Chapter 18 - Mikhail #2
“Mik,” she murmured, her eyes still tightly closed. As if she didn’t want to open them and face me. She didn’t say anything else, and I kissed her gently on the mouth.
Lifting her up, I carried her upstairs, neither of us saying a word.
She held on, keeping her face averted from mine, her cheeks glowing pink.
As much as I wanted to continue this, I took her to her room.
As soon as I opened the door, she stiffened, and when I settled her on the bed, she found her voice again.
“You’re not leaving?” It wasn’t quite a question, and the indignant tone of her voice was almost the same as when she told me just how horrible my glasses were, but this time it wasn’t from anger.
My only answer was to drop onto the bed beside her and pull her back into my arms. With a satisfied groan, she twisted to get on my lap, bouncing once on my rock-hard cock.
“What’s happening?” she asked, smiling as I claimed her mouth again.
Zero to one thousand in seconds flat. There was no denying the chemistry that bubbled up between us, threatening to boil over.
I recognized it the moment I saw her, even when she was just a pain in the ass.
Especially then. It was confirmed at the brewery in Napa Valley and reignited again right now.
I pulled her neatly tucked blouse out of her skirt and slid my hands up her smooth back. One flick of my fingers and her bra was loose, and I trailed my fingertips up her sides to dip underneath the band to run my thumbs across her taut nipples.
My cock pulsed at her soft moan, and I did it again until her back was arching and her head fell back.
I pulled all her thick, luxurious hair out of its ponytail, marveling that this was the first time I was seeing it in all its golden glory.
Gripping a handful, I nipped at her throat, holding on as I leaned backward until she was straddling me on the bed.
Planting her hands on my shoulders, she finally made eye contact with me, blushed, then smiled. “I’m still mad at you,” she said.
“I might remember to be mad right back,” I said. “Not now, though.”
“Yeah, I guess it can wait.”
Letting go of her hair, I moved my hands down to begin easing her skirt up her hips while she ran her hands up my chest to start unbuttoning buttons. She ground against me, freezing when I nudged my fingers between her thighs and under her panties.
She was so damn wet, and the sound she made when I found her swollen clit had me wild. I watched her eyes drift shut as I teased her, finally growing impatient and flipping her onto her back to shove her panties aside.
I had to taste her, needed to lap up her pussy like I needed to breathe. More. And it didn’t seem like she was going to complain about it, either. Finally, something I did right. Her legs locked around my shoulders, her skirt pushed up to her waist, and I delved my tongue deep inside her.
There wasn’t a single thing on my mind. Family problems and the restaurant might as well not have existed. There was only Laurel and her sweet moans. The way she gripped my hair and my shoulders. The way she tasted, her soft skin under my palms.
Her hips began to rise, and a long, low moan rose in pitch as she squeezed her legs around me. I held on, driving her over the edge, barely holding on myself as she came.
“Mik,” she gasped as I rose. She reached for me, lost in lust, and so damn beautiful, spread and glistening for me.
I yanked her panties all the way off, tossing them across the room. My pants were around my ankles in another second, and I kicked them aside, pissed off that I wasn’t already deep inside her.
And then I was groaning with the delicious agony as her tight pussy spasmed once more around my cock.
“Fuck,” I said.
“Yes,” she agreed, rising up on her elbows, her chin lifted for a kiss.
I gave her whatever she wanted, wrapping my arms around her to hold her close while I drove deeper. “Yes,” she repeated, holding on tight.
Now this was a honeymoon.
“Laurel,” I growled. “I’m going to come inside you. And you’re going to come with me.”
I let go of her so she fell back into the pile of silly throw pillows, her hair spread all around her, a glazed look of concentration on her face.
She dug her fingernails into my shoulders as I slid my fingers down her belly to circle her clit while I pounded her body, my desperation growing. It felt like I had been waiting for this for a lifetime.
“Now,” she said, voice shaking, nails driving deeper into my flesh. “Hurry.”
The moment she tightened around my shaft, I let loose and roared, the wild sound mingled with her laughter. Finally, I fell on top of her, and her arms circled me, holding me close.
Until she made a strangled noise and I realized I had gone semi-comatose, feeling the aftershocks of her orgasm as I slowly slipped out of her. Rolling over, I reached for her, pulling her half on top of me.
“That was amazing, but not enough.”
Her cheeks blazed pink again, this time from exertion and not anger or embarrassment. “I’m not tired at all,” she said. “I don’t know why we ended up in bed.”
“Always finding something to argue about,” I said, tapping her on the nose, then jumping out of bed to pick her up. “Let’s find somewhere else to be, because I’m not finished yet.”