When his hands slide from my face to my shoulders, I move mine to the backs of his and ease them down over my breasts. Once I’ve done it, it’s like signing a permission slip and he’s off running. I guess he felt he needed that consent from me before he went there.
And then he really, really went there.
“I’ve thought of you like this,” he said, his voice husky as he palms my breasts, my nipples hardening to an almost painful degree. The slight friction isn’t nearly enough, and I want to mewl as he lets his fingers replace his palms.
He’s gentle at first, pinching ever so lightly, yet still whispering in my ear.
“I’ve pictured you like this.”
“Really?” My voice is almost a squeak and he nods.
“Abso-fucking-lutely. Over and over in this very position.”
He lets his teeth graze my earlobe. “I’ve imagined you topless and wet, writhing against me. I’ve imagined coming here every night for the last month and a half.”
His lips brush at my neck, then he leans back to meet my gaze.
“Baby, I’ve pictured nothing but your face, your body, every time I’ve touched myself.”
Holy. Fuck.
I cry out when his mouth slides over the flesh of my breasts, then hovers just above a hardened peak.
“Tell me you want it,” he said, his eyes meeting mine.
I know that the desire he sees in my gaze is more than enough permission, but he wants to hear me say it. And I want to say it to him.
“I want this.”
And I practically choke on a cry as he takes the nipple into his mouth and sucks hard—no pretense, no gentle ministrations. He doesn’t need to ramp me up and he knows it. I’m already there. I feel like I’ve been right there since the day I met him.
“Yes,” I hiss, digging my fingers into his scalp, loving the feel of his hair in my hands and wondering how long I can drag this out, how long we can make this go on until we realize that something has to stop us—common sense or morality or whatever it is.
“God, Hyacinth,” he murmurs, pulling back to place a kiss between both breasts, then moving on to the other nipple. “You are sugary sweet, baby—I knew you would be. I knew you’d be delicious. I feel like I could fucking OD on you.”
I don’t say anything to that, but every word he’s saying, every movement he’s making, is sinking beyond my belly button to my neediest flesh below, where I’m slick and wanting and completely irrational. Where I’ve needed him for what feels like an eternity and where I’m dying to have him now.
“Please,” I cry softly, not for the first time. Once again, I don’t know what I’m asking for. I don’t know if Smith knows, either. Or maybe we both want the same things, because all of a sudden he’s grabbed me behind my knees and is lifting me up.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he directs me, brushing my hair over my shoulder and leaning in to give me a sweet, lingering kiss. “I want to take you somewhere I can lay you down. Is that okay?”
Is that okay? Is that okay?
I want to snort or scream, but I just nod, biting my lip, and wrapping my arms around his shoulders as he carries me to the couch. I’m about to point him to my bedroom but, when he puts me down, I couldn’t care less if we were in a double bed or a Dumpster, because his hands are on my waist and he’s sliding my pajama pants down over my legs, all the while meeting my gaze with a kind of feral expression that would be scary if it weren’t so hot.
“When I think about that night at the club,” he says, pulling at one leg of my pants, then the other, “I try to imagine how that night would have gone had you not had nearly as much to drink. I think about how I would have made sure to kiss every inch of your skin before leaving, just so I could have memorized your flavor, so that it would have tided me over until this day. So that I could have remembered it as I watched you and wanted you and had to stay away.”
Oh, sweet Jesus. This guy.
My pajamas are on the floor and my panties feel anything but substantial as Smith begins to remove his jeans. They hit the floor with a thud and I almost swallow my tongue when I see the tight black boxer briefs and his healthy erection filling out the front.
“I’m not going to push you,” he says, coming over me and pressing his hands into the couch cushion on either side of my head. He’s leveraged himself off me and we’re separated by nothing but hot oxygen and pure want. I’m surprised that alone doesn’t make me pull him down against me.
“But I have to taste you tonight, Hyacinth,” he whispers, his mouth now so close to mine that I can’t tell our breaths apart. “Will that be all right with you?”
What am I supposed to say to that?
Well, I know what I’m supposed to say to that.
I just don’t say it.
Instead, I say, “Yes.”
Chapter Fourteen
Boundaries
Smith moans in satisfaction as he settles his weight on top of me. When his mouth meets mine, he rocks against me, his cock straining against his boxer briefs and my warm wetness. My eyes close as he switches focus, capturing a nipple in his mouth and tonguing it in a way that is making me crazy.
“God. Smith.”
I bite down hard on my bottom lip and his mouth travels, wet and slow, from my breast to my belly. He dips his tongue into my navel, circles it with hot, lush kisses, and then dips even lower. I heave in a deep breath, then stop breathing entirely as he presses his mouth against my core through the thin fabric of my panties.
“Oh, yes,” I murmur, my hands flying down to grip his hair. It slips through my fingers, but he seems pleased with my enthusiasm. Slowly, he slides my underwear to one side, then settles in between my legs. As he licks his way into my wetness, I feel everything so acutely—his lips and his tongue, the way he devours me, tasting me just as he promised.
“Tell me,” he whispers, moving to press his lips against my upper thigh. “Tell me you’ve thought about this as much as I have.”
I swallow hard, closing my eyes.
“Look at me, Cyn.”
I can feel my whole body tremble as I gaze down at him. His expression is fierce in the hottest way, as though he’s ready to fight me if I deny what he and I both know is true.
“Tell me you’ve wanted me as much as I’ve wanted you.”
I hesitate, then moan as he presses the softest of kisses above my clit. His eyes are still trained on me.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, I’ve wanted you. I can’t stop wanting you.”
His smile is brighter than any light source I’ve ever witnessed, and when he dives back into my slick flesh, I’m seeing stars of a completely other kind. He curls his tongue around my clit.
I think my moans would be embarrassing if I weren’t completely lost to this man. He grips my ass with both hands and squeezes hard. I never though I’d enjoy this kind of possession, but, in this moment, there is nothing in the world I want more than to be owned by Smith Asher. In the past, my sexual experiences ranged from inexpert fumbling to a “ticking the boxes” sort of checklist that I had with Brett. Sex has always felt more like a transaction. But this? This is a whole different thing.
Smith devours me like I’m sustenance. Like I’m necessary to his survival. I can feel myself growing wetter and more sensitive as he moves his tongue over my most sensitive flesh. When he comes back to my clit, he sucks gently, then grazes it with his teeth.
That slight edge, that bit of roughness, is all it takes. I shoot off like a bottle rocket, saying things that are less like words and more like prayers, begging him for mercy, then begging him to never stop. I think I’m probably crushing his head between my thighs, but he hums against me and the sound alone throws me up and over another peak of pleasure.
When I float back to earth, the whole world is upside down. It takes me a second to realize that my body is still on the couch, but my head is now over the side. I feel Smith’s arms around my middle and he hauls me up to sitting. I sort of slump against his chest and, for a long moment, he just holds me. We’re both breathing heavily and I can feel the pounding of his heart pressed against my rib cage.