Chapter 14 #3
His chest heaved with each harsh inhalation, and she clutched at his back, his arms, his hair, for purchase in the maelstrom. His horns fit perfectly in her palms, smooth and hard.
Fumbling in her hurry, she released them and hooked her fingers into the back of his pajama pants’ waistband instead, and—
His hand slid between them and inside her own pajama pants. Coasted over her belly and paused right above the spot where she really, really wanted that hand to go.
“Yes?” The question was urgent, his face flushed.
“Yes,” she breathed, then immediately gasped when those hot, agile fingers combed through her hair and slowly stroked her apart.
Her fists dropped from his pants, falling limply to the mattress as he explored her with characteristic thoroughness. His satiny fingertips slipped through her growing slickness. Caressed gently, testing which spots made her twitch and which ones prompted a helpless moan.
When he rubbed her vulva between careful knuckles, she arched toward him. And when he circled the sensitive entrance to her body with his thumb, dipping inside her the tiniest, teasing bit, her hands flew to his horns again and held on tight.
The heat of his touch, the pleasure of it, dizzied her, and he watched her lose herself to him. Studied each flicker of her lids and each time her mouth dropped open at some new flick of his fingertips.
Bracing her feet on the mattress, she lifted to meet him. To demand more.
“Here,” he murmured. “Does that feel good?”
She nodded frantically. “Please, Hugh. Just—oh.”
His hot fingers were so blessedly long as they sank inside her. So blessedly knowing as they curved and pressed, even as his thumb finally—finally—skimmed tender loops around her clit.
“Pretty Gwen.” His tongue swirled over her earlobe, hot enough to sting beautifully. “Can you come for me, do you think?”
She choked on a laugh. “I don’t…don’t think that’ll be a problem.”
Even though it had been a problem many, many times in her past. But now—
A sudden rush of heat washed over her clit, liquid warmth teasing her to madness. The wave licked over her, then retreated. Returned. Again and again.
She gasped and writhed, overcome by the unfamiliar sensation, the shocking pleasure.
It had to be Hugh. She’d never felt anything like—
His thumb slid over her clit too. Massaged her there in a subtle rocking motion, even as that sinuous flood of heat lapped back and forth in relentless incitement. A third finger circled and stroked her entrance before sliding inside, stretching and filling her, and—
She cried out, far too loudly, as white-hot conflagrations ignited behind her squeezed-shut eyelids. Sobbing, she cracked into a million sparkling pieces in his arms as her climax racked through her.
He spoke against her mouth, his voice raw. “There you are. Take your pleasure.”
Her body pulsed against and around his still-stroking fingers, and he drank her moans from her parted lips as she arched and trembled.
Those steady laps of inexplicable heat over her clit coaxed each twitch from her swollen flesh until—an eternity later—all the taut, needy tension in her limbs transformed into lax, satisfied heaviness.
As she relaxed, his touch turned light and soothing.
The heat over her clit faded to cozy warmth, and his fingers slipped out of her.
He didn’t remove his hand entirely, though.
Didn’t impatiently direct her own hand or mouth to the very obvious, very insistent erection tenting his cashmere pajama pants.
Instead, he molded his palm between her thighs. Cupped her there gently as her body calmed. And when her eyelids fluttered open, he was watching her with a look she’d never seen on anyone’s face before. Not directed at her, anyway.
Solemnity. Longing, maybe.
Reverence, she’d say, if she didn’t know better.
“You are so lovely, Gwen.” His free hand cupped her cheek, and he pressed the softest possible kiss on her mouth. “Thank you.”
Her eyes kept closing against her will, but she managed a sleepy smile for him. “I should be the one giving thanks. Hugh, let me…”
With heavy arms, she reached for the waist of his pajama pants again, intending to push them down and give him the same pleasure he’d freely, generously offered her.
Instead, in a flurry of movement she couldn’t quite follow, he repositioned them both. The next thing she knew, he was lying flat on his back, his slim, strong arms tugging her against his side once more. After resettling her head on his chest, he pulled the covers up to her neck.
Once he’d arranged them both to his satisfaction, his chin nudged against her crown, and his even, slow breathing ruffled her hair.
She hoped his delicious campfire scent settled into the strands forever so she could always revisit this glowing firefly of a moment.
This one fleeting instant when everything was soft and warm and bright and nothing hurt.
“Going to return the favor in just a minute,” she murmured, and he pressed a kiss to her head without comment.
The next thing she knew, it was morning. She was alone, retching and bleeding and terrified.
And then Hugh’s apartment was on fire.