13. Celeste #2
Josiah rose from the floor without breaking the kiss and sat on the edge of the bed.
His hands came to my face first, thumbs beneath my jaw, holding me steady while his mouth moved over mine with slow, focused heat.
Then his palms slid beneath the loose edge of my sweater, warm against my shoulders, circling there until my body started leaning toward him before my pride could organize itself.
His voice rasped against my mouth. “I don’t rush what I plan to keep.”
He kissed the corner of my mouth, my jaw, then beneath my ear, lingering there until my fingers tightened in his shirt.
His mouth trailed down the side of my neck, kiss after kiss, unhurried and devastating, while his hands moved over my shoulders, down my arms, around my waist, across my back. He touched me like he was learning me.
I tipped my head back.
Josiah murmured against my skin. “There you go.”
My eyes closed.
His hands tightened at my waist, not enough to trap me, only enough to remind me he was there. Watching everything I gave away without words.
He kissed his way back to my mouth, and I opened for him with a sound I couldn’t catch in time. His hand slid to my back, thumb brushing beneath the band of my bra, and the small pause that followed had my pulse stumbling.
“I want this off,” he uttered.
“Take it off.”
The words left me breathless, but they were mine.
His eyes darkened.
He lifted the sweater slowly, watching my face as the fabric slipped over my head and fell somewhere beside us.
Cool air brushed my skin. His gaze lowered, and the hunger in his face made my nerves flare, but he didn’t let me hide from it.
When my hands twitched toward my chest, he caught them and kissed my knuckles.
Josiah’s voice scraped low. “Don’t cover what I’m trying to honor.”
My throat tightened.
“You’re gorgeous, Celeste.”
His mouth returned to mine, deeper now, and his palms moved over my waist, my back, my hips, my stomach.
He didn’t grab at me like he was taking inventory.
He learned me with pressure and patience, like every curve gave him another reason to slow down instead of hurry.
When his fingers found the clasp of my bra, I answered before he could ask.
“Yes.”
His breath left him hard.
The straps slid down my arms. The bra followed. Then his hands covered my breasts, warm and sure, and my back arched before I could pretend I was still composed.
Josiah watched my face while his thumbs moved in slow circles.
He massaged me with a rhythm that made my body loosen and tighten at the same time, pleasure gathering beneath every touch.
His mouth moved down my neck again, along my collarbone, then lower.
When his lips brushed the curve of my breast, I gasped and gripped his shoulders.
His eyes lifted to mine. “Still with me?”
“Yes.”
That was all he needed.
His mouth returned to my skin, warm and deliberate. I felt his beard against my chest, his breath along my stomach, his hands at my hips, and the room narrowed to the places he kissed and the places still waiting for him.
We undressed slowly, with breathless laughter when denim caught on my ankle and I muttered something unholy beneath my breath. Josiah laughed against my thigh, and I covered my face because there was no dignity available when a woman was half naked and emotionally compromised before sunrise.
He kissed my knee. “You fuss at everything.”
“I’m nervous.”
“I know.”
“And my jeans are disrespectful.”
“They’re gone now.”
“Good.”
His smile flashed, wicked for half a second, then disappeared beneath focus as his mouth trailed from my knee to the inside of my thigh.
Kiss after kiss. Slower each time. His hands moved over me with patient possession, not rushed, not greedy, just sure enough to make me feel surrounded.
My thighs. My stomach. My waist. Back to my breasts, where his palms covered me again until my breath forgot every bit of training it had ever received.
I arched into his hands before I could stop myself.
Josiah lifted his head, his mouth near my hip, his eyes dark enough to make my whole body go still.
His thumb brushed the inside of my thigh. “Let me take care of you.”
“Please.”
He kissed lower, and my head fell back against the pillow.
“Josiah,” I whispered.
His voice vibrated against me. “I’m right here.”
My fingers slipped into his braids and held on. I apologized on a broken breath because I didn’t know what they were doing anymore.
Josiah laughed softly, and the vibration nearly took me out.
“Don’t apologize. I like knowing where I’ve got you.”
My eyes squeezed shut.
Josiah’s voice rasped against my skin. “No, baby. Don’t hide from me.”
I looked down at him, and the sight of that man between my thighs, watching me like my face mattered as much as every sound I made, loosened something deep in my chest.
“There you go. Stay right there with me,” he coaxed. A sound left me before I could stop it. “That’s it. Let me hear you,” he growled. His fingers pressed into my hips. “Good. Just like that,” he praised.
Pleasure built low and deep, spreading until I couldn’t tell if I was trying to get closer or get away from how much I felt. My hands found his hair again, and his groan came rough and pleased.
“Josiah, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Let it come, Celly,” he uttered against my thigh.
The name, the pressure, the patience, all of it broke something open.
He returned to me with the same hungry focus, and I stopped fighting the way my body wanted to fall apart. My back arched. My fingers tightened in his braids. My breath caught somewhere between his name and a sound I couldn’t own.
“Let it go for me, baby,” he rasped.
Pleasure rolled through me hard enough to steal the air from my lungs.
My body bent toward him while he held my hips and stayed with me through every wave.
He didn’t rush away like he was finished because I was.
He kissed my thigh, my hip, my stomach, then worked his way back up my body slowly, leaving heat everywhere his mouth touched.
By the time he reached my lips, I was trembling.
He kissed me softly, and I tasted myself on him.
“You with me?” he asked.
“I’m with you.”
His hand moved over my cheek, then down my side. “Good.”
I stared up at him, undone and wide open, and saw the restraint still holding in his shoulders. He’d put his own hunger aside long enough to learn mine first.
Something in me softened so much it scared me.
“You’re dangerous,” I whispered.
“No, Red. I know exactly what I’m doing with you.”
He reached toward the nightstand and grabbed the small foil packet. He tore it open, protected us, then came back over me with a kiss.
Josiah pressed his forehead to mine. “Breathe with me.”
I did.
He moved into me slowly, careful enough to let my body make room for him and close enough to make my thoughts scatter. The fullness startled me. My fingers dug into his shoulders, and before the sharp breath in my chest could turn into nerves, he covered my mouth with a soft kiss.
A low moan slipped from him, restrained and rough, and his hips went still.
“Celeste. Damn, baby.” He breathed against my lips.
The words came out uneven, like the feel of me had caught him off guard too. His jaw tightened. His eyes stayed on mine. For all that strength over me, for all that heat pressing between us, he held himself still and let the moment settle.
“You feel so good. Give me a second,” he whispered.
That did something to me.
Not because it was polished.
Because it wasn’t.
Because he wanted me badly enough for his control to shake, and still, he chose to take his time.
His mouth brushed mine again. “Easy. I’ve got you.” His hand slid beneath my head, cradling me. “Look at me, Red,” he rasped.
My eyes opened before my pride could argue.
The name hit me low and warm, different from baby, different from love, like he’d pulled something private out of his chest and placed it against my skin.
“Red?” I whispered.
His hips stayed still, but his eyes didn’t leave mine.
“Been calling you that in my head since the salon.” My breath caught.
“I was trying to behave,” he murmured. He kissed me softly, and the ache in my body settled into something warmer.
“There you are,” he whispered. A tear slipped before I could stop it. He kissed it away. “Too much?”
I shook my head. “Just a lot.”
His voice stayed steady. “Let your body catch up. I’m not going anywhere.”
My fingers loosened against his shoulders.
“That’s it. There you go,” he murmured.
He waited until my breathing changed, until the tightness in me softened into something warmer, something willing. When I moved my hips beneath him, his jaw flexed.
“Celeste.”
“I’m okay.” His eyes searched mine. “I’m more than okay.”
Something in his face broke open.
Then he began to move.
Slow at first. A deep, careful drag that made my fingers curl against his shoulders and my lips part beneath his.
The sheets whispered under my back. His chain brushed cold against my chest, then warmed between us.
Sandalwood and amber rose from his skin every time he shifted over me, mixed with citrus, heat, and the salt gathering at his throat.
He tasted like mint and me.
The thought should’ve made me shy.
Instead, I kissed him deeper.
His breath broke against my mouth.
That sound did something to me.
I slid my hands down his back, feeling muscle gather and release beneath my palms. His body was all control above mine: arms braced, shoulders tight, jaw working like he was biting down on everything he wanted to do too fast. His hips kept the same slow rhythm, but his breathing gave him away.
Every time I lifted into him, his inhale snagged.
Every time my nails dragged lightly over his skin, his fingers pressed harder into the sheet beside my head.
I saw it then.
He was taking care of me, but he was fighting himself too.
Something warm and bold slipped through my nerves.
I wanted to give him some of that feeling back.