Chapter 11 – Drew #2
“I didn’t let anyone touch me after you,” she said quietly, fiercely. “After Chicago. After that first night. I couldn’t—” She stopped, shook her head. “I didn’t want anyone else.”
Something cracked wide open in my chest.
I released her wrists, brought one hand up to cradle her jaw. My thumb brushed across her cheek, and she leaned into the touch like she’d been starving for it.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” I whispered.
“Probably.”
My hand came up to her jaw, my thumb tracing the fullness of her bottom lip. Her breath hitched, her eyes locked on mine, wide and waiting.
Then I kissed her.
Not fast. Not angry. Not desperate like the times before. There was no frantic crash of teeth, no punishing grip. This kiss was slow, deliberate, like I was trying to memorize her. It was a question, a confession, and a surrender all at once.
I took my time, learning the shape of her mouth, the faint taste of her, the way her lips parted with a soft, yielding sigh. She made a small sound in the back of her throat, a sound of giving in that shot straight to my cock.
My hand slid from her jaw, fingers tangling in the soft hair at her nape, tilting her head to deepen the kiss.
Hers came up, not to push me away, but to grip my shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric like she was anchoring herself.
I slanted my mouth over hers, and her tongue met mine.
Not a battle, this time. A slow, wet, deliberate exploration.
I pulled back, just enough to breathe. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown, her lips wet and swollen.
“Cassandra,” I whispered.
I didn’t rip her tank top off. I gathered the hem in my hands, my knuckles brushing the soft, bare skin of her stomach. She lifted her arms in silent permission. I tugged it over her head, my eyes never leaving hers, and tossed it aside.
She was in a simple black lace bra. I didn’t tear it off. I traced the edge of it with one finger, from the hollow of her throat, down her sternum, to the front clasp. She shivered.
“Drew,” she breathed, a plea.
My mouth found the pulse in her throat, and I kissed it, tasting the frantic beat. I trailed kisses down her collarbone, over the swell of her breast. “You’re so beautiful,” I murmured against her skin.
I unhooked the bra, letting it fall away. Her tits were perfect, nipples tight and aching. I didn’t just grab them. I took one in my mouth, licking it, sucking gently, my thumb stroking the other peak. She cried out, her fingers tightening in my hair, her hips trying to press against me.
“Slow,” I whispered, moving to her other breast, giving it the same attention until she was panting.
My shirt followed, her hands helping me, her palms sliding over my chest, leaving trails of fire. Her shorts were next. I unzipped them slowly, my fingers brushing the soft skin of her hips as I slid them down. She stepped out of them, leaving her in nothing but a pair of tiny lace panties.
I kneeled.
My mouth trailed from her navel down to the elastic waistband. She gasped, her hands fisting in my hair. “What are you…?”
“I want to taste you,” I murmured, my breath hot against the thin fabric.
“Please,” she breathed.
I hooked my thumbs into the lace and pulled them down slowly, revealing her. She was already wet, her sex slick and glistening, her folds pink and swollen. I parted her with my thumbs, and my tongue found her clit.
She screamed, a sharp, sudden sound, her hips bucking off the floor.
“Shh,” I soothed, holding her hips steady, “I’m just learning you.” I licked her slowly, deliberately, tasting her, making her unravel. I took my time, tracing her, lapping at her, until her legs were trembling and she was on the very edge.
Only then did I stand. I kicked off my own jeans and briefs. I lifted her into my arms, and she wrapped her legs around me as I carried her the few steps to the couch.
I lowered her onto the cushions, following her down. Her eyes were locked on mine, wide and open. Vulnerable.
“Drew,” she whispered, her voice shaking.
“I’m right here,” I said, brushing her hair from her face. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I positioned myself between her thighs. She was so open for me. I didn’t thrust. I pushed into her, one slow, deliberate inch at a time. Her breath hitched. Her eyes fluttered shut.
“Look at me, Cass.”
Her eyes opened. I pushed deeper. I watched her face as I filled her, felt her body stretch and adjust, her inner muscles clenching around me. It was the tightest, hottest I’d ever felt. “Fuck,” I breathed, resting my forehead against hers.
No rush. No power play. Just this. Her hands on my back, not scratching, but holding. My lips on her throat, not biting, but kissing. I began to move, a slow, deep, rocking rhythm. She moaned, a low, deep sound, and her hips rose to meet me.
Every thrust was a vow I couldn’t name. Every slow, wet slide was a promise I shouldn’t make. I wanted to stay like this, inside her, for hours. “God, you feel good,” I whispered.
She whispered my name over and over, “Drew, Drew, Drew,” and each time, it sounded less like control and more like surrender. Her nails finally dug into my shoulders as the pleasure built, her hips matching my rhythm perfectly.
“I’m…close,” she panted, her voice tight.
“Let go,” I urged. “Come for me, Cass.”
I changed the angle slightly, going deeper, hitting a spot that made her entire body lock. Her back arched, and she came apart beneath me, her inner walls spasming around my cock in a way that ripped my own control to shreds. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
I followed her over the edge seconds later, not with a roar, but with a deep, shuddering groan, burying my face in her neck, breathing her in like she was oxygen and I’d been drowning. I spilled myself into her, my own body trembling with the force of it.
I was still half-buried inside her, our bodies slick and cooling. I could feel her heart beating a steady, calming rhythm against my ribs. I should have pulled away. Should have let her breathe.
But I was too fucking greedy.
I shifted my weight, propping myself up on one elbow so I could look down at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips swollen, her face flushed and peaceful. I brushed the damp hair from her forehead.
Her eyes fluttered open, dark and dazed. “Drew?” she whispered, her voice rough.
I didn’t answer. I just lowered my head and kissed her again, slow and deep. She tasted like mine. She sighed into my mouth, her arms coming up to wrap around my neck, pulling me closer.
I started to move.
It wasn’t a thrust, just a slow, small shift of my hips, a reminder that I was still there, still filling her.
Her eyes went wide, a sharp gasp leaving her lips. “Drew….”
“Shh,” I murmured against her mouth. I slid out of her, almost completely, making her whimper at the loss. Then, with deliberate, agonizing slowness, I pushed back in, sinking myself to the hilt.
“I’m not done with you,” I growled, my voice low.
This time, there was no hesitation. The tenderness was still there, but it was sharper, edged with a raw, possessive hunger. I didn’t need to learn her anymore. I knew exactly what she felt like. I knew how to make her move.
I set a slow, grinding pace, my hips rocking, pressing her, my pubic bone rubbing against her clit with every deliberate, deep thrust. I watched her face, making her feel it. Her hands fisted in the couch cushions, her knuckles white.
“That’s it,” I praised her, my voice thick. “Take it.”
I leaned down, my mouth finding her breast again, sucking hard, pulling a taut nipple between my teeth as my hips kept their relentless, steady rhythm.
She was unraveling, and I was the one pulling the thread.
“Drew, I’m…I’m going to…” she panted, her head tossing from side to side.
“I know,” I said, my pace quickening, becoming harder, faster. The slow, deliberate surrender was over. This was a claim. I drove into her, my hips slamming against hers, the wet, percussive sound filling the room. “Come for me again, Cass. Right now.”
Her back arched off the cushions, her body locking tight around me, her inner muscles spasming in a climax that was even stronger than the first. It was a beautiful, desperate, broken sound as she screamed.
“Oh…my…God!”
I felt her contractions milking me, pulling me over the edge. I drove into her one last time, a final, claiming thrust, my own release tearing through me. As I emptied myself inside her, I buried my face in her neck and growled against her skin, “Not God. Just me.”
We lay tangled together afterward, her head on my chest, my hand in her hair. Neither of us spoke. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t ruin this.
But as I felt her breathing even out, felt her body relax into sleep, one thought circled in my head like a warning:
I’m in love with her.