Chapter 21 - Annabelle
Chapter twenty-one
Annabelle
He sets me on the edge of the bed, hands braced on either side of my hips like he’s caging me in. My jeans press into the mattress, and suddenly I am acutely aware I’m still fully dressed.
He looks me over slowly.
“You in jeans,” he murmurs, low and sinful, “is gonna be the death of me.”
I smirk, hooking a finger in his belt loop. “Solve the problem, detective.”
His exhale turns ragged. “Oh, I’m solving it.”
He pulls my sweater up, impatient, not rough, and I lift my arms. It flies somewhere behind him.
His eyes drag down my body like gravity itself is jealous.
“Fuck, you look good,” he mutters.
I laugh breathlessly. “You remembered.”
He groans softly, one of those sounds that shoots straight between my legs.
Then he kisses me again, hard, deep, and hungry. His hands slide into my hair, down my back, and under the band of my bra.
“Take it off,” I whisper.
He does. Fast. Skillfully. Like he’s practiced on the idea of me.
The way he breathes when he sees me topless makes my stomach flip.
“Annabelle…” His voice cracks in the middle. “Jesus.”
I grab his jaw and pull him in. “Touch me.”
He obeys instantly, his hands cupping me, mouth closing around my nipple, tongue teasing until I arch so sharply it almost hurts.
I thread my fingers in his hair. “Bryce…”
He pulls back just far enough to say, “Lie back.”
I do.
And he kneels.
And suddenly the way he looks at me is not hungry, it’s reverent.
He palms my calf, slides his hand up my thigh, slow, hot, deliberate. When he reaches the button of my jeans, he glances up.
“You know,” he murmurs, “These jeans make your ass look so hot I get hard just looking at you in them. I was distracted on the ice when I saw you. You wearing these tonight should be illegal.”
“Break the law.”
He swears softly and unbuttons them, tugging denim down my hips. I lift to help, inhaling when the cool air hits my skin.
He drags my jeans off with my panties and sits back on his heels like he needs a second to take me in.
“You look…” He shakes his head. “Fuck.”
I open my legs just enough to tease him. “Come here.”
He doesn’t. Not yet.
Instead, he lowers his mouth to my inner thigh and kisses...slow, lingering, wicked. My breath stutters.
“Bryce.”
“Yeah?” His breath ghosts over where I’m aching. “Something you want?”
“You know what I want.”
“I do,” he says, and then his mouth replaces his voice.
One long, slow stroke of his tongue.
My hips jerk.
He slides his hands beneath them to hold me still. “Easy, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
Sweetheart.
My brain shorts out.
He licks me again, deeper this time, and I whimper out a string of syllables that might once have been words.
He groans like he’s the one being touched. “You taste unreal.”
My fingers fist in his hair. “Don’t stop...don’t...”
He doesn’t.
And when he sucks gently, right where I need him, I shatter fast, my back arching, breath breaking, everything inside me tightening and then dissolving all at once.
He holds me through all of it, kissing me softly as the tremors fade.
“Come back to me,” he whispers against my thigh.
“I’m trying,” I breathe. “Give me a minute to locate my limbs.”
He laughs, low and warm, and climbs up my body, kissing my stomach, my ribs, my breasts, my throat.
Then he kisses my mouth.
I taste myself on him and moan into it.
His inhale is sharp. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“Good,” I whisper, gently flipping him onto his back.
His surprised grunt is… glorious.
I swing a leg over him, straddling his hips. His hands slide to my thighs, gripping, pulling me closer.
“You’re trouble,” he says, breath uneven.
“Correct.” I reach for his shirt. “Sit up.”
He does, and I peel it off him, one button at a time...slow, deliberate, like unwrapping something precious. I just stare at him for a moment.
He watches me with dark, heavy eyes. “You like looking at me?”
“Do women crave chocolate during PMS?” I shove him back onto the mattress with a wicked grin. “Now shut up and brace yourself.”
He does not shut up.
Not when I kiss down his chest.
Not when I tongue the line of muscle beneath his ribs.
Not when I reach his belt.
“Annabelle…” His voice is a warning and a plea in one.
“Yes?”
“You’re gonna make me...”
“That’s the plan.”
When I take him into my mouth, he swears, loud and broken...his hips arching before he forces them still.
“Jesus, you’re…” His hand fists the sheets. “Slow down or I’m not gonna last.”
I lift my head just enough to say, playful, “Then last better.”
He groans like I’ve physically injured him.
I keep going anyway, slow, teasing, using my hand and mouth together the way I know will undo him.
His breath gets ragged. “Annabelle… baby… stop, I want...”
I pull back, wiping my lips with the back of my hand. “You want?”
He sits up in one motion and kisses me hard. “You. Now.”
He flips us so fast I yelp and he laughs into my neck.
Then he settles between my thighs and pushes into me in one smooth, deep stroke, and the sound I make would get me arrested in several states.
“Oh my God,” I breathe. “Bryce, more. I need more.”
His forehead drops to my shoulder. “You feel so fucking good.”
He moves slowly at first, deep and steady, his body pressed to mine, his breath hot against my skin.
And then he hooks his arm beneath my knee, lifting it, opening me wider.
Not rough.
Not showy.
Just… intimate.
I start to pant, clinging to his back. “Do that again.”
He does.
And the new angle is obscene, in the best possible way. My legs are nearly above my head.
“Look at me,” I whisper.
He does, eyes dark and blown, and the room disappears.
We move together, desperate and sure, like we’ve wanted this, not just the sex, but this, for longer than either of us admitted.
“I’m close,” I whisper.
“Me too,” he groans, kissing me hard, messy, perfect. “Come with me, sweetheart.”
The word breaks me again.
I fall apart with a cry, my whole body tightening around him. He buries his face in my neck, swearing as he follows, his hips stuttering, breath breaking.
We collapse together, tangled and shaking.
For a long moment, there’s only the sound of our breathing and the faint hum of the city outside.
Eventually he rolls to his side, pulling me with him, tucking me against his chest like he’s afraid to let go.
“You okay?” he murmurs, kissing my hair.
I laugh, dazed. “Sir, I no longer possess bones.”
He smiles against my forehead. “Good.”
I trail my fingers down his chest. “If this is your idea of not making plans…”
He tilts my chin up gently. “Annabelle?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m in all the way.”
"You just were," I giggle.
"Seriously."
I calm down. “Me too.”
He kisses me once as if to seal a deal. “Then that’s our plan.”
Wrapped in his arms, skin still vibrating with aftershocks, heart still pounding, I think...
Yeah. It is.