, she shifted her hips, and his cock slid another inch inside her, knocking a soft huff from her.
“Again?”
Her responding eye roll had a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Do you require step-by-step instructions?”
“Wouldn’t complain about them.”
“Pull out,” she demanded. His hips responded to her command without any prompting from his own head. “Thrust in.” Again, they complied. “Repeat until you achieve the desired effect.”
“‘Desired effect’?” he quoted with a laugh. A pretty rosy flush surged across her cheeks and crept up her chest—where her nipples brushed his. Even as he teased her, his body knew its orders—whatever Bella wanted.
“Do you really intend to argue semantics?”