Chapter Fourteen #3
“Your turn.” I raised myself onto my elbows.
I should feel awkward, right? Sprawled out naked in the bedroom I’d grown up in, still coming down from an orgasm, while a fully clothed man who had just finger-fucked me rose to his feet in front of me.
But it wasn’t awkward. I didn’t feel ashamed.
I just watched as Alex took a step back, then a second one, and my heart beat a little faster.
“My turn?” He raised an eyebrow, his voice throaty and dangerous.
“You want to see? What you do to me? How you make me feel?” He reached behind his neck for the collar of his T-shirt, pulling it up and over his head.
He let it fall behind him and I sucked in a breath.
He was pale, paler than I would have expected from someone who performed outdoors under the sun.
But renaissance faire costumes covered a lot, so I let myself take in his fair skin, dotted with freckles on his shoulders and a furring of light brown hair on his chest. The silver ring on its brown leather cord rested just over his heart, the way I’d pictured it.
I let my gaze travel down, over those abs I’d fantasized about for way too long, where his chest hair turned into a single line, trailing down his stomach and disappearing into his jeans.
My hands itched to touch him. But I pressed my palms flat onto the bed, making myself wait the way he had with me.
It was a sweet torture as he pushed down his jeans and boxers together, and as he straightened up again my gaze went right to his cock.
It bobbed in front of him, hard and curving up toward his stomach.
“This.” His hand closed around himself, a practiced movement.
“This is all you. What you’ve done to me.
What you’ve always done to me.” He started to stroke himself, slowly at first, obviously enjoying the feel, the pull.
I felt a pull myself, deep inside. I wanted him.
I wanted all of him. But I made myself stay still, made myself watch, as his strokes became longer, faster, rougher.
“Oh, God,” he said. “Caitlin.” My name was a prayer, falling from his lips, his hand moving faster, his hips starting to buck, and I couldn’t take it anymore.
I wanted it to be my hands on him. My mouth on him.
I didn’t move consciously, but before I knew it I was on my knees in front of him, my mouth closing over the tip of him, his hand falling away as my own hand curled around him.
He gave a hoarse cry as I sucked him down, relaxing my throat, wanting to feel the choke of him.
His flesh was smooth and hot across my tongue and I felt the throb, felt him growing harder against my tongue, my hands clutching at his hips for purchase.
But he didn’t allow it for long, hauling me to my feet almost immediately. No more words now, he took my face between his hands, kissing me deeply, desperately. I tasted him, I tasted myself. We tasted so good together.
His hands on me were electric, leaving little shocks everywhere, and I skated my hands up his back, learning the way his muscles shifted under his skin.
Before long we were stumbling, kissing, touching, tasting our way back to my bed, Alex making a desperate grab for his jeans along the way.
He fumbled first with his wallet, then with the condom inside, rolling it on as I let my mouth get acquainted with the ridges of his stomach.
He tasted just as good there as he did everywhere else, and it didn’t take long for him to push at me, laying me out beneath him like a banquet and he was starving for me.
I was still wet, he was still impossibly hard, and he slid inside of me like we’d always done this.
I grabbed for the edge of the mattress as he grabbed for the headboard.
I pulled my legs up, winding them around his hips, taking him in deeper.
“Caitlin.” Now my name wasn’t a prayer, it was a declaration. All the way inside of me, his hips flush against mine, he rocked, a delicious friction that made me see stars. He was everywhere. He was everything.
I didn’t think I could come again. I didn’t know if I wanted to come again.
But he grasped my hand, pulling my fingers into his mouth, sucking hard.
Before I could react he moved that hand down, between our bodies.
He knew I knew what to do. As his thrusts devolved into a shudder, it didn’t take many strokes before I began to shudder too, spasming around him as we both gasped out our pleasure, capturing our eventual sighs into long, slow kisses as our bodies slowed down.
I wasn’t sure how long we lay there, my head nestled in the hollow of his shoulder, his fingers winding themselves in my hair, but by the time I raised my head night had fallen completely and the moon was high in the sky, shining through my bedroom window.
Slowly, carefully, I rolled to my stomach, folding my hands on his clavicle. We stared into each other’s eyes, sated and happy. There was only one thing that would make this night even more perfect.
“I’m starved,” I said. “How do you feel about garlic parmesan wings?”